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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32369-8.txt b/32369-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..daddcd7 --- /dev/null +++ b/32369-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7834 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol XXXIII, No. 6, +December 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. 6, December 1848 + +Author: Various + +Editor: George R. Graham + Robert T. Conrad + +Release Date: May 14, 2010 [EBook #32369] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE *** + + + + +Produced by David T. Jones, Juliet Sutherland and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + + + + + + +[Illustration: A. B. Ross, THE DEBUT +Engraved expressly for Graham's Magazine] + + +GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE. + +VOL. XXXIII. PHILADELPHIA, DECEMBER, 1848. NO. 6. + + + + +MILDRED WARD. + +OR THE DEBUT. + +BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER. + +[SEE ENGRAVING.] + + +CHAPTER I. + +Archibald Dundass was a rich Jamaica planter, whose estates were +situated in one of the most delightful regions in that garden of the +West India isles. His wife, an English lady, of great personal +attractions and highly connected, died when Helen, their only child, +had just entered her thirteenth year, an age when, perhaps, a mother's +counsel and tender guidance is most required. When the news of Mrs. +Dundass's death reached her friends, they immediately wrote, +beseeching the bereaved husband to come at once to England with his +child, or if not expedient for himself to leave Jamaica, that he would +at least suffer the little Helen to come to them; and especially did +they urge the plea that thereby he would enable her to receive a more +finished education than could possibly be acquired upon the island. + +This plea, to be sure, offered a strong inducement to Mr. Dundass; but +how could he school his heart to this second bereavement. Helen +possessed all her mother's traits--her dark blue eyes--her golden hair +and skin of dazzling purity--the smile that played around her dimpled +mouth--her light airy step, were all her mother's. Looking upon her +thus in her budding loveliness the Helen of his youth once more moved +before him. To yield her up he could not--and therefore Mr. Dundass +rejected the oft-repeated entreaties of his English friends. Helen +remained in Jamaica. A governess was provided, and whatever money +could secure in the way of learning was most freely expended. + +Mr. Dundass possessed many noble traits of character, yet pride was a +very strong ingredient in his composition leading him not unfrequently +into errors which his sober judgment condemned. Still he was generally +beloved, especially by his slaves, to whom he was a kind, indulgent +master. Knowing himself to be one of the richest, if not _the_ richest +proprietor upon the island, it was natural he should mark out an +alliance for his daughter commensurate with the fortune her hand would +bestow. When, therefore, Helen, beaming and beautiful as the star of +evening, burst from the confinement of the school-room to dazzle all +eyes and move all hearts, what wonder that pride and ambition swelled +the heart of Mr. Dundass. But + + + "Love will venture in where it daur nae weel be seen;" + + +and, unfortunately for the realization of those ambitious dreams, a +mutual love had already sprung up between Helen and a young man +without friends or fortune, whom her father had received into favor, +and employed for some years in his counting-room. + +To appeal to Mr. Dundass for his sanction to their union Ward knew +would be vain, and he therefore prevailed upon the imprudent Helen to +elope with him, assuring her that her father's anger would be but +momentary, and that his great affection triumphing over resentment, +would compel him to forgive her error, and open his arms to welcome +her return. But, unhappily, it was not so. There was no moving the +heart of Mr. Dundass to forgiveness. His anger and resentment were as +boundless as had been his love. He refused to see his child, spurned +her from his door, and to all the numerous and penitent letters she +addressed him, gave no reply. The blow was, indeed, a heavy one, +coming from one so idolized; his affections, as well as his +long-cherished pride, were crushed, and his resentment rose in +proportion. + +In the meantime Ward had removed to a distant part of the island with +his young and beautiful bride, where he had obtained a situation which +promised to be lucrative. That he loved his young wife who for his +sake had renounced wealth, station, and a father's love, cannot be +doubted; but that he also held a corner of his heart for the +possessions she might inherit, is also certain. His disappointment, +therefore, at the inflexibility of Mr. Dundass was extreme, and +mingled with it a bitterness which, in a short time, displayed itself +toward his unoffending wife, and in an irritability which, ere the end +of a twelvemonth, caused his employer to dismiss him from his service. +From that time the life of poor Helen was most wretched, bitterly +reaping in tears and poverty the fruits of disobedience. From place to +place she followed her husband wherever he could obtain employ, but of +which his idle, dissolute habits soon deprived him. A constitution +naturally feeble sunk under the inroads of dissipation. Ere three +years a wife Helen became a widow. Her situation was now truly +deplorable. Without money, without friends, and thrown upon the cold +charity of the world ere yet she had reached her twentieth year. For +the sake of her innocent babe she resolved to make one more appeal to +the mercy of her father. + +Over mountain ridges, through deep valleys--crossing dense forests and +treacherous rivulets--sometimes on foot, sometimes indebted to the +kindness of some chance traveler for a few miles ride, Helen at length +drew near the home of her childhood, and stole, unannounced, into the +presence of her father. The moment was propitious. Mr. Dundass had +already learned the death of his son-in-law, and the probable +destitution of his daughter. In those three years alienation from his +only child he had suffered much, and untimely old age had silvered his +temples and worn deep furrows o'er his brow. Not all his wealth, not +all the goadings of disappointed ambition, nor even the sting her +ingratitude had left, could drive her image from his heart, or check +the still small voice of conscience, which whispered that not even her +errors could excuse the harshness with which she had been repulsed. +The death of Ward seemed to unite Helen once more to him. Over her +misfortunes he shed bitter tears; and although pride still rebelled +against the yearnings of his heart, and made him resolve he would +never more admit her to his presence, yet even at the moment when she +fell fainting and exhausted at his feet, he was meditating some +measures by which he could place her and her little one above want. +Ah! pride, anger, enduring obstinacy, where are ye now? There was a +well of love in that old man's heart whose depths ye had not yet +probed. One look at the sad, care-worn face of Helen; one glance at +the innocent babe pillowed upon her breast, and that fount of love was +unsealed. The father took them to his breast and blessed them. + + +CHAPTER II. + +A few years and Helen, more beautiful than ever, again made her +appearance in society, and again Mr. Dundass cherished his darling +dream of her forming some high connection. Little Mildred, in the +meanwhile, having been sent to England under the charge of a faithful +nurse, to receive her education. + +A second time, however, was Mr. Dundass doomed to disappointment. The +charming and attractive young widow gave her hand to Mr. Donaldson, a +Scotch gentleman, whose only recommendation in the eyes of Mr. +Dundass was a showy exterior and a superb set of teeth. He had known +him for many years, and had always regarded him as more shrewd than +honest, and one who, where his own interests were concerned, would let +no scruples of conscience stand in the way of his advancement. He +thought him rich, but he had much rather he had been poor, if able to +boast a titled descent. The idea, therefore, of this second marriage +of his daughter gave him in reality as little satisfaction as the +first. His reluctant consent was, however, at length obtained, and +Helen borne off a second time a bride from her father's house. + +The plantation of Mr. Donaldson was delightfully located in a most +lovely region of hill and dale, sparkling with delicious rivulets, and +sprinkled with charming groves of the deep-tinted pimento, the +graceful palm, and magnificent cotton-trees, and the air rife with the +fragrance of the orange and citron blossoms, through which, like +winged jewels, glanced birds of the most brilliant plumage. Whatever +may have been the errors which Mr. Dundass detected in the moral +character of Mr. Donaldson, he was a most tender and devoted husband; +and in this paradise to which he had brought her, the happiness of +Helen seemed perfect. The Cascade, as Mr. Donaldson had named his +station, from the numerous little rills and waterfalls in the +neighborhood, was distant fifty miles from Mount Dundass, yet the +intercourse between father and daughter continued uninterrupted until +the infirmities of age pressing upon Mr. Dundass, rendered his visits +to the Cascade less frequent, and the cares of a growing family +confining Mrs. Donaldson more closely at home. + +Helen was now the mother of several children, charming, bright little +girls, yet it was strange that Mr. Dundass never seemed to regard them +in the same tender light he did Mildred Ward. Mr. Donaldson had never +seen Mildred, but already in his heart he hated her. The partiality of +the grandfather rankled his inmost soul, for he saw plainly it would +interfere with the prospects of his own children. Indeed, Mr. Dundass +had already settled fifty thousand dollars upon his granddaughter +Mildred, asserting also that at his death that sum should be doubled. +Mr. Donaldson possessed great influence over his wife--his words to +her were oracles--his wishes laws. By degrees, therefore, he instilled +into her mind a jealousy against her absent child, mingled with +feelings of resentment toward her father, that, to the exclusion of +her little Grace and Anna, he should have made her the object of his +love and munificence. This feeling once engendered Mr. Donaldson took +good care to keep alive. The poison worked slowly but so secretly, +that no doubt Helen herself would have been shocked could she have +read her own heart and found that, instigated by jealousy, a mother's +tenderness for her first-born was fast turning to bitterness. + +In the meantime seventeen rosy summers had flitted as some fairy dream +over the head of Mildred, when her grandfather, no longer able to +resist his desire of seeing her, urged her return to Jamaica. + + +CHAPTER III. + +To merry England our story now takes us, that we may trace a brief +sketch of those scenes wherein the days of Mildred had glided so +happily away. + +Norcross Hall, the ancestral domain of the late Mrs. Dundass was +situated in one of England's most charming nooks, about forty miles +from the great metropolis. It was an ancient building, the main part +of which was said to have been erected in the time of Elizabeth--but +of this little of the original structure remained. Its present +occupant, Sir Hugh Norcross, was the son of Mrs. Dundass's eldest +brother, and to his guardianship the little Mildred had been +consigned. In this charming family she was treated with the utmost +tenderness, receiving the same education and sharing the same pursuits +as her little cousins, between whom and herself a lively affection +sprung up. Lady Norcross was a superior woman, both of mind and heart; +and under her guidance and gentle teachings, which her every-day life +so beautifully exemplified, what wonder that the little family growing +up around her should prove all that was good and lovely. Helen +Norcross was near the same age as Mildred, Rupert three years her +senior. It was not until the latter had reached his fourteenth year +that the three cousins were ever separated, even for a single day; but +now, Rupert was sent to Eton, and the two girls were left to weep and +mourn his absence, or to study a thousand delightful projects to +welcome his return at the holydays. + +What happy seasons those were when, released for a time from the +thraldom of college pursuits, Rupert once more sprung in freedom +through the haunts of his childhood; the old walls rung with cheerful +voices, and every dell and dingle echoed to the merry music of their +happy hearts. And then, as each holyday came round, what changes +marked their progress. The two little girls had become graceful, +lovely women, while Rupert from a school-boy had as suddenly shot up +into a tall, elegant young man. + +Sir Hugh and his lady saw with pleasure the attachment of the cousins; +they already loved Mildred as their daughter, and it was the nearest +wish of their hearts that in time the affection which now united them +might assume a more enduring form. As the education of Mildred might +now be considered completed, and the object for which she had been +sent to them attained, they grew every day more and more fearful that +Mrs. Donaldson would claim her long absent child. Mildred was too +young when she left Jamaica to have other than a faint recollection of +her mother; she could only remember the beautiful blue eyes which used +to meet hers so fondly, and the long golden ringlets through which, as +she nestled in mamma's lap, she had played bo-peep with an old +gentleman in a high-backed elbow-chair. Then she was so happy at +Norcross Hall that when her heart whispered to her, as it often did, +of her other dear mother in a far-off land, she could not but reproach +herself for not being more impatient for the moment to arrive when she +might again embrace her. But now the time drew near when she must bid +farewell to this cherished spot. + +April had smiled farewell in tears, and May with her beauteous buds +and blossoms danced over the green earth. The streams welcomed her +presence with songs of glee, and the forests dressed in fresh beauty +opened their arms to greet her presence. It was yet early morning, and +to the uplifting of the rosy curtain draping the couch of the day-god +the birds were singing a merry prelude, as two young men stole softly +around an angle of the old building, and crept silently under the +shadow of the wall, until they stood beneath the windows of an +apartment whose inmates were probably buried in sleep, as through the +half-closed shutter the curtains appeared still closely drawn. + +"You see I have proved a true prophet, for the girls still sleep," +cried the taller of the two, laughing. "Now fie upon their laziness +this bright May morning--why we should have been off to the dell an +hour since, to gather the flowers ere the sun kissed away their +freshness." + +"Now I will warrant you, Rupert," replied the other, "that while we +stand here with 'dewy feet,' maybe catching our deaths from this early +exposure of our delicate frames, the little jades are quietly dreaming +over the last new romance, or their first ball--come, let us arouse +them with a song!" and dropping on one knee, the young man placed his +hand upon his heart, and lifting his eyes to the window in the most +languishing manner began: + + + "Come, come to me, love, + Come, love, arise-- + And shame the bright stars + With the light of thine eyes, + Look out from thy lattice, + O lady--" + + +"Very well sung, most tender swain--what a pity Mildred and myself by +our too early rising lost the melting expression of those upturned +orbs!" cried Helen, issuing with her cousin from a thicket of +rose-bushes. "So you thought us still sleeping, slanderers, when we +have already brushed the dew from the lawn, and look here," (showering +down a quantity of early violets,) "see what we stole from Flora while +you two were sleeping." + +A few moments were spent in playful badinage, and then the happy party +strolled off in the direction of the dell. But, alas! like many of our +brightest hopes this morn which dawned so blissfully was destined to +end in sorrow! Upon the return of the party to the Hall, Sir Hugh with +a sorrowful countenance placed in the hands of Mildred a package of +letters. She grew pale as she read, and ere she had finished burst +into tears, and handing the package to Sir Hugh fled to her chamber. +Those letters contained the mandate for her return to Jamaica. That +very week she must leave Norcross Hall, its beloved inmates, and all +the delightful scenes of her childhood, and hasten to London, to join +a family who were about returning to the island, and to whose charge +her grandfather had consigned her. + +The grief which filled all hearts at this dreaded separation may +easily be imagined. Rupert was nearly crazy at the thought. He now +felt how dear Mildred was to him, and that to part with her was like +rending soul and body. But certain that his love would meet the +sanction of his parents, knowing how tenderly they regarded her, he +hastened to make known his feelings to them, and to entreat that he +might accompany Mildred to Jamaica, and demand the consent of her +friends to their union. + +"No, my dear son," said Sir Hugh, "Mildred is yet very young--of the +world she knows little, and it would be cruel to shackle her with ties +which she may in time be brought to abhor, nor would it be doing +justice to her friends to bind down her affections to us alone. Leave +her free, Rupert; if she loves you, that love will not diminish by +absence, and I promise you that in due time you shall be allowed to +prosecute your suit in the presence of her mother, and should you be +so fortunate as to win a bride so lovely, your parents' hearts will +welcome her with joy." + +How coldly his father reasoned thought the ardent young lover, but +accustomed to yield all deference to his wishes, he consented that +Mildred should depart without knowing how necessary her love was to +his happiness. + +Both Sir Hugh and Rupert accompanied her to London, and saw her safely +on board her majesty's ship the Essex, bound for Jamaica. + + +CHAPTER IV. + +Leaving Mildred to pursue her voyage we will see what preparations +were already making for her return by Mr. Donaldson. + +This gentleman was by no means as rich as many supposed him to be. His +plantations were valuable, and located advantageously, but whether +from mismanagement, or from circumstances beyond his control, for +several years his affairs had become greatly involved, and he had only +been saved from absolute ruin through the scheming friendship of a +Spaniard named Perozzi--a man whose cunning was as deep as his own, +and who by advancing large sums from time to time, only sought to +entangle his victim in such a snare as should secure him in the end +his valuable possessions. Pride prevented Mr. Donaldson from applying +to Mr. Dundass--every year matters grew worse, until finally he felt +himself to be completely in the power of Perozzi, who had even begun +to threaten loudly, and talk of distraining. It was at this critical +juncture that Mr. Dundass declared his intention of sending for +Mildred Ward. A project now suddenly suggested itself to Mr. Donaldson +which promised to relieve him from his difficulties, and which he +seized upon in his selfishness with as little conscience as the +highwayman who robs you of life in order to obtain your purse. + +Mounting his mule he one morning rode over to the "Pen" of Perozzi, +some few miles farther down the valley. He was received rather coolly. + +"Your timely visit has saved me a ride this morning, Donaldson," said +the Spaniard. "I have an imperative necessity for my money, or at +least for a part of it." + +"My dear fellow, the very thing I have come to talk about!" said +Donaldson. + +"_Corambre--to talk about!_ It must be something more than talk--words +will not answer my purpose," replied Perozzi, his sharp black eye +glittering with hate. "I tell you money I must have--money I will +have, or--" + +"Good God, Perozzi, don't drive me to desperation. You know I cannot +pay you a single piastre! Only wait until I receive my return sales +from England, and I swear to you you shall receive your last +farthing!" + +"Holy Mother Mary! your return sales from England!" exclaimed the +other, in a tone of cutting sarcasm. "In what manner of vessel must +those same returns be coming, for, if my memory serves me, Columbus +discovered a new world in less time than this same richly-freighted +_caravela_ has been crossing the Atlantic--this has been your answer +for twice a twelvemonth. And now," he continued, suddenly altering his +tone, and striding to the side of his victim, "there must be an end of +this--either pay me what you owe me, or give me a quit claim to the +Cascade, for which you have already received from me more than its +value." + +"By heavens, Perozzi!" cried Mr. Donaldson, turning pale with anger +and mortification, "this is more than I can bear even from you; but +come," he added, suddenly forcing a laugh, "it was to see you upon a +more pleasing errand I came here." + +"_Corambre!_" whistled through the teeth of the Spaniard. + +"Hark ye, Perozzi; what would you say if I could this moment promise +to place you in possession of one hundred thousand dollars and--a +wife?" + +"Say! why that the Devil helped you to cajole, and then deserted you +at the pinch, as he always does!" replied Perozzi. + +"No cajolery about it, as you shall find," answered Mr. Donaldson. +"But come, let us sit--by your leave I'll taste your wine; your +health, signor, and" (turning out a second glass) "here is another to +Madame Perozzi--ha-ha-ha! There--now," said he, setting down his glass +with a force which nearly shivered it, "listen to me. You know that +Mrs. Donaldson, by her first husband, had one daughter, Mildred Ward, +who is at this moment on her return from England, whither she was sent +at an early age for her education. She is now, by the bye, seventeen, +and, as report informs us, extremely beautiful and accomplished. Now +what think you, Perozzi, of the charming Mildred for a wife?" + +"I want money--no wife!" moodily replied Perozzi, draining a third +glass. + +"Precisely--money," answered the other; "and that is what the fair +hand of Mildred tenders you." + +"One hundred thousand dollars, did you say, Donaldson?" said the +Spaniard, with a searching gaze. + +"I did. Fifty thousand with the wedding-ring, and the balance when the +old man, her grandfather, dies." + +Excellent, by the Virgin!--ha-ha-ha! No one can dispute your skill in +diplomacy; but methinks it would be well to know by what method you +propose to bring about a "consummation so devoutly to be wished," said +Perozzi, with a sneer. + +"Leave that to me; only act with me, and Mildred Ward becomes your +wife just so certain as I now drink to you--your health, signor." + +"And, pray, allow me to ask," said Perozzi, "what benefit you expect +to reap from such unparalleled generosity--it cannot surely be out of +pure love to me that you thus + + + "Buckle fortune on my back + To bear her burthen whether I will or no!" + + +"You are right," answered Mr. Donaldson, dropping the servile tone in +which he had before spoken, "you are right--it is from no love to you; +my object is this. You know as well as I do the utter impracticability +of my refunding any part of the money I owe you at present. True, you +may seize my estates, but this I think you will hardly do in +preference to the plan I propose; it would be at best but a vexatious +affair, while by accepting my proposition you secure not only an +equivalent for your debt, but also the hand of a charming young girl." + +"Well, well, to the point," interrupted the Spaniard, impatiently. + +"It is simply this; give me your written promise to release me from +all obligation, return me whatever notes you hold against me, and I on +my part pledge to you the hand and fortune of my step-daughter." + +Perozzi remained for some moments in deep revery, as if studying the +feasibility of the proposed plan. "I have half a mind to try it," he +mused; "it may do--the connection will be a good one. Old Dundass is +as rich as a Jew, and a man of great influence; while on the other +hand, should the project fail, I shall be no worse off than now, +unless an earthquake should swallow up the estates from my grasp." + +"There is one contingency which seems to have entirely escaped your +forecast," he exclaimed aloud, turning to Mr. Donaldson, "the lady may +not be of your way of thinking--she may prove refractory." + +"Leave that to me," was the reply. + +"I may not fancy her." + +"Nor the money?" added Mr. Donaldson, with a meaning smile. + +"Ah, there, I grant, you have me. Well, well, I am willing to talk the +matter over with you a little more freely. Miss Ward is handsome, you +say?" + +"As a Houri." + +"And young?" + +"Scarce seventeen." + +"Very well--now to business." + +But we have already entered into sufficient detail of the conversation +of these two men to show the reader in what peril poor Mildred stood +from their machinations. It is enough to say that ere they parted, +Perozzi pledged his word that, should their plot succeed, he would, on +his marriage-day, place in the hands of Mr. Donaldson a quit claim to +every demand he held against him. + + +CHAPTER V. + +How beautiful was Mildred as she sprung to meet the embrace of her old +grandfather; and how fondly did the old man gaze upon his recovered +treasure, almost incredulous that this lovely girl could be the same +little pet, whose infantine gambols and artless caresses time had not +been able to efface from his mind. + +The style of Mildred's beauty was, indeed, most captivating and +piquant. To a form of perfect symmetry and airy grace was added a +countenance beaming with intellect and vivacity. Her complexion was of +the same dazzling fairness as her mother's, but her eyes were of a +deep-gray, sparkling beneath the most delicately penciled brows, and +her hair of that dark, glossy chestnut, flecked as it were with +sunbeams, whose peculiar tint painters so much love to catch. A small, +rosy mouth, and white, regular teeth, which in her innocent vivacity +were often displayed, completes the picture of Mildred's charms. + +After spending a few days at Mount Dundass she took leave of her +grandfather, and under the escort of Mr. Donaldson, who had hastened +thither for the purpose, departed for the Cascade, impatient to behold +her mother, in whose love she trusted to find a recompense for the +pain which parting with her dear friends at Norcross Hall had caused. +And for a few weeks all went happily. The sight of her innocent, +beautiful child banished for a time from the heart of Mrs. Donaldson +that unnatural jealousy her husband had awakened. Mr. Donaldson, for +his own selfish purposes, strove by every attention and kindness to +win her esteem and confidence, while Mildred on her part delighted +with and reciprocating her mother's affection, gratified by the +interest her step-father expressed for her, and perfectly enchanted +with the novel and beautiful scenery, threw off all her +sadness--linking the past with the present, not regretful or +sorrowful, but as one continued scene of love and happiness, for which +her heart rose in gratitude to her Maker that he had conferred upon +her so many rich blessings. + +How often did she wish that Rupert and Helen could share with her this +West India paradise. The climate so bland and delicious--soft, balmy +airs by day, and nights of unclouded loveliness; the beautiful +undulating scenery of hill and valley stretching far away into the dim +haze of ocean--hills from whose summits towered the magnificent +cabbage-palm, its immense plume-like leaves waving like the crest of +some gigantic warrior above the band of palms crowding around, bending +their graceful heads to this their chief; valleys of luxuriant beauty, +studded with groves of the aromatic pimento, whose pure white blossoms +seem like snow-flakes just fallen amid their dark, glossy foliage, +while at intervals clumps of magnolia, resting on a carpet of bright +verdure sprinkled with flowers, and their trunks garlanded with the +gay passa-flora, arrested the eye. From those beautiful hill-sides +silvery cascades came leaping and dancing down into the rich valleys, +then twining their lovely arms through this charming landscape, as if +they would fain bear off its beauties to the broad ocean, whither they +are gliding. + +In the meantime, you may be sure, Perozzi made his appearance at the +Cascade, where, under some slight pretext, he soon became almost +domesticated, merely riding over to the Pen at intervals of two or +three days. To Mildred there was something extremely repulsive in his +appearance, and she could not but feel amazed at the influence he +seemed to exercise over her parents, and the deference with which they +treated him. She little dreamed of the power he would soon exert +against her happiness--just as over those luxuriant valleys, whose +smiling beauty I have but imperfectly sketched, the whirl-wind comes +rushing in terrible might, scattering ruin and devastation around, did +the tempest burst over the head of Mildred, changing all the +brightness of her young life to darkness. Perozzi needed no other +impetus than the sight of Mildred's beauty to render him as eager to +push forward the plot in agitation as Mr. Donaldson, and in accordance +his attentions to her assumed a direct and positive form. She, +however, had not the most remote suspicion of his intentions. How +great, then, was her surprise when one day Perozzi made her a formal +offer of his hand, assuring her at the same time that he did so with +the consent and approbation of her parents and her grandfather. +Mildred could hardly credit her senses, that Perozzi, a man as old as +her step-father, should think of a mere child like herself for a wife, +seemed very strange, but that her friends should also approve of such +a match, stranger still. + +"My dearest Mildred, what have you done!" cried Mrs. Donaldson, +meeting her daughter a few hours after. "Can it be possible you have +refused Signor Perozzi?" + +"Dear mamma, you surely do not think I could do otherwise than refuse +him!" replied Mildred, surprised at her mother's manner. + +"And why not, Mildred? Would it not be a most eligible match for +you--why he is not only very rich, but will probably soon succeed to a +title." + +"Riches and titles can never make happiness, mamma." + +"But they conduce greatly to its maintainance, Mildred." + +"O, no, mamma, not if attached to such a disagreeable person as the +signor." + +"Disagreeable! Mildred, you surprise me--pray what can be your +objections?" + +"Indeed, they are so numerous, that the repetition would only be +tiresome," replied Mildred, smiling. "But you are surely laughing at +me; you did not really suppose, now did you, that I could love such a +man?" + +"I did suppose you had more sense, Mildred, than to refuse him," +replied Mrs. Donaldson. "I can only say your decision has deeply +grieved both Mr. Donaldson and myself; yet we regret it more for the +disappointment it will cause your grandfather, for to see you the wife +of Perozzi has long been his most cherished wish." + +"Can it be!" cried Mildred. "Can it be that my grandfather, my kind +grandfather, would have me marry Perozzi--is it so, mamma?" + +"It is, Mildred." + +"Now, indeed, am I most unhappy," cried Mildred, bursting into tears, +"for it can never, never be!" + +"My sweet child, I am sorry to see you so grieved!" said Mrs. +Donaldson. "It must be painful, I know, for you to distress your +excellent old grandfather, who loves you so truly, and has ever +treated you with such generosity; but perhaps your decision has been +too hasty--it is not too late; reconsider the subject, Mildred, and +perhaps you will conclude differently." + +"No, mamma, my resolution is unalterable!" + +"Let me at least soften your refusal to poor Perozzi--indeed, he is +quite overwhelmed with despair; let me bid him hope that in time you +may be brought to listen more favorably to his suit." + +"O, not for worlds, mamma--not for worlds!" + +"Well, well, my dear, you are strangely agitated. There, go--retire to +your chamber, and compose yourself, my love;" and affectionately +kissing her daughter, Mrs. Donaldson repaired to the library, where +her husband and Perozzi were awaiting the result of this interview. + +Had Mrs. Donaldson forgotten her own youth? + +From that day Mildred was the object of ceaseless persecution. Go +where she would, there was Perozzi ever at her side, to annoy her with +his odious attentions; walking or riding, he intruded himself upon +her; no room in the house seemed sacred from his approach; and even +when she retired to her own apartment, he either stationed himself +beneath her window, or stood at her door, ready to greet her with his +hateful smile as she issued forth. Constantly, too, was he urging his +suit, while her repeated refusals, her cold words, and still colder +looks, might as well have been spent upon a rock--for a rock could not +be more impressionless to their meaning. The persecution she underwent +from the odious Perozzi, had, perhaps, revealed to her the true nature +of her regard for Rupert, and in so doing, brought also the pleasing +consciousness that she was beloved even as she loved him. How +aggravating, then, her situation. Daily her life grew more wretched, +nor had she even the consolation of sympathy. With a yearning heart +did she now recall the happy days at Norcross Hall, rendered by +contrast still more dear. "O!" she cried, in her anguish, "could I but +once more rest in their loving arms, what power could tear me thence! +Dearest Helen! Dearest Rupert, come to me! O, hasten thither and +rescue me from this horrible thraldom!" + +But months passed in sorrow; there came no letters from +England--nothing to cheer up her fainting heart, and finally, Mildred, +the once gay, happy Mildred, sunk into a state of utter despondency. + + +CHAPTER VI. + +"_Hist--hist_, Pedro!" and a tall, swarthy Creole, obeying the finger +of Perozzi, glided stealthily behind a large tree, where stood the +Spaniard, both screened from observation by the thick drapery of +ferns and parasitic plants clinging around its trunk. Eyeing the man +keenly, Perozzi said, in a low tone, + +"Hark-ye, Pedro! I have a job for you; here are thirty pistoles as an +earnest, and when it is finished, you shall receive thirty more." + +"By St. Jago, signor! I am ready--what is it? _This?_" touching the +handle of his knife. + +"_Corambre_, knave! No. Listen to me. Do you see yonder mansion, with +the green verandas stretching itself out on the hill-side like an +anaconda at play?" + +"The Scotchman's--Donaldson's?" + +"The same. Now look, and tell me what you see at the open jalousie on +the right, that is, if you can see through the heavy screen of +jessamines which droop over it." + +"Ho, ho! I have eyes at any time for a pretty girl, signor; she is an +angel, that fair English girl!" + +"Very well--you know her, then. Now do you remember the thick pimento +walk between this and the hospital?" + +"Si, signor." + +"Now, Pedro, hasten thither, and conceal yourself. This fair Signora +will soon pass that way. Now mind me, knave, when she reaches the +middle of the grove, do you rush suddenly upon her--seize her in your +arms, and--" + +"Ho-ho! a pleasant job, signor!" + +"Peace, knave! Seize her, I tell you, and draw your knife, as if about +to plunge it in her white bosom. Now, mark me, at that moment I rush +upon you and rescue the lady--do you understand?" + +"Si, signor; but will your honor please to remember I am but flesh and +blood--don't strike more than skin deep, signor." + +"Tush, knave! and remember--no violence; by the Holy Mother! if you so +much as breathe upon a hair of her head, you taste my dagger!" + +"Ho-ho, signor! methinks to snatch a kiss from her sweet lips would be +worth more than a thousand pistoles." + +"Villain, to your work!" + +"Ho-ho! a pleasant job, signor--a pleasant job!" And with a hideous +leer, the lesser villain parted from the greater, and concealing +himself within the deep shadows of the grove, awaited the coming of +Mildred. + +It was not long ere, little suspecting the terrible scene which she +was to encounter, Mildred set forth _en route_ to the hospital, to +visit an old faithful female slave. This was a favorite walk, and +soothed by the quiet of the scene, she lingered long in its delightful +depths. As her foot pressed the summit of a gentle slope, enameled +with many-colored flowers, and over which frown the blood-tinged +foliage of a stately mahogany-tree, pendent garlands of the +passion-flower, and delicate white jasmine swung in the soft breeze, +she paused for a moment, as if to prolong this happy reprieve from the +presence of the Spaniard. + +Suddenly, the wretch, Pedro, sprung in her path, and while with one +hand he seized the trembling girl, with the other he drew his +stiletto, and muttering a horrible oath, raised it as if about to +strike at her innocent bosom. Mildred did not scream, she did not +faint, but he eyes closed, and all power of speech and motion seemed +paralized. But the threatened blow was arrested; a violent struggle +ensued, during which she was clasped still more tightly to the breast +of the ruffian, who seemed to be defending himself from some superior +arm. Oaths and curses mingled with the clash of weapons; she was +dragged, as it were, several paces through the grove, and then, after +another struggle, she felt the arm of the assassin relax its +grasp--she was caught to the breast of her deliverer, and then placed +gently on the soft turf. + +"Mildred--my angel--my life--O, speak to me!" + +_That voice!_ Mildred knew its hateful tones; and a cold shudder crept +through her frame, as if some venomous reptile had touched her, as she +felt the villains lips press her brow. Recoiling, she slowly opened +her eyes. + +"Thank God!" exclaimed Perozzi, "you are restored to me. Holy Virgin! +can it be--so near death, and yet living and unhurt, I now hold you in +my arms! O, blessed moment, when love guided me hither!" + +"I owe you my life, signor," said Mildred, freeing herself from his +embrace, "but it is a thankless boon; methinks death would have been +sweeter! Leave me--I am better--I am well--leave me, signor!" + +"Sweet angel! leave thee--leave thee thus exposed to new dangers! +No--lean on me, my beloved--let me guide your trembling steps!" and he +passed his arm around her. + +"Away!" cried Mildred, springing from him. "Away! touch me not! +Monster--fiend! I hate you! Begone from my sight forever, or, in +mercy, kill me!" + +Perozzi became livid with rage, and his eye-balls gleamed like fire in +the deepening shadows, as they rested on Mildred, never more beautiful +than as she now stood before him in all the majesty of outraged +purity. But masking the hell in his heart with a well-feigned air of +desperation, he fell on his knees before her. + +"Would that the assassin's knife had reached my heart!" he exclaimed. +"Better for me to die than endure your scorn. Yes, _die_! By heavens! +why not end this miserable existence--here--yes, here, at your feet, +cruel Mildred! _It shall be done!_" and drawing a pistol from his +breast, he placed the muzzle to his temple. + +"Hold--hold--for God's sake, miserable man, hold!" shrieked Mildred, +springing forward. + +It was too late--the pistol exploded. + +"Ha--ha--ha!" shouted Perozzi, wiping his blackened brows, "that was +well done!" And raising the now senseless girl in his arms he bore her +to the house. + +When, after a long and death-like swoon, Mildred opened her eyes they +rested upon the anxious countenances of her mother and Mr. Donaldson +bending over her couch. + +"Where am I?" she cried, starting up wildly--"how came I here--what +has happened? Ah, now I remember--or was it some dreadful dream?" She +pressed her hand to her forehead--"no, no, it was no dream--tell me," +she added, with a convulsive shudder, closing her eyes as if to shut +out some horrible vision, "is he dead--is Perozzi dead?" + +"Compose yourself, my dear Mildred," replied Mrs. Donaldson, "he +lives--fortunately the ball but slightly grazed his temple--yet, my +child, such is his despair--to such a state of frenzy has your cruelty +brought him, that we dare not trust him alone even for a moment, lest +he once more attempt to end his misery by self-destruction." + +A heart-rending groan was the poor girl's only answer. + +"Mildred, my daughter," said Mr. Donaldson, "I had decided to say no +more to you upon a subject so painful, but duty to my friend compels +me to make one more appeal to your compassion. Can I stand calmly by +and witness the wreck which despair has wrought in that beloved +friend--can I behold him resolutely rushing upon death to end his +misery and not speak! O, Mildred," falling on his knees, "save +him--for you can--Mildred, behold me thus imploring your pity for +Perozzi!" + +Mildred burst into tears, and placed her hand within that of Mr. +Donaldson. + +"You will relent, my sweet child, will you not?" said her mother, +throwing her arms around her--"yes, you will, and make us all +happy--see," she added, drawing a letter from her bosom, "here is a +letter from my beloved father--let his words plead with ours--shall I +read?" Mildred assented, and breaking the seal Mrs. Donaldson +continued: + + "MILDRED,--You have refused compliance with the fondest + wish of my heart--you have obstinately cast from you + the man of all others I wished to see your husband! + Henceforth I renounce you. I loved you, my child, (as I + now for the last time call you,) I have loved you from + your infancy--to you I looked as my greatest earthly + blessing--but it is all over--we never meet again! Yet, + cruel, ungrateful girl, I will not doom you to a life + of hardship and dependence. The fortune settled upon + you is still yours. Take it, Mildred, and enjoy it if + you can, knowing that you have broken the heart of your + old doting grandfather, + + Archibald Dundass." + +As Mrs. Donaldson concluded, Mildred sobbed aloud. These reproaches, +mingled with so much kindness, almost broke her heart. + +"Give me the letter," said she, extending her trembling hand, and once +more she tearfully perused it, while a glance of triumph was exchanged +between husband and wife. The look of agony which Mildred cast upon +them as she finished reading would have melted a heart of stone. Mrs. +Donaldson burst into tears, and even the lip of her husband quivered +with agitation. + +"My God, pity me!" cried Mildred, clasping her hands and raising her +eyes to heaven. Once more she turned them on her mother. "Mother, do +not weep--_I--O God--I--consent_!" And as if with those dreadful +words her pure spirit had fled, she fell back cold and rigid as marble +upon the pillow. + + +CHAPTER VII. + +Let the silence of despair rest upon the sufferings of the unhappy +Mildred after those fatal words had passed her lips. + +Among other artful devices agreed upon between Mr. Donaldson and +Perozzi, previous to Mildred's return, was that of keeping her +entirely secluded from society, lest some other suitor might wrest the +hand of the doomed girl from him. But now that a consent to their +infernal measures had been torn from her, it was resolved that a +magnificent _fête_ should mark the _début_ of the affianced bride. The +evening previous to the wedding was the time fixed upon for this +important event, and accordingly invitations were immediately issued +for a grand _bal masqué_, including the governor's family, together +with all the _élite_ of the island. + +For weeks all was hurry and confusion at the Cascade--artisans of many +trades were busily engaged pulling down and putting up--the +drawing-rooms--the halls--verandas, all newly decorated--in fact, the +whole establishment, through the purse of Perozzi and the good taste +of Mrs. Donaldson, completely revolutionized. Mildred in the meanwhile +remained in strict seclusion in her apartment, unless dragged thence +by the importunities of the Spaniard, so sad, so perfectly overwhelmed +with the wretchedness of her lot, that it seemed most probable death +might claim the young bride ere the day of sacrifice came. In vain her +mother strove to interest her in the gay proceedings--entreating she +would at least choose a costume for her expected _début_. + +"Do with me as you will, mother," Mildred would reply, with a faint +smile. + +In the sleeping-room of Mrs. Donaldson there hung a portrait of a +beautiful Turkish maiden. This picture was a favorite with Mildred, +and it occurred to Mrs. Donaldson that a similar costume would well +become the style of her daughter's beauty. A careful examination of +her own and Mildred's ward-robe convinced her the thing could be done, +and she set herself diligently to prepare the dress--Mildred passively +obeying her directions. + +At length all was finished, and in its swift course Time brought round +the appointed evening for the _début_ of the wretched Mildred, so soon +to become a more wretched wife. At an early hour those guests who +resided at a distance began to arrive, and after partaking of the +grateful refreshments provided for them were conducted to their +dressing-rooms, to prepare for the festivities of the evening--all +being expected to appear _en masqué_. + +Mrs. Donaldson, the still handsome mistress of the _fête_, wore a +splendid dress of the tartan, in compliment to the Scottish tastes of +her husband, who himself appeared in the costume of a Highland Chief, +and had already entered the drawing-room, in readiness to welcome the +gay throng. The victim, too, was ready. Passive as a lamb in the hands +of the destroyer, she had suffered her mother and her maid to array +her, and now sat like some marbled image, awaiting the coming of +Perozzi to lead her forth. + +How lovely she was, nor yet casting one look to the mirror wherein her +exquisite form and beautiful face were reflected. The robe her mother +had chosen was the same as the picture, of a pale rose color, floating +like a summer cloud around her lovely person, and confined to her +waist by a broad girdle of white satin, wrought with gold and clasped +by a superb diamond. The sleeves of the same airy fabric as the caftan +were long and loose, revealing in their transparency the fine contour +of her snowy arm, and were ornamented upon the shoulders and around +the graceful fold of the outer edge with rich embroidery seeded with +pearls. The caftan was slightly open at the bust, displaying an under +vest of thin white gauze gathered in maidenly modesty over her lovely +bosom, and fastened by a magnificent cluster of diamonds and rubies. A +_talpec_, or head-dress, of white velvet, around which were wound two +rows of the finest pearls, was placed low on her pale brow, from which +her beautiful hair fell in long natural ringlets, looped here and +there with sprigs of the white jasmine and orange buds. + +Gently the wind swayed the orange boughs, and creeping through the +flowery links of the jessamine and passa-flora, kissed the pale cheek +of Mildred as she sat there in her misery--twilight stole on with +saddened step, and from out the cloudless heavens one by one the stars +looked down upon her wretchedness. Then over the distant mountains +rose up the full-orbed moon, bathing their summits with gladness and +flooding the valleys with calm and holy light. On she came, majestic +and serene, o'er her glorious path, and as her mild beams quivered +through the thick clustering blossoms around the window they touched +the heart of Mildred as the smile of angels. Throwing open the +jalousie she stepped into the veranda, and leaning over the balustrade +gazed upon the peaceful landscape stretching before her in all the +chastened loveliness of the moonlight. + +There was something in the scene which brought with it the "light of +other days" to her sad heart. For a few brief moments she was +happy--present sorrows lost themselves in past pleasures. Once more +upon the ivy-clad battlements of Norcross Hall she was standing with +Helen and Rupert, while the scene upon which the moon looked down +identified itself with the woods and dells of that beloved spot. Her +bright dream was brief--the voice of Perozzi in loud and angry +altercation with some one awoke her too rudely to her misery. + +"O, Rupert!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands in agony as she turned +to re-enter her chamber--"Rupert, farewell--farewell forever!" + +"Dearest Mildred!" cried a voice whose tones leaped into her heart +with a strange thrill of joy--"dearest Mildred!" + +Did she still dream--or was it indeed Rupert to whose breast she was +now folded with a bliss too great for words! + +"Thank God, Rupert, you have come!" cried Mildred. + +"Mildred," said Rupert, (for it was indeed Rupert,) "what mean these +tears? Are you not happy--this marriage--" + +"A--h!" shrieked Mildred, clinging to him as though the basilisk hand +of Perozzi were already upon her, "_save me--save me_, Rupert!" + +"_Save_ you! dearest, beloved Mildred--tell me--tell me quick--this +marriage--is it not your own choice?" + +"O no, no, no!" sobbed Mildred. + +"Then no power on earth shall compel you to it! You are mine--mine, +dearest Mildred!" and clasping her once more in his arms, Rupert +kissed the tears from her beautiful eyes, as full of hope and love +they met his beaming gaze. + +"But my grandfather!" she cried, starting up. + +"He is here, dear girl." + +"Here! then lead me to him quickly--let me implore him to have pity +upon me!" + +The arrival of Mr. Dundass upon the scene was wholly unlooked for by +Mr. Donaldson--need we say as wholly unwelcome. Guilt and fear paled +his cheek and almost palsied his tongue as his lips feigned a +welcome--nor was Perozzi less moved. To define the feelings of Mrs. +Donaldson would be difficult. Her love for her daughter had been held +in complete subjugation to the will of her husband, and while she +grieved deeply for the sorrows heaped upon her, her love and fear of +Mr. Donaldson, and her knowledge of his pecuniary distress caused her +at the same time to exert all her influence to rivet the chain around +poor Mildred--so strange is human nature! What then was to be the +result of her father's unexpected visit--was it freedom for +Mildred--was it to heap disgrace upon her husband? + +In the mean time Mr. Dundass had been shown to a private room in a +remote wing of the building, while Mr. Donaldson and Perozzi were +already planning new schemes. They resolved that Mildred should be +kept in ignorance of her grandfather's arrival as long as possible--of +Rupert's they themselves knew nothing--and that on no account should +she be allowed to speak with him privately. The marriage should take +place at an early hour the following morning--_that_ consummated they +would defy even the devil himself! + +Mr. Dundass was sitting sad and sorrowful in the apartment to which he +had been conducted, for this marriage filled him with grief, wondering +that Mildred did not appear to welcome him, or that Rupert did not +return, when the door suddenly opened and Mildred rushed in, and +falling at his feet exclaimed: + +"O dearest, dearest grandfather, pity me--O sacrifice me not to +Perozzi!" + +"Sacrifice you, my darling child! Come to my arms--what mean +you--_sacrifice_--I thought it was your happiness I was securing by +consenting to your union." + +"_Happiness!_ O grandfather--rather my misery!" + +"What does this mean?" exclaimed Mr. Dundass. "There must be treachery +somewhere! God knows how it has grieved my heart to think of your +union with that man--I know him to be a villain, and when repeatedly +urged to consent to the marriage, I as repeatedly refused, until your +own letter--" + +"_My_ letter--good heavens!" exclaimed Mildred. + +"Written in the most moving language, at length won my reluctant +consent!" + +All was now explained, and the villainy of Mr. Donaldson and his +coadjutor made clear. + +"Courage, courage, my darling," said Mr. Dundass, "come with me. Come, +Rupert, I will 'beard the lion in his den,' and make known this +infamous plot--come." + +"My mother--spare _her_, dear grandfather--forgive them all--I am +happy now--let us not mar the pleasure of the guests," interceded +Mildred. + +"You say right, my child--to-morrow will be soon enough. But come with +me, children--let us join the gay assembly--nay, fear not, Mildred. +Perozzi, the villain, he shall not dare even to look upon you!" + +Now strains of delicious music filled the air--lights gleamed--jewels +flashed--feathers waved, and on every side the merry laugh and gay +badinage met the ear from prince and beggar--wild roving gipsy and +sombre nun--knights in armor--minstrels--flower-girls--jugglers and +staid Quakers, as in confused _mélée_ they swept through the +rooms--yet all stood aside in silent admiration as the lovely Mildred +Ward in her graceful Turkish costume, her face beaming with happiness, +entered the saloon leaning on the arm of her gray-haired sire. + +Muttering curses through his closed visor, Perozzi (who was dressed as +a knight of Old Castile) hastily left the scene. He had sought Mildred +in her chamber--she was not there, and well did his guilty fears +surmise where she might be found. One glance at her speaking +countenance was enough. He saw in a moment all was over--that the +fiendish plot so near consummation was betrayed! With terrible oaths +he mounted his mule, and plunging his spurs rowel-deep into the sides +of the poor beast rushed, armed as he was, like some terrible demon +through the peaceful moon-lit vale until he reached the Pen--vowing +that on the morrow he would seize at once with the grip of a harpy +upon the estates of Mr. Donaldson. + +But here, too, he was foiled! Mr. Donaldson, it is true, did not +deserve so much mercy, but when, like a penitent, he came before Mr. +Dundass and confessed his crime, the heart of the old man was moved to +pity. He generously advanced the necessary funds, and wrenched the +Cascade from the clutches of Perozzi. Touched by such unmerited +goodness and generosity, Mr. Donaldson resolved to become a better +man, and to repair by his future conduct the errors of the past. + +At Mount Dundass, whither the whole family accompanied its venerable +proprietor, Rupert received the hand of the happy Mildred, and after +the death of Mr. Dundass, which took place only a few months later, +took his beautiful young bride to England. + + + + +A LAY. + +BY GRACE GREENWOOD. + + + The glorious queen of heaven who flings + Her royal radiance round me now, + As with clasped hands and upturned brow + I watch her pathway fair and free, + Is not so silvery with the light + She pours o'er darkened earth to-night, + As in the gentle thoughts she brings + Of thee, dear love, of thee! + + The night-wind trembling round the rose-- + The starlight floating on the river, + The fearful aspen's silvery shiver, + The dew-drop glistening on the lea, + Night's pure baptism to the flowers-- + All, all bring back our dear, lost hours, + Till every heart-string thrills and glows + For thee, dear-love, for thee! + + And when dawn wakes the Earth with song, + And Nature's heart, so hushed to-night, + Goes leaping in the morning light,-- + While waves flash onward to the sea. + While perfumed dews to heaven arise-- + While glory flashes o'er the skies-- + Still through my soul shall sweet thoughts throng + Of thee, dear love, of thee! + + Ah, thou beloved, whose heart hath thrilled + To blessed dreams and joys with mine, + What power shall change thy love divine, + Or shut its presence out from me! + Since all bright things, from flower to star, + Its types and sweet reminders are + To this fond heart, this soul so filled + With thee, dear love, with thee! + + We part not, though we said adieu-- + Since first thy thoughts chimed in with mine, + And from those glorious eyes of thine + A heaven of love looked down on me, + My very life round thine is poured-- + Thy words within my soul I hoard-- + Still true, in every heart-throb true + To thee, dear love, to thee! + + + + +THE SAILOR'S LIFE-TALE. + +A TRUE REMINISCENCE. + +BY SYBIL SUTHERLAND. + +(DEDICATED TO MY COUSIN MARY S----.) + + + "There's many an 'o'er true' tale, coz, + That comes to the listening ear, + That makes the cheek turn pale, coz, + And brings the glistening tear." + + +During the last summer, Mary mine, I was one of a party of friends, +who, tired of the bustle and confusion of the busy city, resolved to +lay aside business and all other engagements, for the brief space of +one day, which was to be devoted to a picknick in some retired country +location. The destined spot for our intended _fête_ was, after +considerable consultation, at length decided upon, and we unanimously +agreed to spend the day in a pleasant woods in the neighborhood of New +Brighton. + +It was upon a balmy June morning, when, with light hearts, but heavier +baskets, laden with provisions, sun-bonnets, books, music, and sundry +et cæteras indispensable upon such an occasion, we found ourselves +snugly ensconced upon the deck of one of those spacious steamboats +which hourly wend their way toward the sunny shores for which we were +bound; and after an exhilarating sail of half an hour's duration, we +landed at Snug Harbor, and proceeded toward our place of destination, +which was situated about ten minutes' walk distant. + +It was to the Sailor's woods that our steps were bent on the morning +of our picknick. Sauntering slowly through a shady lane we first +passed the great gate leading to the Sailor's Snug Harbor, an +institution which, as you doubtless know, Cousin Mary, was, through +the munificence of a certain private individual, erected some years +since as a place of refuge and repose to the weary, wayworn seaman. +Walking a short distance beyond these stately buildings, we found +ourselves within "the deep solitudes of the leafy wood." + +How shall I describe to you, gentle coz, that dear old woods, as on +that eventful day its beauties and wonders first greeted my gaze? We +had not advanced far within its recesses, when a welcome sound fell +upon our ears, and in a moment more + + + "The flashing ray + Of joyous waters in their play," + + +came gladly upon our sight. A laughing little streamlet rose before +us, its bright waters rippling and dancing, and here and there +illuminated by a stray sunbeam that stole softly and faintly through +the thick foliage of the sturdy old trees above. The brook was narrow, +and one could have crossed it almost at a bound; but there was no +necessity for the exertion, for glancing but a few yards ahead, we +beheld a rustic bridge, which, on nearer approach, proved to be of +cedar, and was ornamented with a sofa of the same material. + +Upon this rude couch we rested awhile till our friend C----, whom we +had elected master of ceremonies, went forward to take a more extended +survey of the woods and its surroundings. In a few minutes we heard a +loud and very expressive halloo from our absent companion, and looking +about to find whence the sound proceeded, we beheld him standing upon +a stone-fence at some distance, and beckoning us to hasten immediately +to his side. The mandate was obeyed, and after a scramble over the +stones, we succeeded in mounting the desired eminence, when a pleasant +sight met our delighted visions. The waters of the brook were here so +managed as to form two sylvan lakes, divided from each other by a +bridge similar to the one previously mentioned. The borders of these +lakes, through one of which glided two stately swans, were supplied +with seats formed of cedar wood, and so arranged as to resemble +lounges, _tête-à-têtes_, and arm-chairs, whose appearance seemed to +invite repose. And here we would fain have lingered, but asserting +that he had something to show us in another direction, C---- bade us +follow him a few steps farther. + +Descending from our elevation, and roaming through a shadowed path, we +at last halted at the door of a diminutive and picturesque-looking +cottage, within which, to our astonishment, was a table, round which +were ranged seats more than sufficient for our number. In no measured +terms did we now express our surprise and delight at thus finding in +the very heart of the wilderness accommodations so necessary, +wondering at the same time whether the fairies had not been there +before us to provide every thing for our convenience. + +Beside the door of this rustic dwelling an old man, evidently nearing +the allotted "three score and ten," was seated upon a rude bench, +busily engaged weaving a small and dainty-looking basket. He was +dressed in a sailor's garb, but there was an indescribable something +in his appearance, betraying that he did not belong to the lowest rank +of seamen. There was a cloud of melancholy upon his countenance, and +though the sounds of laughter and mirth were floating around him, he +desisted not from his occupation, nor even once gazed into the bright +faces by which he was surrounded. Absorbed in his own meditations, he +seemed not to heed nor care for aught else; and it was some time ere +any of us presumed to address him. But after awhile C----, who was on +every occasion the most venturesome of our group, approached the old +man, and endeavored to lead him into conversation. He did not resist +the attempt, and we now learned that the various adornments of the +woods were entirely the handiwork of an aged sailor, to whose taste +and ingenuity many a previous picknick party had owed the greater +portion of its pleasures. He showed us a spring near by, where we +regaled ourselves with a libation of the purest and coldest water, and +told us of a fitting place for a dance, an even, grass-grown spot in +another part of the woods. He also described to us a moss-house, which +he said was located just below the opposite hill, informing us at the +same time that it belonged to the estate of Mr. G----, one of New +York's merchant-princes, who kindly and unselfishly left it free and +open to the inspection of the curious, and wonder-loving community. +And to this latter domain my friends now agreed to adjourn--but much +to my regret, I was unable to accompany them. A severe headache, the +usual result of excitement of any kind, was now exerting its influence +over me; and I was confident, from experience, that my only way of +soon getting rid of it would be by remaining where I was and keeping +perfectly quiet. All of my friends expressed their sorrow at my sudden +indisposition, and each one kindly offered to stay and bear me +company; but unwilling to deprive them of any enjoyment, I declined +their offers, alleging that I should not be altogether alone, as the +old man whom we found there would doubtless continue where he was till +their return. The sailor looked up as I spoke, and said that it was +his intention to remain there for the rest of the morning, adding that +he frequently passed the entire day in the woods. So, assured that I +would not be actually solitary, they at last allowed themselves to be +persuaded to go without me in search of the moss-house. + +After watching their forms till they had quite receded from my view, I +re-entered the arbor where the old sailor was still at work, and +seated myself very comfortably in a rocking-chair. It was somewhat of +an oddity, too, Mary--that rocking-chair; and though I had almost +forgotten to mention the circumstance to you, the first discovery of +such an article of furniture in the woods had been a source of +infinite amusement to my companions and myself. It was built of cedar, +to correspond with the other various decorations of the woods, and +though hewn of the roughest material, for ease and grace of motion, I +might confidently challenge the drawing-room of a fashionable lady to +produce its equal. Again, I say, it was an oddity--that rocking-chair. +But the powers of my simple pen being scarcely adequate to a +description of it, this being, as I have styled it, a true +reminiscence, I would advise and invite you, dear Mary, if you wish to +behold the rocker, and judge of its _indescribable_ merits, to +accompany me on the first summer's day you may have to spare, to the +pleasantest and most romantic spot in the immediate vicinity of New +York--the Sailor's Woods at Snug Harbor. + +But to go on with my record. After enjoying for a space the easy +lulling motion of this inimitable chair; and after bathing my head +repeatedly in water from the woodland-spring, I began to feel +considerably revived, while the pure air, and the stillness that +reigned around, were of especial benefit to my aching temples. The +pain gradually grew less and less tormenting, till at length it was no +longer felt, and again I found myself watching the old sailor, who sat +at a few paces from me weaving his pretty, delicate basket. Gathering +courage, I entered into conversation with him. He had stated +previously that his abode was at "the Harbor," so I now made some +inquiries concerning that institution, its regulations, &c., and he +very readily gave me all the requisite information. + +"They must be very happy, are they not?" I asked, referring to the +members of the institution of which we were speaking; "very happy and +very thankful, too, to have had so pleasant a home provided for them +in their old age?" + +"They are generally contented," was the reply, "but there are many +among their number who, having no fears for their earthly future, +allow their minds to dwell too earnestly upon the past--and wo be to +them, if one voice from the memories of bygone days comes back with +reproachful accents!" He sighed heavily--and for some moments there +was a pause. At length, raising his eyes hastily to mine, he said, + +"Young lady--do you think that _I_ am happy?" + +The question was altogether so abrupt and unexpected, that I scarcely +knew what to answer; but, after some little hesitation, I replied, "I +do not, sir. There is too much of sadness in your countenance to speak +of a mind quite at ease. I should think that you had known many +sorrows." + +"You are right," he rejoined, in a voice of emotion, "I have, indeed, +borne the burden of many griefs; but, alas! I do not mourn them so +much as the errors of a heart but for whose weakness they had never +oppressed me. I know not what it is, young lady, that prompts me to +confide to you my history. But, perchance, it may serve you as a +warning--it may impress more strongly upon your mind that divine law +of forgiveness inculcated by Him who pardons _our_ trespasses, 'as we +forgive those who trespass against us.' There is a passage in the +'Book of Books' that never fails to convey to me a reproof, for I +remembered not the lesson till it was too late to profit by it. 'Then +came one of his disciples unto him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my +brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times? Jesus +saith unto him, I say not unto thee until seven times; but until +seventy times seven.'" + +Though somewhat surprised at the turn matters were taking, yet, as the +speaker had paused, and was now apparently awaiting some token on my +part of interest in his proposed narration, _I_, of course, entreated +him to proceed. Nor was he long in complying with my desire. + +It was truly a touching story, dear Mary. I would, indeed, that I +could "tell the tale as 'twas told to me." And yet I would not, if I +possessed the power, portray the mournful accents of that old man's +voice, and the sorrowing expression of his countenance--for the +picture would make you weep. I may not attempt to recall the sketch in +the language of the aged sailor, for that it would be utterly +impossible to do; but I will strive to repeat it to you after my own +peculiar fashion, and to the best of my ability. Could I boast your +incomparable grace of diction, Mary, I might do full justice to my +subject. But I know that with your accustomed kindness you will +overlook the faults which I humbly trust that time and practice may +enable me to overcome. So, having thus worthily delivered my preface, +let me hasten at once to my task. + +Some sixty years since, there dwelt in the city of Boston, a merchant +by the name of Sydney--a man justly beloved and respected for +benevolence of character, integrity of purpose and of principle, and +envied by the worldly for the enormous income which enabled him to +surround his family with every luxury that money could procure. Early +in life he had married a beautiful girl, to whom he was tenderly +devoted. A son, whose name was Arthur, and who, to come at once to the +point, was the original narrator of this story, was the sole offspring +of this happy union, and, as may be supposed, the pride and idol of +his parents. They watched over him with the most untiring affection, +and endeavored to instil into his young mind those firm and honorable +principles which rendered their own lives so lovely. But at the age of +ten years the hand of death deprived Arthur Sydney of his gentle +mother, and daily he missed her counsels and her embrace, and most +bitterly did he mourn for the footstep that was to come no more. + +The loss of his wife was a stunning blow to Mr. Sydney. He never +married again, for he had loved the departed one too well to think for +an instant of supplying her place; and so four more years elapsed, and +his child continued to be the only object of his cares. But at the +termination of that period this good and just man was called to a +mansion beyond the skies, doubtless there to claim the crown of +immortality. And then Arthur was left alone in the wide world--a young +and almost broken-hearted orphan. + +Upon searching into Mr. Sydney's affairs soon after his decease, to +the surprise of every one, instead of leaving his son in the +possession of an immense estate, there was not quite sufficient to +meet the demands of creditors. When Arthur Sydney became older, he +could not help suspecting that there was some mystery about this, for +strictly honest as he had ever known his father to be, he could not +believe that he would ever have swerved thus from the path of right. +What was in reality the cause of this deficiency, whether it was +owing, as his son afterward thought, to the craft and fraud of his +executors, can only be answered from the curtain of futurity. + +The mansion where Arthur's early years had passed so happily, was now +sold, with all its effects, and the lonely orphan took up his abode +beneath the roof of an uncle. But, alas! it was not like the home he +had lost--the dear hearth of his sunny childhood. His relative, Mr. +Lindsay, was a far different being from his deceased parent, and +though, like the latter, he lived in splendor, he knew not how to +enjoy it. Devoid of that generosity of spirit which Mr. Sydney had +possessed, he was also of a morose, exacting, and passionate nature, +and his family, instead of hailing his presence with delight, shrunk +from him ever with indifference, and sometimes with trembling. +Governed by the law of fear instead of that of love, it was scarcely +to be wondered at that his children resorted to every petty means of +covering their faults, and were often guilty of deception and +falsehood. Arthur Sydney's education had been widely different, and he +despised the meannesses which his cousins practiced; but when he +expostulated with them, as he frequently did, his words invariably +drew upon himself a torrent of invectives. They taunted him with his +dependence upon their father's charity, and asked what right a beggar +had to preach to _them_; and then the youth's proud heart would swell +within him, and he would rush to his own little room, and there, +unseen, give full vent to his wounded feelings. + +His eldest cousin, Alfred Lindsay, who was always foremost in every +plan of mischief, and the most perfect adept in concealing the part he +had taken in it, was a twelvemonth Arthur's senior. From earliest +childhood the two had evinced a dislike to each other's society, and +as they grew up, the feeling did not diminish. At school they had been +rivals, and Arthur had now far outstripped Alfred in their course of +study. In various other ways he had also quite unintentionally foiled +his cousin's ambition; and he was convinced that at the first +opportunity Alfred would have his revenge. Too soon was the +fore-boding realized. + +Mr. Lindsay one afternoon entered the room where his children +generally spent their leisure hours, and with threatening looks +announced that he had lost a ten dollar bank note. He had missed it +under such circumstances that he was sure it must have been purloined +by one of the younger members of his family; and he now declared his +intention of searching both their persons and their apartments, that +he might, if possible, discover the guilty one. Very pale were the +young faces that now gathered round him; and though Arthur's heart was +free from reproach, he, too, trembled with fear for the criminal. I +need not dwell upon the details of that search, but suffice it to say +that the bank-note was found--found in _Arthur Sydney's_ apartment, +within a little box that always stood upon his dressing-table as the +honored receptacle of his parents' miniatures. Vainly did he assert +his ignorance as to how it came there--his uncle refused to listen to +his words, and loaded with passionate reproaches, he was dismissed to +his own room, there to remain till he received permission to leave +it. + +It was a long while ere the boy became sufficiently calm to reflect +upon what had occurred, for the thought that he was accused of theft +came with such bitterness to his soul that for several hours he was +almost frantic. But as he grew more composed he became confident that +this was the work of Alfred, and he remembered the triumphant leer +that stood upon his cousin's countenance when the hiding-place of the +missing note was proclaimed. + +Just at this moment his meditations were disturbed by the sound of +footsteps stealthily approaching his door, and the next instant it was +opened, and Alfred Lindsay stood upon the threshold, gazing exultingly +upon Arthur's misery, while a malicious smile wreathed his lips as +pointing his finger exultingly at him, the single word, "thief!" fell +upon the ear of his victim. Oh! how that undeserved epithet stung the +innocent and sensitive boy; and, almost maddened by the sense of his +injuries, he rushed toward the offender, impelled by but one +thought--the wish for revenge. But, coward-like, Alfred fled from his +approach, and then closing the door, and locking it, Arthur threw +himself upon his couch in tearless, voiceless agony. It was not until +the shades of evening had closed in that he roused himself from the +stupor into which he had been thrown by those overpowering emotions. +And now came a determination that he would no longer remain in his +uncle's house, where he knew that he must ever after be subjected to +the sneers and gibes of his cousins. He resolved to quit Mr. Lindsay's +dwelling, though he knew not of any other roof where he might find a +shelter for his aching head. + +That night, when the unbroken stillness that reigned around gave +assurance that the family had all retired to rest, Arthur Sydney stole +softly down the stairs, and taking with him nothing but a small bundle +of clothing, and the few treasured memorials of other days that he +could lawfully call his own, he left forever the mansion of his uncle. +And as he looked his last upon the home of Alfred Lindsay, there rose +in his heart a wild, dark resolve, that if he ever possessed the +power, his cousin should one day reap the fruits of his evil deed. + +For hours the youth wandered listlessly through the now deserted +streets of the city, till at last overcome with fatigue, and +completely unnerved as the full sense of his desolate situation burst +upon him, he seated himself near the edge of one of the wharves, and +wept long and bitterly. Suddenly a hand was laid upon his shoulder, +and a voice whose tones though rough were yet full of sympathy, +inquired the cause of his grief, and looking hastily up, he beheld a +man apparently about fifty years of age, and habited in a seaman's +garb. Touched with his kindness, in the first impulse of the moment, +Arthur gave him a brief account of his misfortunes. When he had +concluded, much to his surprise, his listener informed him that he had +known his father, who had, years before, rendered him an important +service, in return for which, he said that he would now willingly do +all in his power to serve the child of one to whom he was so deeply +indebted. He told Arthur that he was at present commander of a large +vessel lying close at hand, and which was to sail the following day +for South America, and asked if he would be willing to accompany him, +and learn to be a sailor like himself. The idea was a novel one, and +the boy seized upon it with avidity, as beside being his only +available means of obtaining life's necessaries, he knew that by +embracing it he should lose the chance of meeting those relatives whom +he cared no more to behold. And when he at once expressed his +readiness to go, his new friend patted his head in token of approval, +prophesied that he would prove a brave mariner, and then taking his +young companion by the hand, led him toward the ship which was +henceforth to be his abiding-place. The next day Arthur bade adieu to +his native city, and commenced his career as a seamen. But upon the +events of that career I have not time to linger. For years Captain +Carter, for such was his patron's name, continued to treat his +_protegé_ with unremitting favor, sharing with him all the nautical +knowledge he had acquired, and using every endeavor for his +advancement. At the age of eight-and-twenty, through this kind +friend's interest, Arthur was himself raised to the post of captain, +and took possession of a packet-ship sailing between the ports of New +York and Southampton. He had now attained the summit of his hopes, for +a way was opened before him of obtaining, what had long been his +desire, a competence, which would enable him to resume that station in +life which his father had occupied, and of supplying also to his +parent's creditors the sum of which they had been so strangely +defrauded. And at the close of five more years he had the satisfaction +of knowing that this latter purpose was accomplished. + +It was about this period that an incident occurred which had a +material influence over the future destiny of Arthur Sydney. During +one of his voyages, accident revealed to his notice the wreck of what +had once apparently been a noble vessel. He immediately despatched a +boat with a portion of his crew to survey the ruins, and ascertain if +any of the passengers survived. They returned, bringing with them the +inanimate form of a lovely girl, seemingly not more than eighteen +years old. Every effort was used for her speedy restoration to +consciousness, but it was nearly two hours ere she opened her eyes, +and then she was so weak as to be quite unable to move or speak. Her +delicate frame was evidently exhausted by long fasting, and the +fearful scenes she must have witnessed; and for the whole of that day +Sydney watched beside her with feelings of the strongest sympathy for +her sufferings. The next morning she was much better, she could +recline in an easy chair, and had acquired sufficient strength to +relate her history. She was a native of Italy--the youngest daughter +of an ancient and noble family, whose father having been undeservedly +regarded by the government with suspicion, was threatened with +imprisonment, and had barely time to escape with his household on +board of a ship bound for America. That vessel was the one whose wreck +Captain Sydney had espied, and of the large number of souls within +it, who had departed but a few weeks before from Italia's sunny +shores, but one remained--that gentle and helpless maiden. For three +days she had continued upon the wreck without the slightest +sustenance, haunted by the memories of the terrible past, and +expecting that each instant would dash the frail fabric to pieces, and +precipitate her also into the deep, dark sea, till at length +consciousness forsook her, and in a death-like swoon she forgot the +dangers by which she was surrounded. + +With tears of anguish she now spoke of the dear ones lost to her +forever on earth--the loved mother, the noble father, the darling +sisters, and the cherished brother, over each one of whom she had +beheld the wild waves close. Then she lamented her desolation, utterly +destitute, and nearing the shores of a foreign land, where no familiar +voice would accord her a welcome. There was a similarity in her +situation to what had once been his own, and as Sydney listened, the +story inspired him with an interest in that fair being such as he had +never till then experienced for a fellow-creature. He used every +effort to console her--gave her an account of his own early life, and +bade her trust in the kind Providence who in the hour of need had +given _him_ a friend. He assured her also that he, at least, would not +forsake her, but that he would endeavor to place her in some way of +gaining her own livelihood till she could write to and hear from her +friends in Italy; and begged that she would look upon him as a +brother. She heard him with glistening eyes, and clasping his hand in +hers, with child-like earnestness expressed her thanks for his +kindness. + +During the rest of that voyage Captain Sydney spent every leisure +moment by the side of his beautiful charge. Returning health imparted +a bloom to her cheek, and a lustre to her soft, dark eyes, and as +Arthur gazed upon her, he often thought that earth had never owned a +fairer flower. It was not long ere he became fully conscious that she +daily grew dearer to him, and great was his joy as he marked the flush +that invariably rose to her pure forehead when he approached. And when +at length he poured his tale of love into the ear of the sweet Leonor, +the reply that he sought was given with an impassioned fervor that +sent a thrill of rapture to his soul. + +They were united the day that they landed at New York, and renting a +small but pretty cottage in the outskirts of the city, Captain Sydney +installed his Leonor as the mistress of that pleasant domain. Here, +amidst flowers and birds, and enlivened by the music of two loving +hearts, the time glided tranquilly away till the hour of separation +arrived--and, for the first time, Sydney quitted the land with regret, +and embarked once more upon the deep blue ocean. + +Eight years after his marriage, Captain Sydney was destined to weep +over the cold corpse of his lovely wife. She had never enjoyed +uninterrupted health since her residence beneath the variable clime of +her adoption, and at last she fell a victim to consumption. Vainly did +the anxious husband consult the most celebrated physicians--the +disease was incurable, and ere the blossoms of spring again burst +forth, Leonor slumbered beneath the sod. Wild, indeed, was the grief +of the bereaved one at her loss--but he recovered the first effects of +his sorrow, and leaving his only child, Harry, a brave boy just six +years of age, under the guardianship of a friend who had loved the +departed mother, Sydney resumed his former vocation. + +Years again fled. Harry Sydney attained the age of manhood--and every +one that knew him loved him, for he was a fine, manly fellow, +honorable and generous in every impulse, with a heart susceptible of +the warmest sympathies. He inherited his mother's ardent temperament, +and was of a sensitive and impassioned nature. Captain Sydney had +destined him for a merchant, and as such he had just commenced life +with every prospect of success. Had he been allowed to take his own +inclination as a guide, Harry would fain have followed the sea. But to +this his father was averse, and early, at his command, he relinquished +the desire. + +Upon his son all the hopes of Captain Sydney were centered. It was his +earnest wish to see him happily married, and determined to express the +desire to Harry, he one day sought his side for that purpose. Both to +his surprise and approval, the latter informed his father that he had +already met one to whom his heart's warmest affections were given. He +added that the young lady, though poor and dependent upon her own +exertions for her support, and that of an invalid father, was the +descendant of a family said to be highly respectable. "Her +grandfather," he continued, "was Robert Lindsay, a well-known merchant +of Boston; and though his son, Alfred, has dissipated the patrimony +left him by his parent, and now relies solely for maintenance upon the +proceeds of his daughter's needle, I am sure, my dear father, this +praiseworthy effort, on the part of one so young and lovely as Ida, +will but elevate her in your estimation?" + +"Robert Lindsay! Alfred Lindsay!" were the exclamations of Captain +Sydney, in a voice full of passion, as those well-remembered names +fell upon his ear for the first time in many years; "boy--did you say +that _Alfred Lindsay_ was her parent? Then be assured that never, +while life lasts, will I give my consent to your marriage with the +daughter of him who was the enemy of my unprotected youth!" + +"Father--what mean you?" asked Harry, in tones of amazement, for the +tale whose memory had so sudden an effect upon his companion, had +never been breathed to him. And suddenly recalled to a sense of his +son's ignorance upon the subject, Captain Sydney now hurriedly +sketched the history of the past. + +"It is very strange," said Harry, musingly; "but they never mentioned +that they were related to me. It is probable that Ida's father, if +aware of the fact, concealed it from her knowledge." + +"Or rather that he instigated her to keep it a secret, that in the end +she might reap the benefit of his injured cousin's wealth," was the +rejoinder. + +"Oh, no, father!" replied the young man, warmly. "I could not wrong +Ida by a suspicion of that kind. She is too good and pure-hearted to +countenance deception, and," he added, after a moment's hesitation, +"I cannot give her up and wreck both her own happiness and mine, for +the sake of her parent's faults." + +These words aroused Captain Sydney's indignation. He accused his son +of want of spirit in refusing to resent the occurrences that clouded +his youth; and when Harry responded that he felt them deeply, but +could not on their account brand himself with dishonor, by breaking +the troth already plighted to Ida Lindsay, his father parted from him +in anger, declaring that if his son married Ida, he might never expect +his blessing. + +The thought of uniting his son by indissoluble ties to the child of +his early foe, was, indeed, repugnant to the heart of Captain Sydney; +and while he remembered his resolve uttered on the night when he went +forth from his uncle's roof a desolate, friendless and dishonored +being--dishonored through the machinations of his cousin Alfred--he +was determined that it should be fulfilled, even though in so doing he +thwarted the earnest wishes of the one dearest to him. + +A few days afterward Captain Sydney departed upon one of his +accustomed voyages, and was absent several months. On his return he +found his son just recovering from a lingering fever, brought on, as +the physician averred, by distress of mind. He looked very pale and +thin, and his father could scarcely help feeling a sensation akin to +reproach, as he gazed upon that colorless cheek and wasted form. He +knew that this indisposition was occasioned by the manner in which he +had treated his son's engagement, for, through the medium of a friend, +he had learned that Ida Lindsay had nobly refused longer to encourage +attentions, which, as she learned from Harry, were tendered in +opposition to his father's desires. Alfred Lindsay, too, had died a +few weeks before, and the object of his resentment being no more, +Captain Sydney began to feel less reluctant to the match which he had +at first looked upon with such violent disapprobation. Conscience told +him he had acted cruelly in thus casting a blight over his child's +sweetest hopes, and he was determined that he would now do all in his +power to further them. And when Harry grew strong enough to bear a +conversation upon the subject, he communicated the change in his +feelings. Both startled and appalled was he at his son's reply. + +"My father, would you mock me with this show of kindness, when it is +too late to profit by it? Know you not that she is now dying of +consumption? I was sure that _she_ was too delicate to endure the +steady occupation necessary for her support--and my presentiment has +been verified. Yes, Ida Lindsay is dying! I would have saved her--I +would have borne her to a more genial clime, where she might, perhaps, +have revived; but she refused to give me a right to be her guardian, +for it was against the will of my parent, without whose sanction, she +said, our union would never prosper." + +He bowed his face, while for an instant his frame shook with emotion. +Hastily his father drew nearer to him, but he turned shudderingly +from those words of penitence and self-reproach, and dashing aside the +extended hand, rushed from the apartment. + +It was, indeed, too true--Ida Lindsay was dying! The constant +confinement called for by her continued exertions to obtain a +livelihood, had proved too much for a constitution by no means +strong--and it was his anxiety for her failing health which had caused +the illness of Harry Sydney. Oh! what would not the erring father have +given for power to recall the past; but it was too late--too late! A +few hours after the interview with his son the intelligence of Ida's +death was received, and during the whole of the succeeding evening +Captain Sydney could plainly distinguish the sound of Harry's +footsteps as he wildly paced his chamber, and each echo sent a thrill +of remorse to his soul. Little did the repentant and sorrowing parent +then think it was the last time that footfall would ever resound in +his dwelling--for that night Harry Sydney departed from his home, +leaving no trace of his destination. Days, weeks, months passed on, +and the heart of his father grew dark with the anguish of despair, for +he felt most surely that he should behold his son no more. Whither the +latter had gone was a mystery he tried in vain to solve, though +sometimes he remembered Harry's predilection for a mariner's life, and +blighted as he had been in his affections, might he not now have +followed the yearnings of former times, as the only means of gaining +oblivion of his sorrows? So, night after night, Captain Sydney sat +alone at his deserted hearth--a father, and yet childless, with a host +of dark recollections pressing heavily upon his spirit. And at last he +sought forgetfulness of his errors in the sparkling wine-cup, whose +draught he drained with an intense eagerness, for it enabled him to +mock at his misery. + +And so five more years passed on, during which period his mind was +seldom free from the delirium produced by the practices to which he +had resorted; and having, in utter recklessness of spirit dissipated +his property, deprived, through his own weakness, of his rank as +captain, he was at length forced to lower himself to the grade of a +common sailor, for the purpose of obtaining the means of subsistence. +Then a severe illness, caused by free indulgence in intoxicating +liquors, overtook him--and with sickness came reflection, and he +resolved to yield no longer to the voice of the tempter. He recovered +from his dangerous indisposition, but remaining fearfully weak, the +physician declared that his constitution was completely shattered, and +that he was no longer fit for service. At first he insisted upon +resuming his wonted occupation, for he had no other way of maintaining +himself. The physician seemed to comprehend his reluctance to obey his +command, and he now reminded his patient of an institution in the +vicinity of New York, where the indigent mariner might find a home. + +It was then that Captain Sydney--for so let me still continue to call +him--sought the peaceful shades of "the Harbor," where for two years +he had, indeed, found all the external comforts of a home, and but +for the voices of the past he would have had no cause to repine. + +About a twelvemonth after his arrival at "the Harbor," a new inmate +was admitted there, in the person of an invalid sailor, who was said +to be in a deep decline. He seldom left the apartment allotted to him, +save now and then of a warm sunny day, when he would go forth, leaning +upon the arm of an attendant, and seating himself upon a bench in the +garden beneath the shade of a tree, remain there for hours, gazing +silently upon the blue waters of the bay before him. Regarded by all +as in a dying state, no one strove at these times to disturb his +reverie. His situation had excited universal sympathy, and frequently +the other sailors would steal to his side and softly deposit there a +small basket of fruit, or some little delicacy which they knew would +prove acceptable to him on whom it was bestowed. + +Habitually reserved, and cultivating but little intercourse with those +around him, it was scarcely a matter of surprise that for some weeks +Captain Sydney took but little notice of the sailor of whom I have +been speaking. But chance at length brought him more fully beneath the +scope of his observation. While one day walking in the garden, buried +in thought, almost unconsciously he neared the spot generally occupied +by the invalid. But he heeded not the vicinity till startled by the +sound of a hollow cough, and looking hastily up, he met the gaze of +the feeble stranger. A half-suppressed cry burst from the latter, and +springing quickly forward, Captain Sydney caught him in his arms, +while the words, "Harry! my son--my son!" came in a tone of agony from +his lips. But he heeded not the caresses--he answered not the words of +mingled endearment and reproach which his parent murmured as he bent +wildly over him; and when at length the stricken father became calm +enough to summon assistance, they told him that the spirit of his +child was at rest. + + * * * * * + +Such, my dear cousin, was the old man's history; and as he ceased, his +head leaned droopingly upon his hand, while his whole attitude +betokened the most intense mental suffering. For some moments there +was silence between us, for I felt that words were insufficient to +console him. But suddenly the stillness was broken by the sound of +lively voices approaching, and I recognized the tones of my +long-absent companions, and knew that they were close at hand. In a +few seconds more, they appeared near the stone-fence, which I have +once before alluded to. The old sailor evidently wished to avoid them, +for their gayety was discordant to his feelings. Rising from his seat, +he now drew closer to the spot where I was stationed. + +"Farewell, young lady," were his parting words, as he clasped my +extended hand, and for a moment that pale, sad face, looked so +mournfully into mine, that tears of the deepest commiseration sprung +involuntarily to my eyes, "we may never meet again, and I trust you +will forgive me, if the repetition of my sorrows has cast a shadow +upon your heart. Remember me in your prayers, if you will, and ask +that I may soon be borne to my last repose in the little grave-yard +yonder, where my son lies sleeping. Farewell." + +An instant more and he was gone--and for some moments I remained +seated where he had left me, patiently awaiting the approach of my +friends, and meanwhile musing earnestly and sadly upon the Sailor's +Life-Tale. + + + + +THE MOURNERS. + + + Where'er I wander forth I view the mournful ones of earth: + They tread no more, with buoyant feet, the radiant halls of mirth; + Around their trembling frames are drawn the weary weeds of wo; + Their sighs, like cold November rains, with saddened cadence flow; + From the dead hopes and faded joys of bright departed years, + They twine a garland for the brow, impearled with many tears; + Upon the graves of buried loves they sit awhile and sigh, + Then, mid the ruin-mantled waste of time, lie down to die. + + They close their weary eyes upon God's calm and holy light; + They dwell girt round with misery as with a starless night; + They fold a thick and icy shroud their care-worn bosoms round, + And rest beneath the baleful charm like streams by winter bound; + They nurse their sorrow till of all their thoughts it grows a part, + And, like a cold and mighty snake, twines round the bleeding heart; + And then its hissing tones descend in drops of fiery rain, + And scathe, as lightning flashes blast, the weak and wandering brain. + + The mourners chant, with voices low, a sweet and sighing strain, + That moans, as on a rocky shore, the solemn sounding main: + It breathes alike when summer fades and when the violets spring; + It mingles with the morning light and evening twilight dim. + This is the burden of that faint and melancholy lay: + "The cloud of wo hath hid the smiles and beauty of the day; + The glow of earth, the radiant gleam, the bliss of life is o'er; + The rose of human love may bloom for us no more--_no more_." + + Arise, be strong, O, mournful ones! The Future is your own; + There Love may weave her rosy nest, there Joy erect a throne. + Though youth's pale buds in early Spring were blighted and laid low, + Thine yet may be the peerless bloom of life's rich summer glow. + The blissful ones, the glorified, build up their own bright state. + Let but the slumbering spirit learn "to labor and to wait," + Then, like a bird of tireless wing, 'twill rise above the storm, + And bathe its flashing pinions in the glory of the morn! + + REV. T. L. HARRIS. + + + + +REFLECTIONS + +ON SOME OF THE EVENTS OF THE YEAR 1848. + +BY JOSEPH R. CHANDLER. + +_Annus Mirabilis._ + + +We are approaching the close of the year--a year marked by greater +vicissitudes in the affairs of nations than any in which we have +lived--any indeed of which we have read. History gives us accounts of +the rapid march and equally rapid conquests by ambitious kings, who +seemed only happy in the unhappiness of others, and only proud of +destroying that which constituted the pride of others. From time to +time ambitious men have exhibited themselves in the great theatre of +the world, and their greatness has been measured by the extent of +misery they have produced; and their claims to permanent fame have +rested upon the rapidity that marked their destruction of cities, +kingdoms and empires. While between the epochs which are distinguished +by these promoters of extensive mischief, there have at all times been +humble imitators of their crimes, whose limited power of doing +confined their actions to provinces, and compelled them to be +ministers of local vengeance, and the enjoyers of that petty infamy +which results from numerable murders and calculable crime. It is but +too evident that order has had its antagonists, at all times and in +all degrees, and if history has been employed with the works of those +whose extensive scale of action gives larger consequence to their +movements, it cannot be doubted that society has been convulsed at its +centre by the restless and the bad, who have been as efficient in +their sphere of wrong doing as have been those who occupied a larger +space. The latter struck the elevated, and disturbed public relations; +the former sent home its weapon to the humble, and brought disturbance +and misery into the more limited circle, reaching social life and +stabbing even to the heart of domestic peace. + +Such great events have marked epochs, or made them; and such small +occurrences have been the characteristics of almost all times; so that +the wars of the present century may be considered but as continuations +of the belligerent movements of other times, modified indeed by the +improvement of the present age, but still of the same spirit and from +the same motives. But the events of the past year are of another kind. +The disturbances that have distinguished the history of Europe in that +time are not the result of the mad ambition of a conqueror to add to +his possessions, and subjugate kings and kingdoms as a means of +gratifying ambition; foreign conquest and invasion from abroad are not +now the occurrences which European rulers fear or anticipate. The +convulsions that distinguish every empire from the Atlantic to the +Black Sea, has nothing to do with the ambition of other _rulers_ but +are referable to the rising spirit of their own _people_. No longer do +the States of Germany combine to repel the assaults of the ruler of +France. Each member of the nominal confederacy is looking to itself as +possessing the active means of revolution, and each leans toward a +combination that shall sustain the rights of the people and put a +specific limit to the power of princes. + +No longer do men startle at the grasping avarice of the upper powers +demanding new possessions and the recognition of enlarged prerogative; +no longer is the peace of nations disturbed by the attempts of an +ambitious ruler to extend his domains and enlarge his power. The +convulsions that are everywhere in Europe felt, come from the +up-heaving of the lower masses; deep down in the bosom of empires is +heard the voice of multitudes crying out for newly understood rights. +Up from that stratum comes a convulsive heave, that is toppling down +the thrones that have rested upon the hearts of the people, and not +outside the national limits, not at the terminal portions, not at the +"outer walls" of the capital is the movement felt--but within, at the +heart of the nation, within the shadow of the palace, along the quays +where business is pursued, in the narrow walks of trade, over the +bench of the artisan, or in the boudoir of beauty, is planned the +movement that is subverting thrones and leveling up society. For +nearly a century past have there been at work the elements of such +convulsion. The struggle of the antagonistic powers has been such that +results were postponed--only postponed--while the injurers lost power, +and the injured gathered strength. Premonitory movements were +observed, and in some instances seconded, as in France, in others +allayed by power or concessions, as in Austria and Great Britain. But +when the whole is only a right, the acquisition of a part is only a +prelude to a struggle for more, and this has been seen in every nation +where concession was made to the people, or wrung by force from the +rulers. + +But there was reserved for the present year the great assertion of +human rights. The annunciation was first made in France, where tyranny +galled the sensitive portions of the people, or where a taste of +temporary freedom had created an appetite for constant enjoyment. The +flight of Louis Philippe seemed sudden--startling--almost without a +cause; and if nothing but the _émeute_ in Paris is regarded, certainly +the effect was entirely disproportioned to the cause. But the +revolution of the 22d of February was a natural consequence of the +pre-existing state of things. The fall of the leaf in autumn is not a +more natural result of a waning season than was the fall of Louis +Philippe a consequence of exhausted monarchy. The spirit of the people +had come up to that point at which monarchy must either assume the +form of absolutism, and rule by fear alone, or must yield to the +upward pressure of the people, and its possessors seek to escape the +opposing principle which they could not withstand. Louis Philippe +tried the former--it was too late--the army, that last hope of +tyrants, the sword and the bayonet _hired_ to defend the throne became +the people's support--failing in the effort to fix his power by blood, +Louis Philippe fled to save his life; a common movement of French +monarchs. + +France may or may not establish republican institutions. Love of +monarchy will not prevent the fulfillment of her people's +hopes--difference of opinion as it regards degrees of freedom, and +want of self sacrifice, we mean the sacrifice of personal views, +(there will never be a want of self sacrifice of human life in +France,) will do more to retard the establishment of republicanism in +France than all the lingering attachments to monarchy that can be +hunted up in the Faubourg de St. Germain, or in all the isolated +châteux of the interior of the country. The habits, not the affections +of the mass of the French people may also be regarded as one obstacle +to true republicanism--a constantly diminishing obstacle, it is true, +but still a formidable obstacle. + +The revolution in France was the signal (not the _preconcerted_ +signal, as it should have been,) for a general insurrectionary +movement, and no sooner had the press announced the departure of Louis +Philippe, than forthwith Poland gave signs of life--Austria heaved +with the workings of the under stratum--Hungary demanded +independence--Prussia was in an insurrectionary state--a voice was +heard from Russia--and Italy from the Alps to the Straights of Otranto +began to try the strength of those fetters which indolence, ignorance +and ease had allowed to be fastened upon her. The history of the +revolutionary movements on this peninsula has yet to be written; it is +full of interest, and if presented impartially, with a correct +reference to causes, both of tyranny and insurrection, must prove +deeply moving and instructive. We cannot do more than refer to the +fact that Italy has been aroused; that tyranny has received a blow +from which it can never wholly recover, and that there, as well as +elsewhere, the rights of man have been proclaimed--proclaimed in +part--proclaimed with doubts, with erroneous conceptions, with false +views and an unchastened spirit, but still proclaimed, and what is +more, openly admitted--admitted with purer views of property, more +definite ideas of practicability, chastened wishes and paternal +feelings. All is right in its tendencies. The false perceptions are +owing to the suddenness of the light recently admitted. The +inclusiveness of demands spring from a want of knowledge of the +sacrifices which order requires from the friends of liberty--success +will correct these views, and experience show the path which true +patriotism opens. + +Regarding, as we do, all movements as effects of Providential +direction, we cannot forbear to consider the election of Pius IX. to +the papal throne as an important part of that providence, in regard to +the Peninsula of Italy in particular, and, perhaps, to the whole +world. The correctness of the doctrine which makes that prelate a +spiritual chief, or the propriety of uniting temporal with spiritual +power, are questions to be settled elsewhere. Both exist, and both +have an influence on the movements of nations; and the character of +the new administrator of the Papal See, had at once an effect on his +own subjects and upon all the people of Italy, and, through the +people, upon the rulers. The new Pope seemed to have stepped forward a +century from the line occupied by his predecessor, and to have stood +in the front ranks of the reformers of the age. He was young, no old +habits of yielding retarded his movements. He was young, none of the +nervous tremulousness of age, that is shocked at the proposition of +_change_, made him deaf to the demands of the time. He was young, and +he had not yet been hardened into that unyieldingness of age that +distinguishes the veteran church-man, who mingles the necessity of +faith in _divine_ doctrines with the necessity of non-resistance to +human precepts. He knew and sympathized in the feelings which had +animated the Italians: he was not ignorant that the prisons had been +filled by men charged with crimes which the oppression of Austria +provoked, and which the espionage of Austria detected and caused to be +punished. He felt that his own temporal power was abused by the +overawing influence of Austria, and he pardoned those who had offended +only a foreign potentate, and were suffering under the condemnation of +their own rulers. He would have led the movement to a peaceful and +desirable result, but, alas! the oppression of centuries had made the +many mad; and their limbs had been so galled with the manacles of +political oppression that they became restive under the wholesome +restraints that order and appropriate government demand; dragged +forward by these eccentric bodies, and restrained by the timidity and +prejudices of some of his legitimate advisers, Pius has felt that his +triple crown was the means of triple sorrow; but he has also shown +that he understood the maxim, that "he only is fitted to rule who +knows how to sacrifice." + +The arms of the Italian States and the influence of the Pope have been +successful against Austria, and even though that overgrown and tumid +empire should reconquer all her late possessions in Lombardy, and be +as omnipotent in Venice as she is in Triest or Vienna, still the +prestige of power is gone, and she can no longer extend an influence +over the human mind that tends upward in its views. The _taste_ of +independence has been enjoyed--the tree of knowledge has yielded some +of its fruits--and hereafter there can be no rest, no quiet, without +something of liberty, much of science. + +The question has been raised as to the existence of the power of the +Pope deprived of his temporalities. That is, can the Pope yield up the +government of the Papal States to a secular ruler, and maintain the +full amount of spiritual power which he now exercises, and which he +and those of his creed deem a necessary portion of his official life. + +We are noways concerned in the settlement of that question, beyond its +bearing upon the condition of Italy, and through her upon many other +portions of the earth. We do not know that there is _now_ any +probability that the Papal States will pass under another ruler than +the Pope; but we entertain no doubt that the Pope could exercise all +the functions of Bishop of Rome, with all the supremacy which he +claims for that office over other bishoprics, as well without the +appanages of temporalities as with them. There is nothing in the +office, or all that is claimed for it, that renders direct temporal +power necessary. Bishops of Rome existed for centuries with all the +spiritual supremacy now claimed, but as destitute of temporal power as +the bishops of any other city. And the custom which rendered +concurrent the temporal rule--or admitted of extraordinary pomp--has +never been deemed more than a concurrence--never a necessity. And it +is a fact that when the invasion of a foreign power has stripped the +Pope of his territories, and made even Rome the home of invaders, +attention has been at once turned to the separation of spiritualities +from temporalities, and means adopted to drop the machinery of secular +government, and keep active and useful that of the church alone. + +It is, we believe, an admitted fact, that among the papers of the +Cardinal Prime Minister of Pius VII., who was carried away and kept a +prisoner in France by Napoleon, were found plans for carrying on the +spiritual offices of the Pope without the least connection with +temporal power; and Rome was to be to its bishop no more than +Philadelphia to either of the bishops who reside therein, and +administer the dioceses committed to their care. + +We mention these things, and dwell upon them, because speculation is, +and has been, active with regard to the effect of the revolution in +Italy, some movements of which evidently looked to the transfer of all +temporal power to laymen; and extraordinary effects were supposed to +be the necessary results of such a change. The change seems to us very +probable, and not very remote; but it does not appear to us that the +spiritual functions (proper) of the Pope will be essentially disturbed +by any such movement. + +We dwell longer on Italy than its geographical dimensions would +warrant, but that peninsula is deeply interesting to the world, not +only on account of the religious relations to which we have referred, +but from the fact that for centuries a foreign arm has held it down; +and while half of the world beside was rising into consequence, by the +science and scientific men that Italy sent forth, Italy alone of all +the geographical divisions of the earth seemed to be without profit +from her own great men. Because she _did_ decay, men believed that the +elements of her prosperity were exhausted; because she ceased to hold +the preeminence which she once possessed, it was deemed that the seal +of ruin was set upon her. These suppositions are wrong; and the new +movements in that peninsula show that the spirit of man is yet +active, and _now_ active to man's great good. What Italy needed was +concert. What other nations practiced were constant attempts to foment +jealousies among her different States, and create a demand for foreign +interference and the presence of foreign troops. At present a dream of +the ancient republic is the animating cause (or rather perhaps a sense +of the capabilities of Italy for the new republicanism of the time) +with leaders; who appeal to the recollections of the past because a +sense of the present is not to be depended on in the many; and the +shout for the old federative republics of past centuries awakens the +pride of those whose patriotism might not be strong enough to lead +them to the sacrifices which the object demands. + +There seems to be necessary to the Italian mind a hope of regaining +something that has been _lost_, and if this is rightly used there can +be no doubt that the people will attain to something they _need_. The +republics of elder Italy are no more the proper object for Italian +enterprise, than would be the old colonial dependencies for the +efforts of Americans. But Italy must be aroused; she must be called up +to some general object; her great men must be stimulated to useful +efforts, and her humbler citizens must be enticed away from +insurrectionary movements to revolutionary action, and that cry which +the soonest rouses and unites them is the true watchword of +independence. Some proper hand, some well endowed mind must lead them +in the right path--must set their faces and direct their efforts +toward the proper object. The alarm cry may be the same, though the +object of rising be opposite to that announced. The same bells and the +same peels would call up the citizens of Florence to withstand or +divert an inundation of the Arno which would be used to arouse them to +check the destructive progress of a conflagration. + +Italy, however, must not be kept too long in chase of the past +republics. She needs the confederation of modern democracy, and, when +once aroused, must be early directed to the true object. The Italian +who spends his power, his wealth and his influence in attempts to +restore the ancient confederacy is like the man who starts westward at +evening to overtake the departed sun. But the Italian who, roused to a +proper sense of the capability of his country, determines to secure to +her the best good that other nations now enjoy, is like the man who, +starting at dawn, proceeds in an easterly course to meet the sun in +his rising. There is a necessity laid upon both--failure is certain +for the former, success inevitable to the latter. + +We give more space to the changes and the condition of the Papal +States than to the circumstances of other kingdoms of Europe, because +the double power exercised there makes any change interesting, and the +extended influence of the spiritual supremacy gives proportionate +consequence to any movement or event that disturbs the dominancy of +the Bishop of Rome. Indeed so deeply interesting is the whole state of +Italy, taking its present movement in connection with its past +history, that a whole article might be profitably devoted to a +consideration of its past grandeur, its present distressed condition, +and its means and hopes of future restoration. We may in some future +number take up the subject. + +The peninsula containing the kingdoms of Portugal and Spain has been +in constant agitation for the past year--but so trifling are the +relations of Portugal that very little interest is felt in her +convulsions, and few pause to inquire which party or faction is +uppermost at the latest dates. Spain has had her semi-revolutions, but +as yet they have produced little good to the people beyond the +weakening of the power or influence of the rulers; so that when the +people shall really rise, they will have less weight to keep them +down--less power to resist--less of obstruction to overcome. But the +energies of Spain seem to be on a revival, and there are hopes, +founded on existing recent improvement, that this abundant providence +on behalf of that country will not be much longer neglected by the +people, but that from one effort to another they will rise to that +rank in the scale of nations to which the kingdom is entitled, and of +which the attempt to go beyond deprived her. + +Poor Portugal! She will linger yet, and perhaps be absorbed. Her +independent existence is not of sufficient consequence to the world to +induce an effort on her behalf; and England, now that France must +relinquish her claims on Spain, can afford to withdraw her patronage +from Portugal--if, indeed, we may not rather say that in the present +disturbed and crumbling state of European monarchies, neither England +nor any other kingdom will feel that she has much superflux of power +to shake to any decaying state. + +Portugal was once an integral portion of Spain, and she may again be +in union with her sister. The mountains that interpose need no longer +make enemies of these two small states, and the common wants and +common weakness of both should and will induce them "like kindred +drops to mingle into one." The language of Portugal differs from that +of Spain considerably, but almost every Portuguese speaks Spanish, and +the literature of Spain is in a great measure that of Portugal, as +that of Great Britain is shared by the United States. + +Portugal and Spain are both deriving the means of true strength by the +diminution of their colonial possessions, and when they have recovered +from the shock which the exercise of power over distant dependent +states is almost sure to bring, they may, united, have an important +rank with the European powers. + +Terrible has been the oppression of rulers in some parts of Germany. +That oppression has not trodden _out_, though it may have trodden +_down_, the spirit of men. And even in Austria the awakening power has +been felt within the present year--felt to the agitation of national +councils--to the terror and flight of rulers. It is perhaps a subject +for joy rather than regret, that the movements of the people have been +less radical than in some other countries. This is, after all, the +true way. Grasping at more than they can retain, a rising people lose +what might have been of service. The lesson of France in her +revolution in the last century was not lost on Germany, and the people +demanded of their rulers that which might be granted without the +disturbance of order; and then they were content with what they +received, because it was at once a proof that asking they could +receive, and receiving they could learn to enjoy. + +The King of Prussia, in reply to the demands of the people, yielded +some points, and then drew their attention to a long-cherished idea of +a confederation of the German States, by which the differences of the +several powers should be settled by an accredited tribunal, and a +species of federal government be established to watch over those +rights conceded by the individual states to the federal power. + +It is to be regretted that the King of Prussia should have found +occasion in these trying times to provoke war with Denmark, upon a +claim by Schleswig for protection, and that claim rests upon the poor +plea that--though really a _dependence_ of Denmark--Schleswig is not +of Scandinavian origin, like Denmark, and therefore is anxious to +maintain her German relations. The Scandinavian blood runs through the +veins of Sweden and Russia as well as those of Denmark, and "will +protect itself," if not now, at least when a better opportunity +occurs. + +The union of the various _States_ of Germany proposed by the King of +Prussia has been formed, and Arch-Duke John has been elected "VICAR of +the German Empire." He is a man of enlarged views, of liberal +political principles. He is a relation (an uncle) of the Emperor of +Austria. He was the representative of the emperor in the German Diet, +and his substitute during his (the emperor's) absence from his +capital. + +This new organization of the German powers looks to the establishment +of a common army, and the creation and maintenance of a common navy; +and the attempt to produce these means and evidences of power _may_ +create new disturbances, as they are costly to support, and often +dangerous to their supporters. + +Austria, to which we have already alluded, felt the common _throe_ and +manifested the general alarm. The vigilance of a jealous government +had spread over the whole empire an appearance of tranquillity, but +the first symptom of popular movement abroad roused the Austrians to +an annunciation of their own wrongs, (they did not comprehend their +_rights_,) and as they felt most directly the arm of the Prince +Metternich, the tyrannical and efficient minister of the emperor, they +demanded his dismissal; they assaulted his castle of Johannisburg; +they destroyed it and wasted the palatable contents of its +cellars--stores of many years collection of the wine that bears the +name of its place of deposit. + +In the mean time the people of Hungary, and those of Bohemia, which +had come to be dependencies upon the crown, demanded _their_ rights as +nations. It is remarkable of the movement in Hungary, that though the +people of that government had enjoyed privileges unknown to any other +subjects of the Austrian Emperor, yet they were the first to demand +further concessions; a proof this that the great agitation in Europe +is not the sudden action of an oppressed people. If it were, it would +be greatest and most _exigeant_ where the oppression was the most +intolerable: but the earliest and the most thorough opposition, and +the most effective insurrections have been where the hand of power was +most lenient, and the civil privileges of the people were the +greatest; a proof that the whole revolutionary movements in Europe +have been caused by a prevailing sense of human rights, rather than a +feeling of the people's wrongs; that the mind of man is rising to the +assertion of its own dignity, and is hastening forward to the +fulfillment of its own destiny; it is not content with toleration, it +demands an acknowledgment of freedom; and whatever restrains beyond +the necessity of government--of self-government--is regarded as an +infringement of rights; and the more delicate the perception, the +greater is the intolerance of the wrong. + +Austria proper has made a strong and a long stride toward _freedom_. +Comparatively she is yet in the dark, but her face is set toward the +coming light, and year after year will show her progress toward it, +and the effect of that light upon her institutions. It is now too late +for tyrants to doubt that their true interests will be found in +graceful, moderate concessions; to _give_ a little, rather than to +have much _taken_; and with all the restlessness of the people, they +seem to be disposed to remain content with a moderate progress of +improvement; but wo to those who would stay the motion of that to +which the spirit of the age has imparted the means of progress. + +The spirit of revolution has been rife along the shores of the Danube, +and the numerous states, provinces, and dependencies, that lie toward +the Black Sea, have formed alliances, and will assert their rights. + +The city of Prague, famous in story and in song, has been laid in +ashes, as a punishment for its oppugnation against the emperor; but +the ashes of a favorite city may be as powerful a stimulant to the +spirit of injured man as to the best portion of the vegetable +world--and power may find itself injured by a conflagration as well as +its dependence. + +Russia, amidst all this confusion among the nations of the Continent, +has been able to maintain her apparent quiet. But she has felt that +the experience of Austria was soon to be understood by herself; and +when light should have pierced into the almost impervious recesses of +that kingdom, her subjects would be able to discover not only the +chains upon their limbs, but those who placed them there. Her time is +at hand. She may yield, but the empire is too large to be conciliated +by concessions. Interest and feeling are opposite, and it is probable +that the only point upon which the whole can agree will be that of +immitigable hostility to the ruling powers. She will attempt to seize +upon the revolted provinces of other powers, and jeopard her central +position by the miserable attempt to keep truth and its enjoyment from +the extremities. + +Great Britain has had her share in the difficulties which have +disturbed and convulsed her continental neighbors. She has had in her +midst a party of ultras, called Chartists, that look to the subversion +of the present form of government. She has dealt with them steadily, +sternly, and, for a time, effectually; but while there is oppression +almost necessarily in a form of government, there will be a place for +opposition to stand upon, and that opposition will assume any form +which can promote its object. + +England, of all nations of Europe, seems to have understood the +advantage of concession. She has denied, postponed, hesitated, and +then granted, so that the joy caused by the concession has for a time +disarmed opposition, and given new strength, or at least additional +_time_ to the government. She has yielded slowly, but still yielding +from time to time what has been asked of the government in behalf of +the people, when the power of the government and the peace of the +realm were not involved. And she has overwhelmed with power or +ridicule all attempts at subverting the monarchy. The Radicals have +been shot down as at Manchester; the Chartists ridiculed into silence; +but Catholic emancipation has been allowed, and the corn-laws +repealed. + +But let no one suppose that the results of force, of ridicule, or +concession are to be the yielding of the public; the same spirit which +called into action all those opposing means, is as constantly at work +now as it was ten years ago, and the demands will be as regular and as +imperative as ever, until the last vestige of inequality shall have +disappeared. Happy will it be for Great Britain if her ministry, +practicing the wisdom of the past, allows concession to prevent +revolution, and permits what of monarchy and aristocracy is left, to +come easily to the ground rather than to be upturned by the violence +of insurrection. England, for many years, has been as much in a state +of revolution as has France. She has had fewer convulsions, but she +has made a steady progress in her orbit, and those who live out the +century, will see the end of one grand cycle. + +Ireland has been made to occupy a large portion of the public eye this +year. The death of O'Connell seemed to have left the "repeal party," +(nearly the whole nation,) without a leader. Certainly without a sage +adviser; and the great measures which that distinguished man had so +long lead, was likely to be lost by the apathy of one section, or the +rash zeal of the other. That Ireland has been badly ruled by England, +ever since its conquest, is an historical fact; that the efforts +toward redress have usually resulted in worse than failure, is known. +But the prudence of O'Connell seemed to promise as favorable results +to the _repeal_ question, (reasonably considered,) as they had wrought +in favor of emancipation. He had age, talents, learning, experience, +prudence, fore-sight; he knew when to withdraw and when to press his +claims; he could not, of course, please all who desired the same +object with him, because all could not comprehend the powerful effect +of prudent restraint, or, as a southern statesman says, of "masterly +inactivity." And his death allowed those of more zeal but less +discretion to obtain an influence which he once possessed; and Ireland +is now plunged into the miseries of a _civil_ war. + +Whatever may be the power of private feelings, our intention is to +refer to the insurrectionary movements in Ireland as to those of other +countries, namely, as the consequence of the growing sense of human +rights, and as that sense must increase, must constantly augment, it +is impossible that Ireland can remain in the same situation in which +she has been kept. It is known, however, that a galling sense of wrong +stimulates the Irish; that it is not the ordinary effects of an +oppressive government that produces rebellion, but injury that extends +to the domestic hearth, injury that strikes at the rights of +conscience, injury that makes even the wise man mad. The end is not +yet. + +All is quiet in Holland and Belgium; and all is awaiting the +melioration which time and wisdom must bring. + +This year has seen the close of the Mexican War, in which our army +gained fame, and our nation gained territory. And now the great +question is as to the uses of that territory, and the character of the +institutions that are to be granted to these new acquisitions soon to +become sovereignties. We do not mean to take any share in what may be +considered the party politics of the country; but we may allude +_historically_ to measures as well as to events, and therefore we are +at liberty to say, that the question now pressed upon the people of +the United States by the acquisition of new territory, is that of the +extension of the institution of slavery. Shall the new _territories_ +be allowed by Congress to authorize slavery within their borders? and +on that question there is much feeling, and before it can be settled +there must of necessity be more, inasmuch as it has now become one of +the elements of party movements--not merely a question _in_ the +presidential canvass, but absolutely one on which a party stands, and +on which it nominated a president, nominated not merely a nominal +candidate, but one who, having held the office once, had acquired +distinction, and having manifested interest in all public measures +since, had maintained that distinction, and was a _real_ candidate. +The sooner this question is settled the _better_; and the better it is +settled, the more for the peace and the dignity of the nation. + +To this question, which has in some respect, also, assumed one of +local distinction, we will not further refer; it is one that will +agitate until settled, and being settled, will no more disturb. + +It is not our intention to place before our readers an array of +political facts, nor to make out a chronological table for the year +now drawing to a close. It would be better at once to refer the reader +to the easily accessible columns of the daily papers, which have +really been crowded with statements of convulsed states, and +revolutionized governments. It has not been a question with them as to +commercial changes, the fluctuations of a market, or the variation of +stocks; but they have had to record the fate of kingdoms, and the +flight or concession of kings and emperors. And we write necessarily +so much in advance of printing, that our quarter of the globe might +change its rulers between our pen and the type of our compositor. + +We have been content to notice some of the most exciting movements in +Europe, without pretending to write their termination. We see in some +kingdoms the freshness of new institutions, and in others the renewal +of contests which had been deemed closed forever; where power has had +its heels upon the neck of the people for centuries, there are tokens +of _turning_; and from all this we learn that there is a spirit in the +mind of man, and that, in spite of all attempts to crush that spirit, +or to darken it, the inspiration of the Most High is giving it +understanding, and it is asserting its high prerogative, doing justice +to its lofty teachings. + +How will all these things abroad affect us here? What will be the +influence upon the United States of these revolutionary movements in +Europe? + +The effect is now being felt; it is only to calculate the increasing +power to understand the augmentation of results. Rapidly and more +rapidly will the number of inhabitants be increased; the amount of +wealth will be more than proportionably great, because not only will +not immigration be limited to the poor, but those of the rich who +_cannot_ come, will send hither their hoarded means, for safety; so +that while the abundance of our fields shall make us "the exhaustless +granary of the world," the permanence of our institutions shall make +us the depository of European wealth. + +It may be asked whether our own country may not be exposed to the very +convulsions which make European nations so unstable. We answer, no; +agitation may occur here, and momentary excitement lead to fear of +local violence, but he who strikes here, strikes at himself. The very +nature of our institutions are such as to make it the interest of all +to sustain them, and the very causes which operate to the disturbance +of society in other countries, can have no existence here, or if they +exist, they have nothing to act upon, that evil effects may result. + +In Europe, a majority of the people are deprived of their rights, are +made to yield to the dictation of a small minority, and sustain others +whom they do not like, with their own industry. They must submit to +laws which they do not approve, or submit to the charge of treason for +their attempts to resist, that they may change their laws. In this +country, whenever a majority is satisfied that certain measures are +inconsistent with their own good, they may instruct their law-makers +to change the enactments, or they can change the law-makers. This is +the _theory_ and this the actual _practice_ of our government. + +The people of Europe find the means of living unequally divided. There +is less of a surplus, as it regards the _whole_, than for a _part_; +and while the few abound in all that is desirable, nay, with the +superfluities of life, the many lack the necessaries of wholesome +existence. And this is the result of their institutions--a result +which no convulsion, no revolution can at once change--so many +centuries have passed over the abuses, that not only are they +prescriptive, but there does not seem in the people any knowledge to +apply the power they may attain, to any _immediate_ remedy of the +evil. + +With the United States there is no system to change--no institution to +be remodeled; of course, every year works some change in the operation +of the system, and makes more and more beneficial the institutions of +the country. The new views of man's importance and of human rights, +which work out revolutions in Europe, only make our citizens cling +close and closer to the institutions of their own country. While blood +is poured out like water in Paris to change the rulers of the people, +the rulers of this country are changed with a quiet that would denote +almost indifference. Men talk of an exciting _contest_ for the +presidential chair; but analyze that contest, and it is found to be +only a newspaper discussion of the merits of certain existing or +proposed acts of Congress, having nothing to do with the organic laws +of the land, or with the form of government; the contest or discussion +was closed on the 7th day of November last, and men scarcely remember +the earnestness of the newspaper paragraphs, or the stump speeches. + +Broad and expanded are the views of a true Republic; there can be no +narrowness in the institution--it is for all men, and for all times; +and never since the first gathering of people into a political body +was there such a foundation for national greatness and diffused +individual happiness, as is laid in this country. Wealth, true wealth, +the means of general comfort, abounds. A variety of climate ensures +the produce of almost every section of the world, and the right to +cultivate a portion, gives to all the means of enjoyment; there can +never be in this country (without a special visitation of +Providence,) real want among any considerable number. + +We have over twenty millions of inhabitants, and raise more than a +thousand million bushels of grain, and one hundred million bushels of +potatoes. With these means to be multiplied indefinitely, and a free +mind, what has America to fear? + +It is not our purpose to make a eulogy upon our country, or to +anticipate the great results from the full operation of our system of +government with the immense natural advantages which we possess. But +we may remark, that with the progress of civil freedom in this country +has been the diffusion of morals and piety; and with the enjoyment of +political advantage, have been the enlargement of social delights, and +the augmentation of domestic happiness. Woman has found her rank in +the scale of existence, and enjoys that eminence in refined estimation +which the delicacy of her feelings, the purity of her sentiment, and +the intensity of her affections demand. And every where her influence +is felt, in the melioration of the public mind, as in the limited +circle at the home fire-side. Nay, it is _from_ the fire-side that the +circle of her influence expands, and she is respected abroad as she is +loved at home. This is one of the results of the free institutions of +this country; and while it is seen now as a result, it will be felt +hereafter as one of the powerfully operating causes of constantly +increasing human freedom and human happiness. + +How beautiful the thought, that she who is the light of our hearts and +our homes is becoming the blessing of our country; and that not less +than domestic delight is political freedom to be derived from the +sanctifying influences of woman's gentleness and woman's purity. + + + + +ANGELS ON EARTH. + +BY BLANCHE BENAIRDE. + + + It sometimes chances, in this world of wo, + That lovely flowers in gloomy forests grow, + Which freely lend their sweetness to impart + A sense of pleasure to the stranger's heart. + They come to cheer and bless, like showers of rain + That fall in mercy on the parched plain, + And bloom in beauty, fair as though the light + That shines from heaven had never been from sight. + These flowers are emblems of the angels fair + That oft appear, man's lot to bless and share. + He dwells within a dreary forest wild, + No cheering sun has ever on him smiled, + His way is hedged with thorns, his soul is sad-- + He spies an angel in love's vestment clad; + Kind words are spoken, and his grief has flown, + His heart is cheered--for he is not alone; + An angel ministers to him and points above, + Bidding him cast his care on endless love. + He lifts his eyes to heaven, and there behold, + The azure sky, touched with a tinge of gold, + Giving him promise of a brighter day, + A life more calm, more clear his onward way. + And angels, too, appear when Death comes nigh, + To wipe the bitter tear from Sorrow's eye-- + They whisper of that bright and blessed shore + Where pain and suffering will be no more. + Oh, there are angels near us all the while, + That guard our homes and sweetly on us smile! + They minister _to all_--sometimes unseen-- + And change life's desert to a living green. + + + + +MRS. TIPTOP. + +OR THE NEW MINISTER. + +BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY. + + The tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full + of deadly poison. JAMES iii. 8. + + +Few villages in the Union could exceed Green Valley in local beauty +and advantages; embosomed in hills, embellished with trees, and +watered by a willow-shaded stream that meandered through its centre. +Situated, too, within twenty miles of the great emporium, and skirted +by a railway leading to it, the cultivators of a soil, that ever +fulfilled more abundantly the hopes of the husbandman, could ask +nothing more favorable to the ready disposal of their crops. The +inhabitants of Green Valley were mostly farmers, who, besides "owing +no man any thing," had each a comfortable dwelling and ample outhouses +of his own, nothing better than his neighbors, but equaling theirs in +the well-to-do look of the fences, the garden and door-yard. That the +village was originally settled by Quakers, and half peopled by this +drab-coated sect at the date of our story, no stranger needed to +inquire, after passing through its straight-cut roads, or breathing +its air of purity and quietude. Long had its simple-minded, +true-hearted people lived in the daily enjoyment of mutual kindness +and love; till contentment seemed written not only on the broad brims +of the farmers, but on the bridles of their docile beasts, and on +their very implements of husbandry. In the course of time, other +religious denominations were established in Green Valley; but as the +descendants of Penn continued to "work in quietness and eat their own +bread," strangers intermeddled not with them; while the savor of their +peaceful spirits seemed so diffused among other sects, that all +"agreed to disagree" with one another, and for years unbroken harmony +was the result. But _we_ have only to do with the Congregational +church of Green Valley, and will forthwith introduce the reader to the +shepherd of this little flock. Mr. Worthiman was a plain man of +God--middle-aged, of respectable scholastic attainments, and one who, +for his sound judgment and exemplary "walk and conversation," had ever +a "good report of them that were without." The law of kindness dwelt +in his heart and on his lips, and in all the offices of exemplar, +teacher and comforter of his charge none was more worthy than he. The +church at its earliest organization, without a dissenting voice, +invited Mr. Worthiman to become its pastor--his prayer dedicated the +house of worship, and each succeeding Sabbath for a series of years +found him at his post, breaking the Bread of Life to a grateful, +confiding people. Nor were his pastoral duties less regularly +fulfilled: One afternoon of every week was devoted by himself and his +wife (whose living example was "such as becometh woman possessing +godliness,") to visiting in rotation the families of his congregation; +and so well timed was this custom, that the farmers' wives could +calculate each her honored turn to a day; so that the substantial +hospitalities of a generous board were added to the warm welcomes of +heart and hand. + +Besides the neat parsonage reared for the minister and his increasing +family, he was, through the generosity of his parishioners, the owner +of an old-fashioned chaise, and a horse gentle and well-ordered as his +master. These were always in requisition on visiting afternoons; and a +right comfortable sight it was to see the minister and his wife +jogging along over the smooth roads, blessing all they passed with the +smile of true benignity, and receiving the heart's blessing of all in +return; while the good dame to whose dwelling their course was +directed, having all things in readiness for the pastoral visitation, +stationed one of her cleanly-attired children at the window, to watch +for the first appearance of the reverend chaise wending up the lane to +the farm-house, at which signal, with beaming eyes, the child hastened +to open the gate, dreaming in the simplicity of her rosyhood, of no +greater honor than to usher in the respected pair. On these occasions +the farmer usually left the field, and donned his Sunday suit, the +good wife appeared in her best cap and snowy kerchief, and the maid +came from the dairy, with tidy apron, to claim her seat in the snug +parlor, that alike they might sit under the lips that dropped wisdom +for all. Then, when they gathered around the lengthened table, the +pastor's blessing was music in their ears, and supper being over, his +elongated prayer, comprehending the wants of each, and all, closed the +privileges of the pastor's visit. Mr. Worthiman was equally +satisfactory in his visits at the bedside of the sick--in his +consolations to the dying, and his sympathy in the house of mourning. +The aged leaned on him for support--the middle-aged walked hand in +hand with his counsels, and the young looked up to him for guidance; +while no austerity on his part forbade the merriment of their sports: +so far from this, it was his custom at weddings, after a salutation to +the bride, and a commendation of the bride's loaf, to take early +leave, lest his presence should restrain the music and dancing that +usually sum up a country bridal entertainment. + +Such _was_ the pastoral position of Mr. Worthiman, and such the +unmolested happiness of Green Valley! But, alas! the serpent that +looked with envious eyes on the paradise of our first parents, was +about to creep stealthily among the vine-clad cottages of the peaceful +villagers. And as in Eden his poison first insinuated itself through +the mind of woman, so from woman was it to be communicated to these +homes of contentment and love. + +Among the few merchants of all-wares that had come in to supply the +growing population of Green Valley, was a young man of more amiability +than vigor of mind, who, having lived a single but quiet and peaceable +life some years in the village, brought unexpectedly, from a town +near-by, a wife to divide or double his blessedness. Kate Tiptop was +cousin to the young man, and did not change her name in marrying him. +She was the only daughter of parents who lived just long enough to +spoil by indulgence a child whose native faculties of mind were more +than ordinarily vigorous and acute; such as, under a disciplinary +course of education, united with healthful moral training, would have +ripened her into the noblest development of woman; but her first idea +took the form of self, instead of truth, and growing perception +brought only increasing self-consciousness. In short, she had early +imbibed the belief that the world in which she moved was made for her +accommodation; and her inherent passion--love of power--became more +and more apparent as she increased in years. Had she been beautiful in +person, this might have shown itself in more vain, but less injurious +forms; as it was, she desired to sway hearts, not to receive their +flattering unction in return, but to strengthen and confirm her own +sense of ability to do it. Love of _action_ alone induced her to +engage in the practical duties of domestic life, and she married more +for the sake of being the head of a family, than from any motives of +affection. To accomplish this desire, she well knew that her husband +must be her inferior in mental strength; while the additional +inducement that fixed her choice on her cousin was, that in uniting +herself with him, she would not even have to yield her name. Mrs. +Tiptop soon became a pattern-card to all housewives--always having her +work _done_, and _well_ done; and never lacking time nor tongue to +entertain visiters, nor health, leisure, or purpose to visit among the +neighbors herself. She was one of those women whose husbands are +super-numeraries at home, while their wives are mouth-pieces for them +abroad. + +Her go-_aheaditiveness_ was a new revelation to the plodding +villagers; it not only made her household cares a mere song, but +enabled her to preside over her husband's business affairs with a +dexterity of calculation that soon rendered his own position but a +sinecure. In short, Mrs. Tiptop was a trump-card at home, and every +where, always winning the game of domestic differences, and turning +the chances of all neighborly or church variances, which began to +spring up simultaneously with her introduction there. + +In person Mrs. Tiptop was tall, of slender frame, and thin, almost to +emaciation, giving no indications of physical or mental strength, +save that it was "all in the _eye_"--black, penetrating, "wise as the +serpent," and possessing the optical versatility of seeing all sides +in a twinkling; yet when its latent forces were single-eyed to a +purpose, that end was achieved as unquestionably as when acknowledged +by many witnesses. + +No sooner did that eye peer through the bridal veil at Mr. Worthiman, +on Mrs. Tiptop's introduction to the village church, than her purpose +was formed and executed as truly as when carried out through all the +intricate passages leading to its accomplishment. + +She had determined to be _felt_ in the village, and Mr. Worthiman's +godly power over his unsophisticated people was then and there +destined to totter from its long settled foundations. Before the next +communion season Mrs. Tiptop had sent in her certificate, and was +placed on the list of church-members. Here was a footing on which she +could stand to use the instruments that would be needed in the +premeditated revolution. The initiation of a communicant into a +country church is generally succeeded by a call from its officers on +the new member. Nothing could be more gracious than Mrs. Tiptop's +reception of this church police, who paid her the complimentary visit +during the week subsequent to her admission; but in this instance, on +Deacon Heedful alone fell the _charm_ of her serpentine eye. Quick as +thought in discernment, she penetrated at once through the deacon's +tractable physiognomy to his more flexible mind; and while the good +man was inwardly congratulating his church on the acquisition of so +worthy a member, she was fastening around him the toils in which he +was hereafter to do her bidding, as willingly as the dray-horse works +in the harness. Deacon Heedful belonged to that small minority of +human beings who know nothing of double-meanings or double-dealings; +pure in himself, he was the embodiment of that "charity that thinketh +no evil" of others; but, unfortunately, of stronger heart than head. +Perhaps an innate sense of this _crowning_ weakness made him lend a +more ready ear to the suggestions of other minds; at any rate, Mrs. +Tiptop soon had him under her easy control, through that psychological +law by which superior intellect ever governs its inferior. This +accomplished, it were unnecessary to carry the reader through the +winding ways which led her, with the deacon, to that point where she +could spread out before him the spiritual position of Mr. Worthiman +and his church, and convince him that they were "far behind the +times." Now this was "a secret" that she had not even communicated to +her husband, but in which she could not be mistaken, having come from +a town where all was "stirring" in the cause of religion--where the +preachers were "wide awake," and dead-level homilies, like Mr. +Worthiman's, were not tolerated; for her part, she should soon +languish under such enervating sermons as his; and here her fears +being profusely watered by tears, began to take root in the heart of +Deacon Heedful, who gave her a sympathetic squeeze of the hand on +parting with her one evening, and turned, poor man! to the sleepless +pillow where she had planted a thorn. He, however, determined to +deliberate some days before communicating his fears, even to his +brother officers in the church, and never to do it, unless reflection +sanctioned Mrs. Tiptop's hints. + +But seeds of discontent sown in one mind, are by some Mesmeric +sympathy conveyed into another, and _another_, till a rapid, +wide-spread growth is the unlooked for consequence; yet Mrs. Tiptop +waited for another visit from the deacon, before breaking the subject +to any one else, even to "dear Mr. Tiptop;" so _she_ was not to blame +for the disaffection that was springing up around her. Deacon Heedful +arrived even sooner than she had anticipated--and most _unexpected_ to +her was his account of the spreading influence that had so +_mysteriously_ come to light. The deacon's doubts were now matured +into a strong sense of duty, and, to the complete satisfaction of Mrs. +Tiptop, he had decided to take a _stand_ in the matter. + +The only proposition she made was that the leading clergyman of her +native town should be invited to exchange one Sabbath with Mr. +Worthiman. This he promised should be effected, and took his leave for +the purpose. As the parsonage was in his way home, he called to pay +his respects to his minister, whom he found confined to the house by +an indisposition that would prevent his preaching the following +Sabbath; so he requested the deacon to read a sermon, as usual under +such circumstances. This was opportune for proposing to call in the +aid of a neighboring minister, which Mr. Worthiman acceding to, the +matter was soon arranged, and word given out through the village that +Mr. Newlight would fill the pulpit the coming Sabbath. + +Providence, or _some_ invisible agent, seemed on the side of Mrs. +Tiptop, under the inspiration of which she went from house to house, +promising the parishioners a treat new to them from Mr. Worthiman's +pulpit. + +The Sabbath was an anxious one to her, and an eventful one in the +Congregational church of Green Valley; the spirit-stirring tones of +Mr. Newlight's voice--his forceful manner, and novel forms of +presenting old truths, had such an electric effect upon his audience +that Mrs. Tiptop's eyes drank their fill of satisfaction, and +gratified ambition began to revel in her brain. Nothing was talked of +the succeeding day but Mr. Newlight's great sermon; and wishes were +openly expressed, mostly by the younger members of the congregation, +that Mr. Worthiman was more like him. Dissatisfaction spread like an +infectious disease, and before the year expired, a meeting had been +called to confer on the subject--the church was divided against +itself, and the iron had entered the soul of poor Mr. Worthiman. But +the oldest and best of his people, those who had been the pillars of +the church, were not to be so easily moved out of place, and the +result was, that the disaffected members--including at least one +half--immigrated in a body, under the lead of Deacon Heedful and Mrs. +Tiptop; were formed into another church, built a modern house of +worship, and called a new-school minister to fill its pulpit. + +Mr. Lion was a man of strong sense, strong principle, and strong will. +His wife was an English lady of family and attainments, who, under the +influence of a fervid attachment, had left a high-born circle of +friends in her native land, to share the lot of an humble American +clergyman, when too young to have attained that maturity of +good-breeding which accommodates itself, without apparent effort, to +the accidents and diversities of society. Having few attributes of +mind, and no tastes in common with the secluded inhabitants of Green +Valley, but possessing a kind heart and an amiable temper, she +endeavored to conform, so far as native refinement would permit, to +the habits and wishes of her husband's pastoral charge. + +For the first six months succeeding Mr. Lion's installation the +triumph of the immigrants seemed complete. Deacon Heedful was +reappointed to the office he held under Mr. Worthiman's ministration, +and Mrs. Tiptop assumed her undisputed place of honor next to the +minister's wife--introduced a maternal association, and a female +prayer-meeting among the women of the congregation, in the exercises +of which she invariably took the lead, and made herself so +_prominently_ useful, that Deacon Heedful often prayed that she might +live to be "a mother in Israel." Even the spirit of discord for a time +appeared to be exorcised from their midst, while admiration of the new +minister and his lovely wife was the absorbing passion of the day. + +But the evil spirit that had built the church was not long to be +denied his right to a place in it, and before many months began to +show himself in various forms and guises. First, there arose an +indistinct murmur that Mr. Lion did not visit his people familiarly +and often enough; nor did he make pastoral tea-visits with his wife, +as was Mr. Worthiman's custom. Then a whisper was heard that Mrs. Lion +seemed to consider herself of "better flesh and blood" than others; +that even Mrs. Tiptop wasn't a confidential friend of hers; but they +guessed her piety was no better than theirs, by the fashionable way in +which she dressed. Then, the new minister and his wife cared more for +each other than they did for their parishioners, as they frequently +walked out together without stopping to call on any of them. Thus, in +various quarters, discontent began to show itself, and somehow or +other could always be traced back to Mrs. Tiptop, who evidently felt +chagrined at not being invited to share the secrets of Mrs. Lion's +household. + +But now an unlooked for arrival at the new minister's gave fresh +impulse and direction to the evil genius of Green Valley. The +new-comer was a sister of Mrs. Lion's, just from England, who, it was +understood, would be a future inmate of the family. Miss May proved to +have the _disadvantages_, in the eyes of the village belles, of +beauty, accomplishments, and independence of mind and purse. Brought +up, and having just completed her education in the city of London, she +was now a bird let loose in the free air of the country, whither she +had been drawn by affection for her sister, and a desire, not +unmingled with romance, to see the land of liberty, and exult in the +freedom of its rural scenes. And exult she _did_--now in the woods and +fields gathering wild-flowers, and now, mounted on her English pony, +galloping over the hills and away--the villagers said, "none knew +where"--the stared-at of all starers, if not "the admired of all +admirers." Though Miss May was sweet enough to savor all the village +with amiability, and musical enough to harmonize the whole, the venom +of the serpent made her sweetness gall to the senses of her brother's +envious flock, and her music was discord in their ears. + +One morning, as Miss May was riding rapidly over a bridge, her pony +stumbled on a loose plank and threw her over his head so violently, +that she was taken up senseless by a miller who lived on the stream, +and conveyed into his humble abode, where the good man committed her +to the care of his wife, while he went for the doctor. Now the village +physician, who was a middle-aged, married man, had a bachelor brother +connected with him, who was the envy of the village beaux for his +gentlemanly air and good looks, _he_ it was who, in this instance, +hastened to answer the urgent call of the miller. Dr. Mannerly, on his +arrival, found Miss May recovering from her unconsciousness, and quite +alarmed at seeing herself in such strange circumstances; but his +gentleness, joined with the homely manifestations of kindness and +concern on the part of the miller and his wife, soon composed her +mind, and after the doctor had taken some blood from her beautiful +arm, she was enabled to rise and receive his assurance that she had +sustained no very serious injury by the fall. Being, however, too much +bruised to mount her pony again, she accepted the doctor's polite +offer to take her home in his buggy. + +Before night Miss May's adventure was the gossip of the village; +especially her ride homeward with the doctor, who was observed to look +uncommonly interested, and to be engaged in earnest conversation with +his fair companion; nor did it escape the vigilant eye of Mrs. Tiptop +that the doctor's buggy stood at the minister's gate every day for a +week thereafter, and longer each successive time than _she_ thought +necessary for a professional call. And then, when Miss May appeared +again on her pony, Dr. Mannerly was by her side, on his own +high-mettled horse, (the doctor never rode a _tame_ animal, nor +perpetrated a tame remark;) this happened, too, again and again, so +that it was soon a settled matter that Miss May and the doctor would +be a match. + +In the course of a few months, an unusual stir was apparent at the new +minister's; the blinds were thrown open in the east parlor, and people +were seen bustling through the hall as if in preparation for some +important event. As Mr. Lion never received "donation visits," as the +custom is with village-ministers, the bustle meant nothing less than +Miss May's wedding--and for once, the gossip had some foundation in +truth. + +Late in the afternoon a handsome carriage drove up to the house, from +which alighted a foreign-looking gentleman, of some twenty-five years, +who was pronounced to be an English acquaintance of Mrs. Lion's who +had been invited to the wedding. And a wedding, true enough, it was, +for Dr. Mannerly came hurrying along toward the minister's about dark, +equipped from top to toe, and wearing the white vest that decided him +to be the happy man. And now the uninvited multitude envied the very +lights that made brilliant "the east room," and no language could +express their mortification, when the honest chaise of Mr. Worthiman +dropped himself and wife at the new minister's door. + +But a greater surprise awaited them the following morning, when the +carriage that brought the Englishman to the village, was seen rolling +rapidly away, and in it, seated by the stranger, was the heroine of +all their surmises. + +The doctor visited his patients as usual on that day, and the village +newspaper announced the marriage, at Green Valley, of Sir Edward +Sterling, of London, England, to Miss Rosina May, of the same +metropolis. + +Mrs. Tiptop and her followers were dumb-founded! But the evil genius, +paralyzed for the time, revived ere long again with fresh vigor, and +became so vexatious to Mr. and Mrs. Lion, that a dismissal was asked +for and obtained from the Second Congregational Church of Green +Valley, which, at the last accounts, was about calling a NEW MINISTER. + + + + +THE GARDENER. + +BY GEORGE S. BURLEIGH. + + + From dewy day-dawn to its dewy close, + Between the lark's song and the whippo-wil's, + With life as fresh and musical as fills + Their varied round, in quiet joyance goes + The faithful gardener, spying out the foes + Of queenly Beauty, whom, for all the ills + They wrought her reign, his hand in pity kills. + That pure-eyed Peace may in her realm repose. + He bears cool water to the drooping flowers, + And gently crops o'erflushed exuberance; + Trains the young vines to crown imperial bowers, + And guardeth well fair buds from foul mischance; + Let others find what prize befits their powers, + _His_ deeds put smiles on Nature's countenance. + + + + +ONE OF THE "SOUTHERN TIER OF COUNTIES." + +BY ALFRED B. STREET. + + + A realm of forest, hill and lake I sing, + Nestling in wild and unknown loveliness + Beneath the "Empire State's" protecting wing; + But be not too inquisitive and press + Its name--my motto must be, reader! "Stat + Nominis umbra"--I'll not tell that's flat. + + But this much I will say; it bears the name + Of a brave warrior, who, in times of old, + Burst through the forests like a flood of flame, + And on the savage foe deep vengeance told. + And well that warrior kept unstained the wreath + Reaped by his sword in fields of blood and death. + + And to be more explicit--on the west + The Chihohocki[1] laves its mountain sides; + East the grim Shawangunk uprears its crest, + And monarch-like this forest-land divides + From that whose name superfluous 't were to utter + If mention's made of golden "Goshen butter." + + Within this realm Dame Nature's mantle wide + Has scarcely yet been rent by human toil; + Here tower the hill-tops in their forest pride, + There smile the sylvan valleys, though the soil + Is such, in truth, no wonder people chose + To leave Dame Nature to her wild repose. + + Yet pleasant are the sights and sounds when Summer + Wakens the forest depths to light and life; + The woodpecker, a red-plumed, noisy drummer, + Times to the thrasher's clearly flourished fife; + The partridge strikes its bass upon its log, + And with his deep bassoon chimes in the frog. + + The stream reflects the leaf, the trunk, the root, + The sunlight drops its gold upon the moss, + Whose delicate fringes sink beneath the foot + Of the quick squirrel as it glides across; + And, glancing like a vision to the eye, + Through the tall trees the deer shoots, dream-like, by. + + Fancy your wearied foot has clambered now + The Delaware's steep hill, and then glance back. + The splendid sight will put you in a glow! + There winds the river in its snake-like track, + Whilst rural beauty laughs upon your view-- + Meadows of green, and fields of golden hue, + + And then White Lake, expanding far away! + Oh, its pure waters gleam before me now! + It sheds upon my world-worn heart a ray + Bright as the crystal beauty of its brow. + Loveliest of lakes! this pulse must cease to beat + Ere I forget thee, beautiful and sweet! + + M., too, (the village,) is a lovely place, + Clustered midst grain-fields rich and orchards green, + With the grand woods around--in blended grace + Nature and Art at every point are seen. + Brimmed is it with good fellows, and those pearls + Of man's prosaic being--witching girls. + + Yet there are places in this rising county + Where Nature seems determined not to grow; + Where travelers merit an especial bounty + For perseverance, where the starving crow + Would pass, disdaining to arrest his flight; + (But these things in strict confidence I write.) + + The earth is sprinkled with a scanty growth + Of ragged, scrubby pine, and here and there + A lofty hemlock, looking as if loath + To show its surly head--while grim and bare + The ghosts of former trees their mossy locks + Shake, but all else is one great bed of rocks. + + Yet there is beauty even there when green + And sunbright--there the ground-pine twines its fringe, + And the low whortleberries give the scene + (So thick their downy gems) a purple tinge, + And mossy paths are branching all about, + But if you meet a rattlesnake, look out! + + Hour after hour, the stranger passing through + This member of the "southern tier" will see + Naught but the stretching forests, grand, 't is true, + But then life's naught without variety, + Though if he seeks with care to find that charm, + He 'chance may stumble on some stumpy farm, + + And then the road called "Turnpike," "verbum sap!" + Now climbing o'er some mountain's rugged brow, + Now plunging headlong in some hollow's lap, + Still, "vice versa," laboring on you go, + How high soe'er the hill, it has its brother, + You're scarce down one before you go up t'other. + + The people, too, who live--I mean, who stay + In their green Alpine homes, (I like a touch + Of the sublime,) presents a queer array + Of three most interesting species--Dutch, + Yankee and mongrel--and this triple mixture + Form when they meet a very curious picture. + + They call one "smart" who's keen at overreaching, + "Tonguey" the babbler of the loudest din, + They'll travel miles on Sunday to a "preaching," + And seek next day to "take their neighbor in," + And the word "deacon," in this charming region, + Covers, like charity, of sins a legion. + + And there's another race, "half flesh, half fish," + That live where rolls the Delaware its flood, + Ready to fight or drink as others wish, + Not as they care; whose speech is loud and rude, + Half oath half boast, and think that all things slumber + When "Philadelfy" markets fall in "lumber." + + Their toil is pastime when the river leaps + On, like a war-horse foaming in his wrath, + With thundering hoof and flashing mane, and sweeps + The forest fragments on its roaring path, + What time the Spring-rains its mild current thresh, + And make what vulgarly is called a "fresh." + + Then from deep eddy and from winding creek + His mammoth platform the bold raftsman steers, + And, as his giant oar he pushes quick, + With song and jest his wearying labor cheers, + Whilst confident in skill he fearless drifts + By swamping islands and o'er staving rifts. + + From rafts we glance to saw-mills--oft you meet + Their pine-slab roofs and board-piles by some brook, + And, with the splashing wheel and watery sheet + Flinging its curtain o'er the dam, they look, + (When tired of gazing at the endless woods,) + Though saw-mills, pleasant in their solitudes. + +[Footnote 1: The Indian (Delaware) name for the Delaware River.] + + + + +THE EXHAUSTED TOPIC. + +BY CAROLINE C----. + + +What shall I write about? A sensible question enough for me to address +to you, good reader, were I a worn-out school-girl, with a mind quite +like an "exhausted receiver" on the one subject, frightful, dismal, +and hated at all times to _her_. But, thanks be to Time, I am _no_ +school-girl--and it is rather a foolish question, this same one I have +proposed, considering that for sixty long seconds my mind has been +fully determined as to _what_ I will write about this morning. + +I have been looking over a file of old magazines, which are now +scattered about me in most beautiful confusion, for the sole purpose +of discovering in the steps of _how many_ "illustrious predecessors" I +am to follow, when I expatiate on that, which, by the last tale in the +last new magazine, seems to be still a marvelous object in creation, +namely, "_The Coquette_." + +And oh the poems, and tales, and essays, by the Mrs.'s and Misses--the +Mr.'s and Esqr.'s, let alone the Dr.'s and Rev.'s, who have not +disdained to pour forth their thoughts like water on this exhausted +(?) topic! I will spare you, through mere Christian charity, dear +reader, from listening to their enumeration. + +By this time, if you are any thing of a magazine or newspaper reader, +you must _necessarily_ have arrived at some conclusion as to this +tribe of humans. Well, what do you think of coquettes _in general_, my +friend--what do you think of those with whom you have had to do with +_in particular_? According to Johnson, a coquette is "a gay, airy +girl, who by various _arts_ endeavors to gain admirers." Natural +enough, all that, _I_ should say. + +When women are blessed (?) by a kind Providence with beauty, does it +not follow rapidly on the heels of the truth, that they are meant and +made to be admired, and loved, and wooed by the gender masculine? And +when the admiration and homage of men's hearts are offered at the +shrine of beauty--and the favored fair one tastes the cup of adulation +man _forces_ to her lips, say, ye wise ones! is there any thing so +very _unnatural_ in the fact that her human heart cries "more?" Why, +even that poor, miserable daughter of the horse-leech was not content +with saying "give!" once, it must needs be "give--_give_!" + +Now, in all fairness, I put the question to you--what warrior, after a +brilliant achievement in _one_ battle--after one glorious conquest +over his foes, was content ever after to dwell in a quiet obscurity, +and suffer his name to be at last almost forgotten by men, because of +his very inaction? Tell me, was that shining light so often lit and +re-lit on the Mountain of Warning for the benefit of the sojourners +in the vallies of the world--I mean Napoleon Bonaparte? Was Cortes? +Was Alexander? + +What _author_, after writing _one_ book that took the reading world by +storm, ever after that blessed day laid down his pen and said, "I have +done." Did any of those glorious beings who, with their +death-stiffened fingers _can_ write for us no more? Are the writers of +_our_ day satisfied with _one_ brilliant and successful effort in the +field of literary labor? Bear witness, oh, Bulwer, and Dickens, and +Cooper, and James, to the absurdity of _such_ an idea! Wait--I would +be truthful--even as I write there comes before me a bright +remembrance of _one_ glorious bard, living, voiceless _now_--our own +well-beloved Halleck; but even _he_ may awake, and speak yet--and so +make way with _the_ exception to my rule. + +And what does the warrior battle for? Tell it not in this wise, +wide-awake century it is all _for country and the good of man_! We are +a wise people, WE! Such humbugging is too ancient. Say out plainly it +is for glory, for distinction, for place in the higher room, and we +will honor you for your honest words! And what does the author labor +and strive for, through dreary days and sleepless nights? Is it for +the enlightenment of mankind--the improvement of his fellows? Who will +say that _this_ is not oftenest, when indeed it is thought of at all, +the _secondary_ consideration? Ay, yes! there are such things as poor +misguided scribblers dipping their pens in their life-blood, wherewith +to leave a mark on the pages of time, "to be seen of men!" There _is_ +such a thing as a "lord of creation," _pining_ for distinction, and +braving every distress, and even death, for--Fame! Yes, we have +records of sons of Genius who have _died_ because men recognized not +the light _they_ set before them. I mind me, and I "weep for Adonais! +he is dead." + +I tell you, among men it is rare to find one who, after he has tasted +the honey of applause and world-admiration, but will taste, and +continue to taste, until he has cloyed himself, and almost (I do not +_say_ quite) sickened the patient bystanders. + +Is there, then, any thing wonderful in the fact that woman loves +admiration? With such noble examples before her, why should she not? I +know it has been hinted broadly that it is heartless, and selfish, and +sinful, in a woman, merely for her personal gratification, to make +wrecks of the hearts of men(!!) and that coquetting is set down among +masculines in the catalogue of sins as one of the blackest dye. But, +if man, in his wonderful wisdom, can suffer himself to be so fooled, +pray whose fault or sin is it? If he rests his happiness on the smiles +of _one_ woman, which is a rarer thing than ye think, oh, maidens! +whom shall he blame, if the smile does not always await him? Whose +fault is it if he does not _continue_ to please, when the eyes of the +fair one are awakened to his numberless "short comings?" And some day +when a more favored one of nature draws near with his homage, why +should the old lover listen in amaze to cold words and colder +sentiments? Trust me, if men would only apply to this subject of our +consideration one iota of the coolness and calmness of unprejudiced +thought which distinguishes many of their other musings, they might +some day come to a just conclusion. + +But enough of this; I have given a _preface_--and I know a case in +point--more satisfactory than all _my_ arguments I think it will +prove; and I imagine it will clear me from all suspicion, or charge, +if you should prefer it against me, of entertaining wrong opinions on +this important subject. + +From a far longer time since than I can well remember, till within two +years past, the Cleveland family were our next door neighbors. +Florence, the eldest daughter, was a very dear friend of mine, and I +would not make her the heroine of this story to-day, were it not for +the following fact. Two years ago the whole family emigrated to +Wisconsin; and now that they are gone so very far "out of the world," +I think no blame should be attached to me for giving her "experience" +to the good public. Sure am I, that buried as she is in the backwoods, +she will never know that _I_ have seized upon her as a "subject" +whereabout to expatiate. But if you should chance to meet Florence in +your wanderings, reader, do not, I pray you, wound her feelings, by +touching on this topic. + +Every body said Flory was a coquette--and adopting as a settled point +the sentiment that "what every body says _must_ be true," I suppose +she was; that is, she was "a gay, airy girl, who was fond of +admiration;" and I will not deny that she may have exerted herself the +least bit in the world to obtain it. But I do repel most indignantly +the idea that _she_ was artful and designing, or that she ever +regularly _set a trap_ to ensnare any human heart. + +Florence, when she parted from us, was of middle height, very fair, +and her cheeks wore the bloom of early roses; her hair was of a light, +glossy brown--and, oh, those beautiful ringlets! I can vouch for the +truth of it, _they_ never emerged from curl-papers--(and by the way, +how refreshing and pleasant now-a-days it is to see any thing +_natural_, even a paltry curl!) Then her eyes, "deeply, divinely +blue," sometimes filled with a sober, tranquil, _holy_ light, and +again dancing, beaming, and running over with joy and happiness. + +Though Flory was the admiration of all eyes, and "the beaux" seemed +really to have no appreciation of the presence of we poor +insignificants when she was by, yet to not many of _us_ did the +"green-eyed monster" ever whisper one bad, ungracious thought of her. + +We all loved her--and a sadder set never waited in our depôt the +arrival of the eastern train, than gathered there the day Mr. +Cleveland and family were to leave for a home in the "far West." + +There were some, indeed, who invariably honored Florence with the +title of "coquette!" and pursed up their lips very sanctimoniously +whenever they heard of her new conquests; particularly may this remark +apply to old Widow Forbes, who rejoiced in the possession of four +grown-up daughters--"fixtures" most decidedly they were in her +household--for these four above-mentioned, were not in any way +remarkable for their personal attractions; and two of them had +well-nigh passed the third stage of woman's unmarried life! But by far +the greater part of the villagers rejoiced in the presence of Florence +Cleveland as they would in a sunbeam on a dull day; she was always so +cheerful, so generous and obliging. + +None of those sunny curls of hers were visible the day Florence set +out on her journey; perhaps you think that was because ladies do not +usually travel with such appendages in view, and that they were snugly +packed away in the back part of her traveling hat. But had Flory's +head been uncovered then, I fear me it would have borne terrible +witness of the desecrating hands which had been busy about it; for the +fairy-like ringlets which had so long adorned the beautiful head, full +beautiful enough without _them_, were slumbering on the hearts of us, +her miserable, weeping cronies; and I know not how many gentlemen's +purses were freighted with like treasure. + +What a silent, stupid company we were gathered there that day. It was +a bright morning--there was not a cloud to be seen in all the sky; and +Susy, the old fortune-teller, said it was a day that augured well for +their future prosperity; but that did not help _us_ any. Every body +seemed to think we were to lose one of the choicest lights of our +village--and so, indeed, we were. + +At last the odious depôt-bell rung--soon after the "fire-demon" heaved +in sight, followed by its long train of crowded cars. In ten minutes +the leave-taking was all over, our friends were seated--their "worldly +goods" were stowed away--another ring of the bell, that never sounded +half so remorselessly before, and away they went, over the +road--across the bridge--past the burial-ground--and on--on--on! + +To my bosom I pressed a package Florence had given to me that morning +of her departure, which she bade me not open till she was fairly gone. +I need not tell you how I hastened home when I had seen her +depart--how, with just one look at their old garden, which ran back of +my father's house, through whose paths we had wandered so often +together--how with one thought of how lonely I was and always should +be, now that _she_ was gone, I hied away to my room, that I might be +alone with my sorrow. But every thing seemed determined to speak out +to me of _her_; there, by the window, was _her_ "old arm-chair;" she +had given it to me as a keepsake; and many, many a time had the broad, +leather-covered seat supported us both--so, of course, the very sight +of that gave me such a blue-fit that I threw myself into its open +"arms," and indulged in the most luxurious fit of weeping, the length +whereof might be counted by hours, not by minutes. But when I had +fairly "cried it out," (you know all things must have an end,) I went +to bed with the most dreadful headache conceivable, and opened with +more of regret than curiosity, the last "testament" of dear Flory. + +It was in the shape of a long, long letter, filling many pages of +paper; but I shall not indulge you, reader, with a glance even, at all +the contents--satisfy yourself with these few extracts, and oblige +yours, &c. + +"Writing is not my _forte_, Carry, you know that very well," the +epistle began, "but I had for a long time determined to explain myself +to you; and when father finally succeeded in convincing mother that +the West is _such_ a wonderful country, and that it is the best and +only place for them to safely settle _our_ troop of boys, then I made +up my mind to _write_ you what I had intended to speak. Don't think me +vain, but I'm going to be my own heroine in these pages; I'm going to +give you the key wherewith to unfold parts of my life, which you, with +others, may now think quite unexplainable. + +"When I am gone, and the partial regret some will feel at first, is +worn away, and they begin with all earnestness to give me what _they_ +think _my_ 'due,' and honor me once more with the flattering titles +they have given me before this, then do you, my friend, take up the +gauntlet in my defence. If I should happen to die of those horrible +'fevers,' into whose hands we are about to commit ourselves, 'Aunt +Sally,' _may_ say it is a just 'dispensation of Providence' that has +removed me; and that old Juliet Baker _might_ take it into her head to +write my veritable history, under the title of 'The Coquette,' and so +be published in one of the magazines as a warning for all who shall +come after me--an immortality to which I assure you I do not aspire. +Or Tom Harding might be tempted to discourse more eloquently than ever +on my respective demerits--drawing some of his sage conclusions +therefrom. So, dear, if such things _should_ happen, remember to stand +up valiantly for 'woman's rights,' and _me_! As I have mentioned Tom +Harding's name, I may as well, in these 'confessions,' have done with +him as speedily as possible. I know very well what all the gossips +said when it was rumored that I had 'cut him dead,' after encouraging +the poor fellow, who was really 'too good for me!' But, as it happened +in _this_ case, they were all wrong--as doth unfortunately sometimes +happen even with gossipers. Tom, since time immemorial, (you will bear +me out in the truth of this statement,) has been one of the most +_active beaux_ in our village; attaching himself, with all his +_canine_ characteristics, to every lady who was favored with the least +pretensions to beauty, and making himself vastly useful in the way of +getting up all sorts of 'parties of pleasure' in summer, and in the +winter also. It was very needful, was it not, that we should be always +on good terms with _him_, which, as a body, we managed very well to +do. As he had been _in love with_, and offered himself to at least a +dozen girls of our acquaintance, I don't yet know why he should have +thought that _I_ would take up with him at last. Now was it not +presumption, Carry? To be sure, he came to our house night after +night, and sat often with us in church on Sundays--and it _was_ +rumored we were engaged; but that, I fancy, did not make the case a +clear one." + +_Ladies_ may be attentive and agreeable, even over the verge of +intimacy with one another, and yet not be suspected of _designs +matrimonial_; but boys and girls, who have from early childhood grown +up with the most fraternal feelings, as soon as childhood has passed, +must be expected to give up what was a very delightful kind of +friendship, indeed; is that wise? + +"The fact is, I never for a moment thought of marrying Tom Harding; +but I _did_ think him a great deal better youth than he proved to be. +When he foolishly proposed _the_ subject to me, I dismissed it again +quietly as might be, convincing him, as I hope, that the thing was +forever impossible. And I kept his secret well. No one till to-day can +say that I was ever guilty of parading this offer, and its refusal, +before my friends; and I scarcely think _you_ will consider me as +parading it _now_; or, indeed, of entering on this recital merely to +gratify a foolish personal vanity. Tom, himself, by his ungentlemanly +conduct, exposed all that ever was exposed; and his impudent, silly +behavior toward me has had the final result of making me heartily +despise him; and I sincerely hope no damsel that _I_ love will ever +accept offers, which some dozens may yet have the honor, or--which is +it? be _doomed_ to hear! + +"Harry Kirkland was, indeed, a fine fellow--at least I thought so +once, for I was engaged to him within a time I well remember. +Talented, too--was he not? But, oh, what an unreasonable mortal he +was. + +"When I engaged myself to Harry, I did love him truly, or what I +_thought_ was him, but you will not wonder that my love cooled before +such evidences of tyranny, _incipient_ it could hardly be called, as +he exhibited, truly in a petty manner, but giving me good, +overpowering evidence of what I might expect when the _chains_ of +Hymen should be flung around us. + +"_He_ went to his Club, and the Lyceum, and became a member of the Odd +Fellows Society, so soon as there was one organized in the +village--indeed, on all points acted his own pleasure, even as to the +number of cigars he would smoke per day. And I, like a reasonable +woman, thinking all this part and parcel of his own business, never +for a moment _thought_ of interfering. But no sooner had I, in a kind +of dumb way, (foolishly enough, I confess _now_,) answered his +pathetic appeals, by acknowledging that I loved him, than he at once, +without questioning his right and title, proceeded to take the reins +of government into his own hands. And then it was incessantly, +'Florence, why do you allow that cox-comb to visit you?' or, 'why did +you go to the party last night when I was away?' or, 'how _can_ you +endure that conceited fool?' or, 'do, dear, arrange your hair in some +other style--curls are so common!' or, at another time, when I had +adorned myself with special thoughts of him, and his particular taste, +the ungracious salutation would be, 'It is _so_ strange you will wear +flounces--_I_ cannot endure them, and they are so unbecoming for you!' + +"Well, I _did_ give James Thompson, 'the cox-comb,' as Harry called +him, leave to understand I was not 'at home' to him; and I stayed away +from all places of amusement to which Harry _would not_, or could not +go, (which former I came at last to know was most frequently the +case.) And I did treat Charles Wood more coolly than my conscience +approved, for nature gave to him a good, kind heart, if she did not +make him a genius. And I left off flounces, which my tasty little +'dress-maker' thought '_such_ a pity;' and I braided my hair, which +all the time cried out against the stiff bands I put on the curly +locks; in short, for six months I made a fool of myself, by giving way +to all my exacting lover's whims. It makes me shudder when I think of +what had been my fate had I married him--I should have died a very +martyr long before this day. + +"I knew that on most subjects Harry's opinion was worth having--his +judgment sound; so I resolved to try what might be done on _this_ +point, which certainly concerned our happiness so much. By degrees I +went back to my old habits, saying never a word to him of the test I +was intending to put to him. Perhaps _you_ would have proceeded +differently--you might have reasoned with him, and urged him not to +distress himself about affairs far too trifling for him to interfere +with--about which no woman likes the interference, even of a favored +lover. + +"But such a course was not the one for me--and in the end, a person +pursuing a far different method of reasoning might, probably would, +have arrived at the same climax that I did. Wherever among my old +friends I chose to go, I went without consulting the pleasure of his +highness, who had led me about as a child in leading-strings quite +long enough. What books I liked, I read; concerning my judgment on +this point, perhaps, (not altogether unwarrantably either,) quite as +good as his own. I dressed in what fashion I pleased--and wore my hair +in the style nature intended. At one determined stroke I broke the +thread-like chains which, from their very fineness, had been more +galling to me than links of iron. I could read by Harry's look of +astonishment what his thoughts were, as he saw these changes in +me--and it was with some anxiety, I do confess, that I awaited the +result; for all this time I loved him well, though my attachment was +_not_ so selfish in its nature as was his love toward me. + +"One day I sent Harry a note, with a purse which I had knitted for +him, and requested that he would accompany me in the evening, when +there was to be a horseback-party on the lake-shore. In about half an +hour much was I astonished by the return of the messenger, with an +answer to my note, and my _rejected gift_. He declined the ride also, +saying that he had a severe headache--(well might his head ache when +it contained a brain capable of suggesting _such_ a note.) After some +few preliminaries, Harry proceeded to tell me that my gifts were +altogether unacceptable so long as my heart continued not right +toward him; that I had grieved him beyond all power of expression by +the heartlessness I had exhibited _in my disregard of all his wishes +and opinions_; this strange note ended by begging that I would not +join the riding-party that night; that he would visit me in the +evening, and receive from me then any explanations I might be ready to +make. + +"In ten minutes more the messenger was on his way back to Harry +Kirkland's office, with a neat package, which contained the young +man's notes, miniature, gifts, &c., with an assurance, which I wrote +with a most steady hand, that my evening ride would, doubtless, prove +more agreeable than a _tête-tête_ with him, and that, as I had no +explanations or apologies to offer, he need not be under the +inconvenience of seeking me again at home, or elsewhere. I will not +speak of the manner in which I passed that afternoon, after I had +returned Harry's _second_ note, _un_answered, and _un_opened; nor what +thoughts were busy in my mind, nor what feelings were busy in my +heart. But I will tell you this, at tea-time, when father came home, +_he_ did not reject his daughter's kiss, or the purse either; and now +it is snugly resting in the bottom of his pocket, well-filled, as I +hope it ever will be. + +"That moonlight ride--you remember it; perhaps you remember, also, +that there was no gayer mortal among you than a certain Florence +Cleveland. She might not have slept _quite_ soundly that night, when +she was alone in her little chamber, but it was not _very_ long that +Harry Kirkland's image disturbed her dreams. Harry was proud as I; +doubtless he thought himself the abused one, (and _that_, you know, is +wonderfully efficacious in curing heart-wounds,) and I can readily +believe that many times since he has blessed the day that saved him +from _coquetting_ Florence Cleveland. But--you know already how +suddenly Harry moved to New York that autumn, and also how you +wondered we did not correspond. + +"And what of George Stephenson? Ha! ha! I always laugh when I think of +him--_do you_, dear? What did _we_ think of him, _mon ami_, till we +discovered one day, much to our amaze, that he was engaged to us both. + +"Never shall I forget that tableau we presented--being our own +spectators--when, with your head resting on my knee in the old +summer-house, you, with trembling lips, told me of that delightful +youth! and of your future prospects; and how, when you approached the +interesting climax, I joined in with you and told _my_ story, too; and +how, instead of our becoming sworn foes from that hour, two more +loving and light-hearted beings seldom took pen in hand, than we, when +we wrote that joint letter, and saved George from the fate of +bigamists! Well, there was _never_ a more captivating youth than +he--at least we must _say_ so, to save ourselves from the obloquy of +falling in love with such a _scamp_! Who'd have thought it? those very +stories of his early life, and sorrows which drew such earnest tears +from _my_ eyes. I suppose you, too, have wept upon his shoulder as he +told them. Ah, me! + +"Then there was the poet, Earnest Ward. I tolerated _him_ because his +father was a college friend of my paternal, who wished us always to +show him kindness, and make the orphan feel himself not quite so +friendless. But you cannot believe that _I_ loved _him_. Poor fellow! +he is dead now. He never seemed destined to a long life to me; the +fact is, he did not possess _energy_ enough to keep him alive. And he +was eternally railing against Fate and his poverty, which no man who +wishes to gain favor in _my_ eyes must indulge in. His talents _were +not_ of that order which commands the ear of the public--and yet he +seemed to think so, and in that thought centered all his hope. There +was nothing practical about Ernest. He belonged to that miserable +class of beings, (how many of them we see about us,) who are aptly +described as having lost _their way_ in the great roads of life, +having early groped blindly past the stations they were designed to +fill. Ernest had a good deal of fancy and ingenuity--more than should +have been lavished on newspaper enigmas, and verses descriptive of the +color of my hair and eyes; he might have made a capital manufacturer, +or designer of toys. He was made, I am convinced, for some such +purpose, and might have excelled in some such _art_; but least of all, +you will acknowledge, was Ernest Ward fitted to be _my_ husband. And +well for us was it, that if he did not know it, _I did_. + +"And, last of all of whom I will speak, there was Edward Graham; and +thus I fancy I hear him described by some (whom I _will_ say I am not +sorry to have left behind me,) 'a fine fellow! but driven to +desperation and to sea by that worthless flirt, Florence Cleveland!' +Now I will give you an opportunity, _ma chere_, to laugh in your +sleeve, if you will, for beyond the shadow of a doubt, I am engaged to +this same Edward Graham, who departed in such desperation; and what's +more, I mean to marry him, too. + +"And how shall I explain conduct that will appear so strange as this +to you? You know Ned Graham _almost_ as well as I do; and as we both +have known him from childhood, it would be idle in me to speak of his +fine, noble, generous character, and of his _sensibleness_, by far a +rarer component of the human character than many people seem to +imagine. Our engagement was, I confess, an altogether unanticipated +thing to me, though there was always a lingering thought in my mind +that Ned approached a _little_ nearer my standard of manly perfection +than any suitor I ever had. You and I have often together admired the +outward man, so I will not now speak of those great black eyes of his, +which seem to pierce you through and through, as though they _would_ +know your secret thoughts, (which, as far as they regarded him, +_could_ be only thoughts of admiration and respect.) And that manly +form, so sweet and noble, that was never yet bent by the weight of a +mean or sordid thought--that _could not_ stoop to any thing low or +ignoble. Now, when I tell you that Ned has hired himself to a +sea-captain, whom his father has known from boyhood, for three years, +that his wages (excepting only a moiety) have been paid at Ned's +request into his father's hands to aid the old man, who is now in +difficulties, when I tell you this, you will concur with me in +thinking _my_ Edward Graham the most noble and generous youth in the +world. + +"Only a week before his departure _we_ made our arrangements; for +before that time Ned had never spoken to me of love--and I never heard +of his broaching the subject to any one else, did you? In three years +he is coming back again. By that time _we_ shall have become settled, +and have learned to love our new home. What farmers we shall be! Then +Ned will join us in Wisconsin--and who says we shall not be a happy +family there? And that Flory Cleveland will not prove herself quite +tractable and human, although people have dared and presumed to call +her a 'desperate flirt?' + +"So, my dearest, I have given you a true history of my _coquetting_ +(?) life, with the exception of those tragedies you are acquainted +with already. Frank Blake died, it is true, but never for a moment +have I reproached myself with _his_ death. He was 'found drowned,' so +the verdict of the coroner's jury ran; but have none others been ever +'found drowned,' than men who were in love? I am not jesting, or +speaking lightly now. Heaven knows the subject is far too fearful to +jest about! Could they who have seemed to delight in calling me little +better than a murderess, but know what bitter, bitter hours I have +passed writhing under their 'scorpion tongues,' they would, I think, +be satisfied. I tell you again, my friend, Frank never treated me more +kindly, or considerately, or _justly_ than he did that day when I told +him I _could not_ love him as he deserved to be loved, though I must +ever bear toward him the utmost respect and the kindliest feelings. +And when Tom Harding made that incident a theme for newspaper gossip, +I wonder Heaven had not blasted the right hand that dared to write +such things! + +"You know how afterward I went to Frank's home--to his widowed mother. +She, too, turned in horror from me when I told her who I was, and why +I had come so far from my home in search of her. Go to her _now_, my +friend, and she will tell you that she attaches to me _no_ blame. Even +the agonized, heart-broken mother believed me, when I told her all +that had transpired between her son and me. She _knows_, as _you_ +know, and as _I_ know, that I never won the affections of her son +intentionally, for the purpose of adding one more name to my list of +conquests. + +"And of that other, whose name I will not write--he who died in the +convict's cell--my friend, _had I_ aught to do with that man's crimes? +The brutish madness with which he heard my refusal of his suit--his +dreadful downward course afterward; oh, can unreturned _love_ be the +instigator of such crimes? Had he not been a reckless youth ever; +disliked of all the village boys, whose friendship, even his wealth +and good family could not buy for him? If I would not wed a villain +such as he, where rests the blame? Oh, surely _not with me_! _I_ did +not make that festering, sinful heart of his, nor did I lure him on to +hope that I would _ever_ wed him. If love is _heaven_, what were life +with him! + +"I cannot write more--_non sum qualis eram_! yet the sun shines +brightly on me still as in my childhood, and the future is _full_ of +hope. If I have cleared myself of the imputation of the folly and +heartlessness some have laid to my charge, it is well; _I_ cannot +think that my proceedings have been _very_ dreadful, or sinful; they +did not frighten honest-hearted, noble Ned Graham. + +"And after this, when you see a woman whose conduct to you is quite +unexplainable, and full of mystery, listen, dear friend, and bid those +around you listen a little more earnestly, to the voice of _human love +and Christian charity_; and trust _me_, the number of women _who have +the power_ to act _long_ in direct opposition to all the better +impulses of woman's nature, is _surprisingly small_. + +"If your trust continues in me still unshaken, as in the days gone by, +come ere long to Wisconsin, and I will insure you a husband of the +'free soil,' who shall bear as little resemblance to _our_ faithless +George, as my Ned does--and a home in the wilderness, this glorious +wilderness. + +"God bless you, love--good bye!----." + +"I have not yet obeyed the call of my friend to the far west," _now_ +her happy home. Do you think it advisable that I should place myself +in the hands of such a--; but first let me ask you, + +_Do_ you think Florence Cleveland was a coquette? + +And--_is_ this _once_ prolific topic _yet_ exhausted? + +I cannot conclude this discourse, "my hearers," without repeating to +you a song, which appeared some years ago in "Graham." It is by Miss +Barrett. Has it ever yet been "set to music?" if not, I would advise +some composer to neglect no longer so beautiful an effusion. And when +the _deed is done_, let every lady learn the song, and every gentleman +stand by and listen to it humbly. Here it is. + +THE LADY'S YES. + + + "Yes!" I answered you last night-- + "No'!" this morning, sir, I say; + Colors seen by candlelight, + Cannot look the same by day. + + When the tabors played their best, + And the dancers were not slow, + "Love me" sounded like a jest, + Fit for "yes" or fit for "no." + + Thus the sin is on us both; + Was the dance a time to woo? + Wooer light makes fickle troth-- + Scorn of _me_ recoils on _you_. + + _Learn to win a lady's faith + Nobly, as the thing is high-- + Bravely, as in fronting death, + With a virtuous gravity._ + + Lead her from the painted boards-- + Point her to the starry skies-- + _Guard her by your truthful words, + Pure from courtship's flatteries_. + + By your truth she shall be true-- + Ever true, as wives of yore, + And her "yes" once said to you, + Shall be yes for evermore. + + + + +THE RECORD OF DECEMBER. + +BY HENRY MORFORD. + + + Write--with the finger of the angel-born, + Upon the tablet of the human soul, + That old December, wearied and outworn, + Drags on his failing footsteps to the goal. + Write--that the Christmas bells ring on till morn + Peace and eternal pardon to the whole, + And I, before I drop my farewell tear, + Must lay December's closing record here. + + Write--for I weary; Age with failing thought + Forgets the triumph of his younger days-- + Forgets the changes that himself has wrought-- + Forgets the lip that tuned to woman's praise-- + Forgets in summer how his fingers brought + Fresh flowers in olden time for manhood's ways, + Forgets all pleasure save an old man's word, + To think of bygone sorrows and record. + + Write--ere he passes--even now they come + With wailing harps and wreaths of withered flowers, + To bind his brows and bear him to his home + Amid the multitude of buried hours-- + A moment's respite ere his senses numb + And the death throe seals up his mental powers; + He shall not die, e'en in his age and dearth, + Without a legacy of good to earth. + + His course has been with manhood, and his name + Has changed with human years--we yet recall + How bounding onward at the first he came, + And trembled wearily unto his fall-- + How in his noon of life his strength was flame, + Spurning the very hand that gave him all, + How day by day and month by month he changed, + Till Time on old December is avenged. + + The air he breathes is but ingratitude + From each unto the other--from the air + Unto the Giver of Eternal Good, + And from man to the years unceasing care. + Spirit to spirit on the moving flood, + And demon unto demon in his lair, + Jarring with discord, scarcely yet set free + From the kind measure of God's harmony. + + And so he gave unto the sons of men + Last winter, snow, and ice, and driving sleet, + And the cold winds, each from his northern den, + Strewed wrecks of forest branches at our feet. + Old trees all naked shivered in the glen, + And houseless wretches shivered in the street-- + It was the time when poor and cold mankind + Should know the welcome of a generous mind. + + Few read the lesson--there was passing by + Of squalid poverty by gilded pride, + Wealth from the needy turned away his eye, + Rich doors to richer guests were opened wide-- + Pity sought out a fancy scene to sigh + And gave not burial to the poor who died-- + Beside the gourmand with his food opprest, + Mothers hugged starving infants to the breast. + + Oh, not for this came winter, not for this + Rolled out the storm clouds from the northern zone, + There was a hope that gay luxurious bliss + Would not be happy in itself alone: + There was a hope that wealth might stoop to kiss + Lips paler with cold sorrow than its own-- + There was a hope that severed things might blend, + And man, the selfish, soften to the friend. + + The old man was but young, but thankless hearts + They say are "sharper than the adder's tooth," + And ere the Spring came, by inhuman arts + The marble forehead was no longer smooth; + Cold blasts of scorn repaid him his deserts, + Bitter forebodings grew too often sooth, + At twenty years, they say, who knew him then, + He had grown sadder than old withered men. + + Spring lay upon the garden--from his hand + Showered the blossoms and the springing buds, + The songsters sang tales of a summer land, + And a new music lived upon the floods: + And o'er the scene there waved a magic wand, + And watched the spirit of the fields and woods, + Laying in golden promise on the earth + Beauties that mocked him in their very birth. + + The buds of spring grew withered in his grasp, + The thorns lay hid beneath the rose's leaf, + Leaving a poison deeper than the asp, + Long as the memory of corroding grief. + Rude hands tore off the petals, to unclasp + Too soon the fullness of a lot so brief-- + There was ingratitude in bud and flower, + And rude unkindness in man's thankless power. + + And all the summer long the rays he gave, + To cheer the weary sons of sweat and toil, + Flashed back with blistering brightness from the wave, + And burned like molten lava from the soil. + And vainly oft the giver came to crave + A shelter from the burning heat the while, + Beneath the bending vines the welcome fled, + And yellow harvest seldom crowned his head. + + They knew not, as he pressed the table seat, + That he alone had spread the groaning board, + They cared not that the master came to eat + Where one small blessing glittered from his hoard; + They knew not, cared not, how the angel's feet + Have trodden in the steps of good restored-- + The furrows deepened on the old man's brow, + And sadly humankind had sped the plough. + + Autumn grew brown upon the teeming zone, + Lo! here at last he should forget his pain + Amid the mellow fruits around them thrown, + With garners brimful of the golden grain, + Men should look smiling to the giver's throne, + And gentle peace sit on the loaded wain-- + There was a discord when the year began, + That jarred the wider as the circle ran. + + The wheat-sheaf grew into the curse of life, + And from the stalk the burning pain distilled-- + The orchard mast with the dark bane was rife, + Pouring out poison as the master willed. + The purple wine-grape reddened into strife, + And in its shadow man by man was killed-- + Poison, dark poison, rankled in the cup, + Pressed to his lips foredoomed to drink it up. + + So should the blessing of the fields and woods + Be moulded into curses? think it not! + Cold and unfeeling man's ingratitude, + Who to the season gave back such a lot, + To drink the cup gemmed with a poison flood, + And bitter with the felon's loathsome blot; + Oh deeply on our bosoms rests the stain + That never years shall wash away again. + + The wail of autumn winds was on the air, + That played with forest trunks as little things; + The demons of the storm, each from his lair, + Shot forth and hissed upon the tempest wings; + Rent from the old man's head the scanty hair, + Sung on the north wind as the cordage sings: + Little they spared him in their giant course, + The whirling winds that owed him all their force. + + Again 't is winter, to the sons of men + Come forth the snow and wind and driving sleet-- + Again the storm-cloud lowers o'er the glen. + Again the branches shiver at our feet. + Faint and uncovered, over moor and fen, + The weary man has come his doom to meet, + The storms of winter beat upon his head, + The record of his failing time is read. + + Chill to his heart strikes in the northern blast, + Ending the season as the year began; + December hastens to his final rest, + Friendless by the dark cruelty of man. + E'en now, while to his death-couch he is prest, + A wail rings round his head so pale and wan, + And withered flowers are ready for his bier, + That mock the dying with his past career. + + His course has been with manhood, and his end + Is fitting for a type of humankind, + Around whose heavy head the laggard friend + The veil of useless pity comes to bind. + The dirge of his departure shall ascend + From those who scarce recalled his life to mind, + The tide of life above his grave rolls on, + And few remember he is dead and gone. + + December passes, in the opening sky + Of the new year's first morning breaks a star, + The record he has left us here shall lie + Beside us when his form is borne afar. + Bending above his last farewell, I sigh + That he has left us, ingrate as we are, + And turning to the New Year, I behold + A new-born spirit throned upon the old. + + + + +[Illustration: Overvboard in the Gulf] + +OVERBOARD IN THE GULF. + +BY CHARLES J. PETERSON, AUTHOR OF "CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR," ETC., ETC. + +[SEE ENGRAVING.] + + +"A man overboard!" + +I heard the cry distinctly as the dark waters whirled me astern. + +"Who?--where?" + +"Heave over a coop!" + +"Can you see him?" + +"Clear away the quarter-boat!" + +These were the cries that followed each other in rapid succession, +accompanied with the hurried tread of feet, which rose even over the +sounds of the whistling hurricane and of the roaring water in which I +was immersed. + +We had been out from Marseilles about three days, and were now well up +with the Straits. A gale which had begun just after dawn had increased +with such violence that before the afternoon set in we were lying-to +under a storm stay-sail. Noticing that the heel of the boom was +chafing loose, I had gone aloft to repair it, when a sudden lurch tore +the spar from its fastenings, and flung me into the air like a ball +shot from a twenty-four. + +At first I sunk plumb, as if tied to a shot; but in a few seconds +began to ascend. When I reached the surface, however, it was to find +myself whirling from the vessel's side, with a confused noise of the +howling tempest and the bubbling waters in my ears: yet over all rose +the shouts of my messmates. + +I was so blinded by the water that I could not immediately see. I spun +around and around as in a whirlpool, for I had been caught in the +eddies under the stern. I looked to windward, too, for the ship; +forgetting that a heavy vessel would make more leeway than my light +person. Just as I sunk in the trough of the sea, however, I caught +sight of the tall spars pitching a short distance to leeward; and when +I rose on the next wave I took care to have my eyes fixed in that +direction. I could now behold the men in the rigging on the look-out, +and hear again distinctly their eager and excited cries. They were all +gazing to leeward, and consequently could not see me. + +"Whereaway is he?" + +"I can't see him--can you?" + +"There--he has just sunk in the trough--no! it was not he." + +"Hillo!" + +"Hil-hil-loa!" + +While these cries were following each other, the skipper himself came +on deck, and springing on the tafferel cast a rapid glance around the +horizon. I thought his eye had lighted on me, for, unlike the rest, he +turned to windward; but, after a hasty glance in the right direction, +he, too, looked off to leeward. How my heart sunk within me! Was I to +perish, and within hearing too, in consequence of this mistake of my +messmates? I raised my voice and shouted. I could still hear the +answers. + +"Ahoy!--aho-o-y!" + +"There--that was his voice certainly--can't you see him yet?" + +"Ahoy!--ahoy!--aho-o-y!" I repeated, straining my lungs to the utmost. + +"Hillo!" replied the stentorian voice of the skipper, the words +struggling faintly against the wind. + +The ship was rapidly drifting down to leeward, and I knew that if not +soon discovered I was lost, so I shouted again. + +"Aho-o-y!--A-hoy!--A-hoy!--Aho-o-y!" + +The last word was frantically prolonged, and I watched its effect for +a full minute with intense anxiety. It was evident from the manner in +which my comrades on board glanced anew around the horizon, as also +from the shouts which they uttered in reply, that my cry had reached +them. I could not indeed hear their hail, but saw their hands to their +mouths as when persons shout loudly. Alas! the same fatal error of +still looking in the wrong direction prevailed among them: not an eye +was turned to windward. My heart died within me. + +"Oh, God!" I cried, "they do not hear me, and I am lost. My mother--my +poor, poor mother." + +I forgot to mention that, on my falling overboard, the cook, who had +been cleaning knives in the galley, had mechanically flung the board +he was using into the sea. Luckily it floated near me, and catching +it, I placed it, end up, under my chin, and thus supported my head +above the water without difficulty. But for this, perhaps, I should +have been wearied out already by the surges which would have broke +over me continually, but which I now generally rode. I also had on my +oilskin cap and coat: an equally fortunate circumstance. + +After giving way, therefore, for a few minutes to despondency, as I +saw the ship drifting off, I rallied myself, and, reflecting that hope +never dies while there is life, began to consider my situation more +calmly. The comparative buoyancy of my dress, added to the board I had +so fortunately obtained, would enable me to keep afloat for an hour, +or perhaps for even a longer period, and in that time what chances +might not turn up! I knew the Gulf was crowded with vessels. I had +observed a French frigate, lying-to, to windward, just before I fell +overboard. The direction in which I was drifting would carry me near +her, when I might be more fortunate in attracting attention. I cheered +my heart with this reflection, and began to look out for the +man-of-war. + +My first object, in this new frame of mind, was to get rid of my +boots, which were by this time full of water, and began sensibly to +drag me down. With great difficulty I succeeded in pulling them off; +for I had to retain hold of my board with one hand while I worked at +the boot with the other. At last I was rid of those dangerous +encumbrances, and, floating more lightly, had a better opportunity to +look around. Of course my vision of distant objects was cut off every +moment by my being carried down into the trough of the sea. No one, +who has not been in a similar situation, can appreciate the awfulness +with which I gazed on the dark, glistening sides of the immense +billows, as I saw myself sinking away from them, as if to the very +bottom of the ocean. With what horrid mockery the glassy waters seemed +to rise mountain high all around me. Suddenly, when I was at the +lowest, I would begin to ascend, as if by magic, from that gloomy +gulf, my velocity increasing every instant, until at last I would +shoot upward above the crest of the wave, like an arrow propelled from +the abyss. A toss of the head, to shake off the water, a long drawn +breath, to recover myself, a hasty glance around, and then I was +whirled downward again, half smothered in the wild abyss. + +I had been overboard half an hour before I caught sight of the French +frigate. When at last I beheld her, I could scarcely restrain a cry of +joy. She was drifting rapidly toward me, and would pass within hail. +How beautiful she looked! Her symmetrical hull, that floated buoyantly +as some wild-fowl: her tall spars, unrelieved by a single bit of +canvas, except the close-reefed maintop-sail under which she was +lying-to: these, penciled against the horizon, formed together a +picture of grace and beauty unsurpassed. Now she would pitch +head-foremost into the sea; now slowly rise dripping from the deluge. +Here and there a look-out was visible dotting her rigging. As she +swung, pendulum-like, the wild and whirling clouds that rapidly +traversed the distant sky seemed one moment to stand still, and then +to speed past her with accelerated velocity. In the midst of peril as +I was I still felt all the charm of this picture. + +Suddenly I reflected--what if I should miss the frigate? There were +other vessels in sight, but none in my track, for by this time I could +calculate, with some approach to accuracy, the direction of my drift. +Again the thought of my mother came up to me. I was her only son--her +almost sole hope--the comfort and darling of her old age. Perhaps even +now she was thinking of me. I seemed to see her silver hair, and hear +her mild voice once more. Then the vision of that gray head bowed in +grief arose. I beheld her in the weeds of deep mourning, bent in body +and prostrated in mind. They had told her that her child had been lost +overboard months ago, and was now a thousand fathom in the sea. I +groaned audibly. God knows, even in that awful hour, it was less of +myself than of my mother I thought! + +I was now rapidly approaching the frigate. + +"Hillo!--hil-lo!" I cried, waving my arm above my head, as I rose on +the crest of a wave. + +I had but an instant to watch the effect of my cry, before I was +submerged again. But there was time enough to assure me that I had not +been heard. + +I noticed, with terrible misgivings, that my voice was much weaker +than it had been half an hour before. Was I so soon becoming +exhausted? At this rate, an hour more would probably extinguish life. + +This idea filled me with alarm, and as I gained the crest of the next +billow, I made a desperate exertion to shout both louder and quicker. + +"Hillo!--hillo!--hillo-o-o!" I frantically cried. + +I was still prolonging the sound when the comb of a wave went over me, +and half blinded as well as smothered, I was tumbled headlong down +into the trough of the sea, which I reached more dead than alive. I +was still so exhausted when I rose on the next billow that I could not +speak. + +With agony inexpressible I now saw myself nearly abreast of the +frigate. Another descent, another mad whirl upward, and I found her +shooting from me. I was now almost delirious with despair, + +"Hillo!--ahoy!" I cried. "Oh! for the love of God, hear me!" + +I fancied I saw a look-out turn toward me. I knew he must have heard +me. If I could have remained on the top of that surge an instant +longer his eye would have fallen on me; but the insatiate gulf +demanded me, and seized in the embraces of the pitiless waters, I was +hurried downward to darkness and death. + +When I next rose to the light of day, the man-of-war was fast +receding. I was so utterly drenched, so breathless from being nearly +smothered, that I could not raise my voice above that of a child, and +hence failed to attract the attention of the look-out whom I still saw +gazing in search of me. May Heaven grant that none who read these +words may ever experience feelings similar to mine at that moment! In +another instant I had recovered my voice, but the frigate was now out +of hearing. + +Suddenly, just as I was giving way to despair, I saw in the distance a +large ship driving before the gale, under a reefed maintop-sail and +storm stay-sail. She was heading directly toward me. This afforded a +new gleam of hope. If I could but arrest her attention, I thought I +should be rescued. I forgot that it would be first necessary to throw +her into the wind, and that the risk of her broaching-to in this +manoeuvre would probably prevent her paying any attention to my cries. + +On she came, racing like some mad courser, yet riding the gigantic +billows buoyantly as a bird. Now half enveloped in the driving +foam--now rolling her vast yard-arms almost to the water--now showing +her keel as far back as the dripping fore-chains, she presented a +spectacle of the most terrible sublimity. The scene around, too, added +to the awful majesty of the picture. Just as she rose on a colossal +wave, in the trough of which I was buried an immense distance beneath +her, a flash of lightning blazed across her track, while, at the same +instant, the clouds rolled away behind her, as if lifted like a +curtain, and the sun burst forth in all his glory. Never shall I +forget the sight! The after part of the gallant ship was buried in the +crest of the wave, which, beating over her quarter, flew into the +maintop itself. Her fore part had outrun the billow, and hung for a +second suspended over the abyss. Then, like a falcon stooping from its +height, she swooped down into the gulf, the wild waters roaring after +her, like wolves in pursuit of their prey. + +She was somewhat to leeward of me, but nevertheless I shouted with all +my might, again and again. + +It was in vain. Her crew clinging to the rigging, were all engaged +each in his own preservation, and no more noticed the half-buried +figure calling to them, than they observed the sea-bird that, like an +_avant courier_, swept the billow before them. I shouted, I shrieked, +I waved my arm frantically over my head. But all to no purpose. I +heard the fierce bubbling of the waters as the mighty ship tore +through them close at hand; I caught a glimpse of the pale and +terrified faces of her crew, gleaming out in the angry light of the +setting sun: and then the vision passed, a Titanic wave upheaved +between us, and I was alone. + +Alone on the illimitable ocean! Alone while night was drawing on! +Alone with no chance of escape remaining! Far, far to leeward, just +visible occasionally over the distant surges, I saw my own vessel; +but, except this, the horizon was now without a speck. + +I burst into tears. The tension of my nerves had been unnatural; they +now gave way: and, as I saw nothing but death before me, I wept like a +child. Yet still it was the thought of my mother that affected me, not +any consideration of self. My whole past life rushed in review before +me. I saw myself at my mother's knee looking and wondering as she +taught me to pray. I was a boy going to school, now chasing a +butterfly, now watching the angler from the village bridge, but ever +loitering on my way. I saw my little sister die, and after her, one by +one, in that season of terrible epidemic, my four brothers. I followed +my father to the grave, the last victim of that pestilence: I wept +with my surviving parent: I promised always to stay by her: I was her +all in all. And then, with the flight of years, came other pictures. I +was older and more adventurous, but, I fear, not wiser nor better. A +strange longing for the sea had seized me. I had secretly joined a +ship sailing to the Mediterranean, and was now on my return. But, +alas! I was never to see that happy home again. The avenging bolt of +God had overtaken me. No mother would ever weep above my ashes, no +kind hand would deck the sod with flowers. My doom was to be tossed to +and fro, midway down the depths of ocean, until the trumpet of the +arch-angel should sound. + +The night began to close in. Darker and darker the shades of evening +fell around the waste of waters, and the wind, as it went by, seemed +moaning my requiem. Occasionally the lightning threw a ghastly +radiance across the water. I was cold, weary, and half stupefied. My +senses began to desert me. No longer able to buffet against fate as I +had done, I took in each moment larger draughts of the briny element. +In fact I was drowning. Things actual and things visionary--the +present and the past--began to commingle in my brain in a wild +phantasmagoria. Faces of childhood, the sweet faces of my dead +brothers and sisters, looked at me from the sky above; while hideous +ones, the countenances seen in fever-dreams, grinned out from the +spray around. Confused noises, too, were in my ears. There was music +as if from celestial spheres; then notes as if demons laughed in the +gale. Gradually all things, seen or heard, became more and more +indistinct; a dead blank swum before me, leaving only the sensation of +blackness: and then followed utter forgetfulness, the stupor of the +dead--or rather that trance between life and death, when the body is +exhausted but the vital spark not yet fled--that one dread pause +between this world and the next. + +I have no recollection of any thing further, until I was partially +roused from my insensibility by a hand being laid on me. The next +instant I was dragged violently through the water, and thrown on my +chest across some sharp substance, which I concluded was the gunwale +of a boat. I fell with such force as to eject from me, as from a +force-pump, the water I had swallowed. The excessive pain roused me to +more complete consciousness. I languidly opened my eyes. I thought I +recognized familiar faces: the doubt was settled immediately by a well +known voice. + +"Easy there, Jack--poor fellow! he is almost gone--now, my hearties!" + +The words were spoken in the kind tone of the mate. I knew now that I +had been picked up by our ship's boat. She was lying head-on to the +waves, to prevent her being swamped while she took me up. Obeying the +directions of the mate, the men with a second effort lifted me +completely out of the water, and laid me in the stern-sheets of the +boat. + +"How do you feel?" asked the mate. "God help us, we were looking for +you in the wrong direction, till, all at once, I remembered you ought +to be to windward, and so at last made you out, a mere speck on the +horizon. We had a hard pull to reach you too! At first I thought we +should be swamped. But here you are safe. And now, lads, give way +lustily." + +The crew, at these words, put double strength into their oars, and +away we sped toward the ship. What a sensation of comfort and security +came over me as I felt the planks under me, and heard the waters, +which, cheated of their prey, followed roaring in our wake. + +I looked up toward the mate, who, steering with one hand, was covering +me with his jacket with the other. He was doing it, too, as tenderly +as a mother wraps her babe. Oh! how full my heart was. I tried to +raise myself on my elbow and speak. + +"Nay! shipmate," he said, placing his hand on my shoulder gently, as +if to press me down, "not a word. You need rest: you were three hours +in the water." + +In truth, this little exertion had made me dizzy. I heard his words as +in a dream, and sunk back, while all things seemed to whirl around +me. I closed my eyes, and presently, in a whisper, the mate said-- + +"He sleeps. I don't think he could have stood it five minutes longer. +Who would have told his mother?" + +From this time until I woke in my berth, I lay in a state of profound +insensibility. They have since told me that on reaching the ship they +thought me gone; but that by chafing my limbs, and employing stringent +restoratives they recovered me. I soon after sunk into a refreshing +sleep, and when I woke in the morning was perfectly well, though weak. + +It was quite dark, it appears, when we reached the ship, so that if my +discovery had come a few minutes later, it is exceedingly doubtful +whether or not I could have been saved. + +Years have passed since then, and I have rehearsed my deliverance a +hundred times, yet I always shudder to recall those terrible hours +when OVERBOARD IN THE GULF. + + + + +MY NATIVE ISLE. + +BY MRS. MARY G. HORSFORD. + + + My native isle! my native isle! + Forever round thy sunny steep + The low waves curl with sparkling foam + And solemn murmurs deep; + While o'er the surging waters blue + The ceaseless breezes throng, + And in the grand old woods awake + An everlasting song. + + The sordid strife and petty cares + That crowd the city's street, + The rush, the race, the storm of Life + Upon thee never meet; + But quiet and contented hearts + Their daily tasks fulfill, + And meet with simple hope and trust + The coming good or ill. + + The spireless church stands plain and brown + The winding road beside; + The green graves rise in silence near, + With moss-grown tablets wide; + And early on the Sabbath morn, + Along the flowery sod, + Unfettered souls, with humble prayer, + Go up to worship God. + + And dearer far than sculptured fane + Is that gray church to me, + For in its shade my mother sleeps, + Beneath the willow-tree; + And often when my heart is raised, + By sermon and by song, + Her friendly smile appears to me + From the seraphic throng. + + The sunset glow, the moon-lit stream + Part of my being are; + The fairy flowers that bloom and die, + The skies so clear and far. + The stars that circle Night's dark brow, + The winds and waters free, + Each with a lesson all its own + Are monitors to me. + + The systems in their endless march + Eternal truth proclaim; + The flowers God's love from day to day + In gentlest accents name; + The skies for burdened hearts and faint + A code of Faith prepare; + What tempest ever left the heaven + Without a blue spot there? + + My native isle! my native isle! + In sunnier climes I've strayed, + But better love thy pebbled beach + And lonely forest glade, + Where low winds stir with fragrant breath + The purple violet's head, + And the star-grass in the early spring + Peeps from the sear leaf's bed. + + I would no more of tears and strife + Might on thee ever meet, + But when against the tide of years + This heart has ceased to beat, + Where the green weeping willows bend + I fain would go to rest, + Where waters lave, and winds may sweep + Above my peaceful breast. + + + + +SONNET. + +SUGGESTED BY THE GREAT MOVEMENTS IN EUROPE. + +BY ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH. + + + To marshal you, oh army of the Poor! + The spirits of the Past have back returned-- + They who once toiled for you, though crushed and spurned; + Toiled, that while Truth and Freedom evermore + Might guard the olive of the lowliest door: + He, the Great human Type, for whom men yearned, + And longed in prophecy, for you, who mourned: + And they, the martyrs, red at every pore: + The blood-sown Truth of all these mighty dead + Ye have ingarnered, and the fruit appears + Nursed unto giant growth to the full days-- + Now, Lebanon is shaken--Isles outspread + Amid the seas are stirred--they who sowed in tears + In gladness now the harvest pæan raise. + + + + +ROCHESTER'S RETURN. + +OR THE KING OUTWITTED. + +BY JOSEPH A. NUNES. + + +CHAPTER I. + +"We shall see," gentlemen, said King Charles, as he strode with a +hasty step across the apartment, "whether my lord of Rochester's +presence is as essential to the court and to the amusement of the +king, as his vanity induces him to suppose." + +"The expression was a thoughtless one," observed the young Count de +Grammont, who was present, "and doubtless not intended for your +majesty's ears." + +"Yet it was made, De Grammont," replied the king, "and, by the soul of +St. Paul! he shall be responsible for it. Rochester presumes too much +on our clemency, which he has so often experienced, but which he shall +have no reason to slight again." + +"Be merciful, my liege, for the sake of his wit," said the Duke of +Buckingham, with an ill-concealed smile at the king's petulance. + +"Better he had none, George," replied the king, "for he knows not how +to use it. Odds-fish! he as essential to Charles as Charles to him! We +have more wits at court, my lords, than Rochester. There's yourself, +Buckingham, and De Grammont, there, and Killegrew, Sedly, and a dozen +others who can make a pigmy of this Goliah!" + +"But your majesty will limit the period of his disgrace?" asked De +Grammont, who was sincerely friendly toward the obnoxious earl. + +"We will put this limit to it, and none other," replied Charles. "When +Rochester's wit is seductive enough to induce his king, personally, to +wait upon him three several times, or to command his presence at +court, then he may return, and not before; but come, gentleman, we +have other things to attend to this morning without wasting time upon +an ingrate." + + +CHAPTER II. + +The wittiest man at the wittiest court in Europe--that of Charles the +Second of England--was undoubtedly John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester; and +innumerable are the anecdotes that have been related of him in +connection with his friend and sovereign, Charles. Rochester's wit, +however, sometimes resulted in inconvenience to himself, and was +occasionally the means of having him banished from the court. This +circumstance generally occurred at least once a year, and sometimes +oftener, as in seeking amusement for himself and friends, he held +nothing sacred. Persons and things alike shared his satire and his +wit, and even majesty was not always exempt from the shafts he +lavished so freely on all sides. + +The dialogue detailed in the last chapter was the result of one of +those indiscretions. He had presented Charles to the court in so very +ridiculous a light, that the monarch became highly incensed, and +banished him from his presence. Rochester, at the time, happened to be +engaged in an intrigue with one of the maids of honor to the Duchess +of York, which made this interruption to his avocations the more +unpleasant than it otherwise would have been. He bore it, however, +with his usual humor, and left the court, declaring that his disgrace +could not be of long duration, as he was quite as indispensable to +Charles as Charles was necessary to him, and that within two months he +would be recalled. + +This inconsiderate boast had, as we have seen, been as inconsiderately +repeated to the king, and resulted in the monarch's declaration that +Rochester should not return to court until his wit had induced him, +Charles, either to wait upon him three several times, or to command +his presence. + +The Count de Grammont took an early opportunity of communicating this +resolution to his friend, and though he was himself sanguine in his +hopes, and fertile in his invention, he was not a little surprised at +the indifferent, not to say facetious, manner of its reception by +Rochester. + +"I accept his majesty's challenge," exclaimed the wit, laughing; "and +by Miss Hobart's wrinkles, and the fair Temple's smiles, I swear, I am +now disposed to say that within a single moon our sacred, sapient king +shall command the presence of his most melancholy subject; ay, and +wait upon him, too." + +"Be not too confident, _mon chere ami_" said De Grammont, "for this +time, for a wonder, our Charles is serious, and he must work deeply +and sharply who outwits him." + +"But he shall be outwitted, O, most unbelieving of infidels!" cried +Rochester, "if thou wilt only prove true to me." + +"Thou hast me as sure as thy blade," replied the count. + +"Then within a month," said the earl, "the smiles of Rochester shall +once more illuminate the court; and those who sigh in sadness now +shall confess that the sun shone not during his absence. Do you but +second my projects, and obey my behests, and Charles shall admit that +he is no match for Rochester." + +"But whither go you now to banishment?" asked De Grammont, as +Rochester rose to leave him. + +"You shall hear from me anon," replied the earl; "I go to make an +actress of my lady's maid, and to study snares for the king." + + +CHAPTER III. + +Rochester left London for a day or two to conceal the traces of his +whereabouts; but disguising himself completely, and assuming the +habit of a simple citizen, he soon returned, and selected an +ostensible residence, where he intended, for the time, to appear in +the character he had adopted. + +Chance, in this vagary, had given to Rochester, as a host, a gentleman +and a soldier, who had once been an equal and a companion. + +A cavalier officer, and one of the most devoted to his king, Colonel +Boynton, had fought in almost every battle against the troops of the +parliament, and distinguished himself sufficiently in several to +attract the royal notice, and to elicit the commendation of his king. +With the loss of the royal cause, Colonel Boynton retired, wounded +both in person and in fortune, to private life, where, in the society +of his wife and infant daughter, he strove to forget the downfall of +the unfortunate though guilty Charles, and the ruin of his family. + +The triumph of the parliamentary cause still further affected +Boynton's fortunes; yet, when some years after he knew that the sons +of his royal master were fugitives in a foreign land, and in pecuniary +distress, he did not hesitate to impoverish himself in order to +minister to their necessities; trusting to Providence and his own +exertions for his immediate wants, and to the re-establishment of the +monarchy and the royal gratitude for his future fortune. + +Colonel Boynton had lived to see the son of the First Charles ascend +the throne; but his just expectations, with regard to his own fortune, +had not been realized. Too proud to present himself to the royal +notice to claim the reward of his services, and the return of his +advances, when he thought that gratitude required he should be sought +out, he languished, with his daughter, who had now grown up to be a +beautiful maiden, neglected and unnoticed in a condition not many +degrees removed from absolute want; struggling for the means of +existence, and cherishing each hour increased feelings of bitterness +against the king and the court. + +It was with Colonel Boynton that Rochester now took up his abode, nor +was it long before he recognized the heroic soldier of former times; +and wild, reckless and dissipated as Rochester was, he could not help +deeply sympathizing with the condition of Boynton, and determining to +assist in having justice done to him. But from the Colonel himself he +met with an impediment he had not expected; for when, in his assumed +character, (Rochester did not disclose himself,) he suggested the +king's ignorance of his existence and urged him to present himself to +the monarch's notice, the old soldier unhesitatingly and indignantly +refused, alleging proudly, that it was not for him personally to +quicken the king's memory, adding, that if his services could be so +easily forgotten, he was satisfied they should forever remain in +oblivion. + +Notwithstanding this unexpected obstinacy the earl resolved to serve +the veteran and his motherless child, and he conceived a plot at the +same time, by which he purposed making the colonel's history +subservient to his design of outwitting the Merry Monarch. + + +CHAPTER IV. + +A fortnight had hardly elapsed since the retirement of Rochester from +court, when the reputation of a German doctor--said to be a wonderful +astrologist--began to be generally noised about. He had located +himself, on his arrival, in an obscure corner of the city of London, +and his practice was at first confined to valets, waiting-maids, and +such like persons; but so astounding and veracious had been his +disclosures to these, that his fame rapidly reached the upper circles, +and aroused the curiosity of the lords and ladies of the court. No +sooner had he obtained this run of custom than he became a made man, +with every prospect of a speedy fortune before him; for the displays +of his art, with which he had petrified his more humble patrons, +carried no less astonishment amongst the more fashionable ones, who at +first affected to disbelieve in it, and who originally sought only to +while away the tedium of an idle hour by laughing at the grossness of +his impositions. But he had overwhelmed them with consternation by his +knowledge, and his information of the intrigues with which they were +all more or less connected; he covered them with confusion for +themselves, at the same time that they could not withhold their +admiration of his skill. He was quickly esteemed a wonderful man, to +whom all hidden things were open, and who could decipher the pages of +the past and future as readily as he could read the events which were +transpiring around him. + +Now to pretend that any supernatural powers had been displayed by the +learned astrologer, Doctor Herman Von Lieber, (for that was the name +under which this tenth wonder suffered himself to be known,) would, +perhaps, be going too far; though it was certain that he possessed a +knowledge of persons, and of the history of individuals who sought +him, that was really startling; and if we consider that the +development of personal matters of scandal, which we thought confined +to our own breasts, is more apt to astound us than effects which are +positively inexplicable and beyond the reach of human ken, we will not +be surprised at the celebrity which our astrologer suddenly acquired. + +All the court was in commotion at his disclosures, and the royal +curiosity had been excited. + +Late one afternoon the Chevalier de Grammont proposed to the king the +idea of disguising themselves and paying a visit to the astrologer, +who had created so great a sensation; and the monarch, who was anxious +that the time until evening--when he, with the chevalier, had a new +adventure to inspire them--should pass rapidly away, consented readily +to the suggestion. + +At the residence of the astrologer they found all the arrangements of +the most singular character. They were met at the door by a couple of +Ethiopeans, fantastically dressed, who conducted them, without +question, through a suit of dim-looking apartments to one which would +have been quite dark, had its gloom not been relieved by a few small +antique lamps, whose light barely sufficed to disclose the necromantic +arrangements of the room and the untranslatable hieroglyphics around. + +After bidding them be seated, one of the blacks approached a +strange-looking table, and rang a small silver bell, then lighting +another lamp, which in burning dispersed an aroma through the room, +he, with his companion, left our adventurers to themselves. + +"Odds-fish, De Grammont," exclaimed the king, as the door closed, "the +sorcerer knows enough of human nature to commence his tricks by +astonishing the outward senses, thereby rendering the conquest of the +intellectual man the more simple." + +"This looks necromancy, certainly;" replied De Grammont, "but let us +see further before we confess ourselves bewitched, even by so great an +adept." + +At this moment a door at the further end of the apartment opened, and +a tall, stately, venerable looking man entered. His dress was almost +grotesque, but there was a certain dignity about it which redeemed it +from being entirely so. It was surmounted by a magnificent robe +trimmed with sables and decorated with a variety of unknown orders. +Upon his head he wore a richly wrought velvet cap, from beneath which +his long silvery hair escaped and reached quite down to his shoulders. + +"Men seek me," said the astrologer, (for it was him) "but for two +purposes: either to have the past rehearsed to them, or to lift the +veil of time and unravel the mysteries of the future. For which of +these do you come?" + +"Most learned doctor," said Charles, smiling at his companion, "we +come for both purposes; but more especially are we here to test that +wisdom, the reputation of which has reached the four corners of the +earth and filled the most profound with wonder." + +"You sneer, my son," observed the doctor, gravely, "but nevertheless +your wishes shall be gratified, for even a skeptic may be made a +believer. Shall I expound the past to you?" + +"First enlighten my incredulous companion as to his fate," replied +Charles, "and then I will judge how far you can speak of mine." + +"Give me the hour of your birth," said the doctor, turning to De +Grammont, "and I will consult the stars in reference to your fortune." + +De Grammont did as he was desired, and the astrologer left the +apartment. In a few moments he returned. + +"You are not what you seem!" he said, seating himself, and addressing +De Grammont. + +"Pray heaven you prove me no worse," replied De Grammont, laughing; "I +am a thriving merchant, though I would fain be a lord or a duke." + +"The merchandise you deal in," said the astrologer, "is to be found in +the mart of fashion, where frailty, unrebuked, boldly lifts its head +by the side of innocence, making the latter undistinguishable Thou +hast naught to do with those wares that make a nation's commerce." + +De Grammont laughed as he asked him of his parentage and past +fortune. + +"You are nobly derived," replied the astrologer: "you have been the +companion of kings." + +"Tut, tut!" exclaimed Charles, "thy art discloses naught. Thou wilt +surely make me an emperor if my friend is already the companion of +kings." + +After a few more questions, which were as shrewdly answered by the +adept, it became the disguised monarch's turn to learn his fate. + +"Yours has been a checkered life," the doctor said, when he had, as +before, consulted the stars. "The planets show that you have been +beset by as many and as great vicissitudes even as the monarch now +seated upon England's throne, and that thou hast profited as little by +them." + +Charles exchanged a smile with De Grammont, as he said-- + +"I thought you had a throne reserved for me, though I fear me 'tis in +the moon it must be fixed. Prove but your words, however, and thou +shalt be my chief favorite." + +"That," replied the astrologer, "is too precarious a place for me. +They say that Rochester is banished from King Charles's court, and +what hope could I have of pleasing if he could be dispensed with? +Nevertheless, I'll prove my words." + +"Tell me, then, of the present," said Charles. + +"I'll tell you of a war, and a concluded treaty of peace, that the +world knows not yet of." + +"With what nation, most sapient sir?" asked the monarch, laughing. + +"With a woman!" replied the doctor. "There is one, who this morning +was styled a countess, and, as such, waged war against you; the +preliminaries of peace have been signed, and she is now the Duchess of +Cleveland, for which concession she has consented to abjure the +society of St. Albans' nephew, Jermyn, and to meddle no more with his +Majesty's passion for the pretty Stewart!" + +"Thou dealest with the devil!" exclaimed the monarch, startled into an +awkward admission. + +"_I deal with the stars_," replied the doctor, gravely, "_and they are +unerring guides_." + +"Let them speak of the future, then, and perchance I may think so." + +"There is a bird a monarch seeks to cage, though the trembler knows +him not. This night he hies to her bower in a strange habit, and hopes +to win her thence; but let him take heed that more eyes look not on +him than the young bird's; she may escape, and he be unmasked." + +"Odds my life! my friend, I think thou knowest me," cried Charles, +laughing, as he drew a purse from his belt. + +"The stars proclaim thee England's king," replied the astrologer, as +he bent his knee to the monarch. + +Charles satisfied himself by asking a few more questions, then threw +the doctor his purse, and, bidding him come to the palace to receive +another, he departed. + +The doctor reseated himself, and taking off his cap and venerable wig +he disclosed the now easily recognized features of the Earl of +Rochester. + +Rochester indulged in a hearty fit of laughter, as he muttered to +himself,--"Already you have been outwitted once, friend Charles, +thanks to De Grammont's aid, and shall be thrice, or Rochester will +confess himself a fool, and unworthy to be recalled." + + +CHAPTER V. + +When Rochester casually stopped, an hour after the king's visit, at +the humble residence of Colonel Boynton, he was surprised to find much +confusion there. Two rough-looking strangers seemed to have taken +possession of the apartment usually occupied by the veteran. The +unfortunate old man stood passive, cold, and immoveable, while his +pretty daughter Margaret hung round his neck, weeping bitterly, and +pleading alternately with him and with the strangers, who--the +instruments of a flinty-hearted creditor--seemed quite unmoved by her +touching sorrow. + +"What is this, my good friend?" asked Rochester, taking the colonel by +the hand. + +"'Tis nothing," he replied, with a quivering lip, as he turned his +gaze upon his daughter; "I have been deficient in punctuality to an +impatient creditor, and he thinks the discipline of a prison may +quicken my memory and resources." + +"Out upon him, the hard-hearted knave!" exclaimed Rochester, "he +should have his ears slit to teach him better manners." + +"Oh, sir, speak to them!" cried Margaret, pointing to the officers; +"they refuse to let me bear my poor father company." + +Rochester took the commitment from one of the men, and glancing at the +amount of the debt, proceeded at once to liquidate it from the king's +purse. + +"Hold, sir!" said Boynton, interposing. "I thank you from my soul for +your intentions, but I cannot consent to receive charity from mortal +man." + +"I had no thought of charity, my excellent friend," said Rochester; +"'tis only to exchange places with your creditor that I intend, and +shall, at your earliest convenience, expect payment at your +hands.--Think," he added in a lower tone, "of this fair girl, and +leave not her youth and inexperience exposed to the temptations and +corruptions by which she would be surrounded in your absence." + +This argument was too powerful to be resisted. The gallant old colonel +shook his friend's offered hand, as he suffered him to pay the debt, +and dismiss the myrmidons of the law. + +"I say it is no obligation," Rochester observed, in reply to the +veteran's reiterated acknowledgments; "fortune has smiles in store for +you yet, nor will they be withheld much longer. I must leave you now, +though," he said, smiling at a passing idea, "for I have this night to +superintend the planetary influences, in order to prevent the +prognostications of the stars from failing." + +The colonel looked after him as he departed, but without comprehending +a word of his astrological remarks. + + +CHAPTER VI. + +In a house remote from the one in which King Charles experienced his +last adventure with the pretended astrologer, he sat again, disguised +in the undress uniform of a naval officer, with his arm encircling the +neat waist of a remarkably pretty girl. + +She affected to allow this liberty reluctantly, yet there was that in +her large black eyes and mischief-loving countenance which +contradicted the attempted coyness she at first evinced. + +"So, they call thee Margaret?" said the king, as he leaned his face +against her curls. + +"Yes, Master Stuart." + +"And thou art poor, Margaret?" + +"Alas! yes," she replied, "my father was once a royalist officer, and +rich; but the civil wars and his sacrifices for his king left him +penniless and friendless." + +"It has been the fate of many besides him," the monarch observed. +"Those same wars were, at one time, the ruin of my own family. But +thou, Margaret, shalt be poor no longer. Thou shalt leave this home of +penury with me, and I will make thee rich." + +"Nay, sir," she said, as he attempted to kiss her, "be not so tender +with your kindness. I fear already thy sympathy and its motive." + +"Fear nothing from me, pretty one," said Charles, clasping her closely +to him. + +"Why are we here alone?" she asked, seeming to realize, and be +startled at the idea, for the first time; "where is the friend who +introduced you--where is Master Granby?" + +"He will be here anon, pretty Margaret," replied the king, "his own +affairs have called him hence for a time. Heed him not, though, my +sweet trembler, my Peri of perfection, my Houri of Paradise! thou art +safe with me, and with me thou shalt hie away to regions where love +will smile upon thee, and gold will pour in perpetual showers in thy +lap." + +The monarch became so inexpressibly tender that the maiden, in her own +defence, was compelled to scream. After a moment's lapse an +approaching step upon the stairs warned the precipitate lover to defer +the prosecution of his suit to a more auspicious occasion. He hastened +to the door, but, to his astonishment, found it fastened, and on +trying the window, that, too, had been externally cared for. + +"De Grammont has betrayed me!" he exclaimed, as he drew a concealed +pistol from his belt and prepared to confront the coming danger. + +His apprehensions, were, however, groundless, for the only person who +entered the room was a tall, athletic looking old woman, in her night +dress, wearing a remarkably heavy pair of shoes. She placed her candle +upon the table and walked deliberately up to where the young girl was +sitting. Seeing her she started back in astonishment. + +"Are you here, Margaret?" she exclaimed; "beshrew me, I thought thee +asleep two good hours ago, instead of throwing thy company away upon a +young man, and a stranger. Away with you, mistress, to your bed! You +are unworthy to be called your father's daughter." + +"Nay, good dame, be not so hard with pretty Margaret," said Charles, +as he saw the young girl leaving the room with her handkerchief to her +eyes. + +"Out upon thee, sirrah, for a knave!" retorted the old woman; "I'll +see directly who thou art, sir jack-a-napes. To thy chamber, Miss, and +thank Heaven for thy father's misfortune, which prevented his being +here this night." + +When the girl had gone, she took up the light, and approaching the +king, scrutinized him closely from head to foot. + +"Well, mother," he said, as he suffered her to proceed with the +examination, "find you aught here to fear?" + +She was gazing at the moment at his face, and she started back as she +spoke. + +"Much, much to fear!" she replied, "for I see here the features of a +king! When we find the wolf in the sheepfold we may slay him, but who +dare approach the 'lion!' + +The king was filled with amazement at being recognised; but without +suffering his surprise to be evident, he endeavored to ridicule the +assertion. + +"True, dame," he remarked, "they call me the king of good fellows; but +as for a lion, the comparison is somewhat strained; it would be more +apt with a longer-eared animal, for suffering myself to be trapped +thus sillily." + +The old woman seized his hand, and after pointing to the royal signet, +dropped it. + +"Charles Stuart, King of England, thou canst not deceive me!" + +"Faith," said the king, laughing, "methinks this is another astrologer +in petticoats!" + +"And is it to his king," exclaimed the old woman, reproachfully, "that +the unfortunate Colonel Boynton is indebted for a base attempt upon +his daughter's honor, at the very moment when he himself is the tenant +of a prison for having, by his loyalty, impoverished himself! Is this +the reward for the blood he has shed, and the honorable wounds he has +received in fighting your battles, and for hastening to offer you his +last penny in a foreign land, even when his own family was persecuted +and destitute at home!" + +"Colonel Boynton!" cried Charles, as the old woman concluded; "surely +not the brave Boynton who served so nobly at Edge Hill, Naseby, and +Worcester, and who came to relieve his royal master's wants when he +was a wanderer and an outcast among strangers? This cannot be his +child, nor can he be living. They told me years since, when I caused +inquiry to be made for him, that he was dead." + +"He knew not that his king had ever sought for him," the old woman +said; "he thought his services and his sacrifices in the past had been +willfully forgotten, and his proud spirit scorned to thrust unpleasant +recollections upon you." + +"Poor Boynton! poor Boynton!" exclaimed Charles, "this has, indeed, +been ingratitude to one of the most deserving and faithful of my +subjects. Said you, my good woman, that he is now in a prison, and +for debt?" + +"Ay, my good lord." + +"There, there!" said Charles, hastily handing her a weighty purse, +"see that he is relieved at once--this night, if it be possible--and +bid him in the morning wait upon his king, whose greatest regret is +that he has not met with him sooner." + +"Will your majesty _write_ your request for him to come to the palace? +he may be somewhat skeptical of your royal solicitude." + +"Assuredly," replied the king, as he took up a pen from the table and +drew a sheet of paper toward him; "and do you also bear him company." + +"Add, then, if your majesty pleases, that you desire the _bearer_ also +to appear." + +The king looked at her an instant, then did as she suggested. + +"And now, dame," said he, "relieve me from my durance, and allow me to +depart." + +She hastily unfastened the door, and the king passed out. "Be sure," +said he, as he lingered a moment at the threshold, "that you bring my +pretty Margaret with you; her fortunes, too, must be advanced at +court." + +The old woman, after carefully fastening the door, threw herself into +a chair, and gave vent to a hearty burst of laughter. + +"There, Nancy, you can come down," exclaimed the familiar voice of +Rochester, as the figure of the quondam Margaret appeared again upon +the stairs. "Thou art a good girl, and I will make thee a capital +actress yet. Old Rowley has again been outwitted!" + + +CHAPTER VII. + +The next morning three strangers--two old men and a young girl--were +admitted to the palace of Whitehall, on showing the king's order to +that effect, but only one of the men was immediately conducted to the +king's presence. + +The Count de Grammont, (who had made his peace for his seeming +desertion of the previous evening,) Lord Arlington, and Sir Charles +Sedly, were with the king when Colonel Boynton was announced. + +The old man knelt at the monarch's feet, and taking his hand, kissed +it fervently. + +"Rise, my gallant old friend, rise!" said Charles, assisting him as he +spoke; "it gives us joy to see one so faithful, and so long neglected, +once more near our person. Our greatest grief is that so tried a +servant, and so brave an officer as Colonel Boynton should have been +in adversity and we not know even of his existence; but you shall be +cared for, my old friend, and the future shall prove to you that +Charles knows how to be grateful to those who have served him when he +most needed services." + +"Your majesty is over bountiful to one who wronged you by supposing +you capable of injustice. For this I crave your royal pardon, and also +for another and more heinous offence." + +"Thou hast it," replied the king, "even if the offence be treason +against ourself." + +"It is the offence of having imposed upon my sovereign," exclaimed a +voice that made the king start, while Rochester, ridding himself of +his disguise, knelt before him. + +"By my life, it is Rochester!" cried the king, starting back from the +prostrate earl, while every one present, except De Grammont, was +filled with amazement at the sudden transformation of Colonel Boynton. + +Charles was at first disposed to laugh, but recollecting his outraged +dignity, he restrained himself, and addressed his banished courtier in +terms of considerable severity. + +"This presumption, my Lord Rochester," said he, "ill becomes you; nor +can the insult to your king be easily atoned for." + +"Pardon me, my liege--" Rochester commenced. + +"By what authority," said the king, interrupting him, "have you +ventured to intrude yourself upon our presence, contrary to our +express commands?" + +"Simply by this, my gracious liege," replied the earl, handing the +paper he had received the previous evening, and pointing to the word +_bearer_. + +"That, sir, was given to another, and a worthier person than the Earl +of Rochester." + +"I might, your majesty," said Rochester, lowering his voice, and +approaching nearer to the king, "defend myself from the insinuation, +but I am prevented by a powerful reason, for, when we find the wolf in +the sheepfold, we may slay him, but who dare approach the lion." + +Charles was astonished at hearing the old woman's words repeated, but +the fear of his own exposure somewhat mollified his anger. + +"So, then, thou wert thyself in masquerade?" he said; "and with whom +hast thou dealt to put this cheat upon me." + +"I deal with the stars," replied the earl, assuming as nearly as +possible the tone of the astrologer, "and they are unerring guides." + +"Odd-fish, my lord," exclaimed Charles, now laughing heartily, "and +were you the necromancer, too?" + +"And Colonel Boynton, too, my liege; and all for the purpose of +inducing your majesty to keep your royal word, which said, 'When +Rochester's wit is seductive enough to induce his king, personally, to +wait upon him three several times, or to command his presence at +court, then he may return.'" + +"I think, my lords, I have been fairly caught," said the king, +smiling, and speaking to those around him, "and to keep my word +inviolate, must permit Rochester's return." + +"To prove that I am not ungrateful for your majesty's goodness," +observed the earl, "I am prepared to produce the objects of your +solicitude--Colonel Boynton and his fair daughter--they wait your +royal pleasure." + +On the introduction of the venerable colonel and the pretty Margaret, +the king whispered to Rochester, "Surely, my lord, this is not the +girl I saw last night?" + +"No, your majesty," replied the earl, "she was a pupil of my own." + +Charles, in a few words, satisfied Colonel Boynton that the neglect of +his faithful services had been owing entirely to misapprehension. He +gave him at once a position which secured him against future reverses; +nor was it long before his interesting daughter found a husband worthy +of her choice. + +Rochester's Protean exploits afforded amusement to the court for some +time. Charles bore the raillery he heard around him philosophically, +and good humoredly admitted that he had been completely outwitted. + + + + +LOVE THY MOTHER, LITTLE ONE. + +BY RICHARD COE, JR. + + + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her tenderly; + Clasp thy little arms around her, + For a holy tie hath bound her-- + Bound her close to thee! + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her tenderly! + + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her earnestly; + Gaze into her eyes, and see there-- + All that thou couldst hope to be there-- + Warmest love for thee! + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her earnestly! + + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her fervently; + By thy couch she kneeleth nightly, + And, with hands enclaspéd tightly, + Prayeth, love, for thee! + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her fervently! + + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her tenderly; + Clasp thy little arms around her, + For a holy tie hath bound her-- + Bound her close to thee! + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her tenderly! + + + + +THE EARLY CALLED. + +A SKETCH. + +BY MRS. FRANCES B. M. BROTHERSON. + + + And were not these high words to flow + From woman's breaking heart? + Through all that night of bitterest wo + She bore her lofty part; + But, oh! with such a glazing eye, + With such a curdling cheek-- + Love, love! of mortal agony + Thou--only thou shouldst speak. + + MRS. HEMANS. + + + As their hearts--their way was one, + And cannot be divided. + + JOANNA BAILLIE. + + +A child of seven summers reclined upon a couch. Suffering and disease +had so enfeebled his naturally fragile frame, that his thin hand could +scarcely sustain a bunch of roses, which his young sister Lillias had +culled for him, from his own rose-tree; the tree that it had been his +joy and pride to attend to, when in health. He hard marked, delighted, +the first green leaf that in the spring-time burst from its wintry +repose, and very joyously he clapped his little hands when a streak of +crimson peered out from the first bud. He dreamed not, amid his +happiness, that the Angel of Death should steal around him before its +bright hue faded, nor that others should bud and blossom--to wither +upon his grave. Even thus it was. + +Willie M---- was a child of unusual feeling and sensibility, his young +face often shadowing forth strange, sad feelings--feelings that seldom +exist, save in the heart of maturer years. I have seen him gaze upward +to the bright blue sky with delight, as though his childish ken could +pierce the clouds, and commune with the intelligences of Heaven; and a +flower--a murmuring rill--a boundless flow of water--silvery +stars--and gentle winds--failed not to arouse enthusiastic emotions in +his young heart, at which many marveled. "None knew him but to love +him," and in his walks with "dear papa, sweet mamma, and darling +Lillias," many an eye followed him with blessings. "Ah," said an aged +one, whom he had cheered with sunny smiles and artless conversation, +"few will be the years of Willie M----; he is one of God's angels lent +to earth!" and her tears fell at the prophetic thought that even she +would live to see his winsome wee face hid beneath the coffin's lid. + + * * * * * + +A group of young children stood around his bed, gazing with fearful +wonder on the change that had been wrought in their loved playmate. He +had begged of his mamma to send for them, that he might see them once +more; and his large, spiritual eye had looked its welcome on each of +that little band. Once he had hunted with them the early violet in the +glade and dingle; once the echoes of his voice rang merrily out as +they bounded over the greensward in chase of the bright, illusive +butterfly--and his heart grew sad as he felt that he should be with +them no more. A little hand was laid caressingly upon his head--it +was Gary Lincoln, and as he turned around to look upon her he saw that +her eyes were full of tears. "Why do you cry, Gary?" said he. "Because +mamma says that you are going away to Heaven," she replied, "and I +cannot bear to think of it--don't go, Willie, don't go!" and the tears +streamed down her young face like rain. It was her first sorrow. + +Willie spoke not, but a grieved, yet tender expression rested on his +countenance, and his mamma, taking a hand of each within her own, told +her that if she were good, if they all were good children, they should +go to Willie--although he might not stay with them. She told them of +the glorious home to which he was hastening--how happy he would +be--never to suffer more--of the white robe--the starry crown and the +tiny golden harp that should be his--and how he would be their +guardian angel, through day and hush of night, and how joyfully he +would welcome each one to his happy home. + +That mother's heart was bursting, and yet her absorbing love for her +child nerved her to this, and as she told of that clime where "the +soul wears its mantle of glory," the little sufferer's eye grew so +intensely bright that it seemed unearthly. Visions of Heaven seemed +opened to his view, and with a face radiant with delight he clasped +his hands, and said, "Dear mamma, let me go now." "We must wait, my +child, till God sends his angels for you." "Yes," he murmured, "till +the angels come," and sunk exhausted into a slumber. Slowly and +quietly the children departed--and when next they looked upon him he +was shrouded for the grave. In a few moments he awoke, and as he +missed the little faces that had been around him, a sad look rested +for a moment upon his face--but in an instant, as his eye rested on +his young sister, he smiled feebly, and exclaimed--"_They_ are all +gone--yet my sweet Lillias is with me still." + +That night the angels kept vigil around his couch, and ere morn arose +upon the earth the unsullied spirit was wafted to its native Heaven. +Never--never can _that_ night of Death be effaced from the tablets of +memory--marked as it was by such holy, heavenly heroism on the part +of that fond and devoted mother. Burning tears were on the father's +cheek, and the young Lillias had sobbed herself into a feverish +slumber, but until life was over _the mother_ sat by the side of her +child, breathing sweet, low whispers of the Better Land, so soon to be +his home. She faltered not, and although her heart seemed consuming +itself, she would still trace, with an eye of faith, new rays of +comfort for the dying one. She could not bear to think that his +childish heart should shrink from the grave--nor think of it--invested +as it is so often--with dread and gloom. Thus she sustained him to the +very portals of Heaven, until he needed earthly consolation no more, +until the sheltering arms of Him received him, who hath said--"Suffer +little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is +the kingdom of Heaven." As peacefully as a child sinks to rest on a +mother's bosom, sunk he into Death's embrace. + +The agony of the hour, when it is said of a beloved one, "he is dead," +has never--nor can it be justly portrayed. Then it is that Hope plumes +her wing and soars afar--then it is the even, the clear eye of Faith +seems dimmed. When the truth burst upon the mother's heart that her +child was no more--when she felt that her grief had now no power to +afflict the childish heart that had idolized her--then did the pent up +torrents of agony rush forth, crushing every barrier, and threatening +to overwhelm her soul in their mighty depth. Yet was she +comforted--the glorious imaginings that she had so faithfully and +forcibly portrayed to the dying one had fastened upon her soul--and +when the first wild burst of grief was over, she turned from the +coffined face to the upper world, as though she would say, "not +here--but there." + + * * * * * + +Once more a childish group gathered around Willie M----. His eye +smiled no welcome, his hand returned no pressure, but as he lay +enshrouded in the garments of the grave, methought he was even more +lovely than when his face was glowing with life. A smile still +wreathed the parted lips, as though the happy spirit had returned to +the tenement of clay, breathing of the blessedness of its glorious +home. Each imprinted a kiss on the placid brow, and as the icy chill +of death met their lips, so full of life and warmth, the reality of +their loss was felt by all. Gary Lincoln lingered until she placed +within those little hands a cluster of white rose-buds--"Flowers, pale +flowers"--they were love's last gift. + +Now came the hopeless anguish of the last look--the suspension of +almost life, as the dear remains are lowered to their +resting-place--and, worse than all, the hollow, maddening sound of the +falling earth upon the coffin, sealing the doom of the bereaved, +making complete their misery. They laid him to rest amid the bloom and +shade of Mount Auburn, and his grave is a shrine around which those +who loved him come, bringing ever with them the offering of gentle +thoughts and pleasant memories of him who sleeps below. Little hands +deck it with garlands, and sweet Cary Lincoln has placed a tuft of +early violets above the sacred spot--for, said she, "Willie loved +violets so well." + +For months after his death, during the "long bright summer hours," a +child was seen almost daily to visit his grave, lingering when all had +gone. It was Lillias--and I thought if the departed spirit were +hovering near, how often it would echo those words, "_They_ are all +gone, yet _thou_, my sweet Lillias, art with me still." + +One year had elapsed, and a funeral train wound again through Mount +Auburn, pausing at the grave of Willie. Lillias was no more. She +ceased not to mourn for her brother, and during her last illness she +spoke of little, save that she should find him in heaven. Once more +that angel-mother sat by a dying child, breathing words of holy hope +and trust, and her eye grew bright, and her heart was warm, as she +spoke of a joyful reunion in heaven. + +"Mamma," said the child, "we will keep a place for you and dear papa, +and will you come soon?" + +Years have since passed, but often at the holy twilight hour those +gentle children are with me still; and when my rapt soul pierces the +azure vault, I seem to see Willie in angel robes, and listen, +entranced, to the tones of spirit-melody from his tiny golden harp--a +form as radiant as his own is ever near him, and I fancy, as I mark +the delighted look that ever greets a seraph strain from the beloved +lips, that I hear in sweet tones, "_thou, my sweet Lilias, art with me +still_." + + + + +THE CHRISTIAN HERO'S EPITAPH. + + + Say, doth the sculptor's ready tool engrave + A _mournful_ stanza o'er a _conqueror's_ grave? + Or bid the willow bend, or cypress twine? + Or doleful tokens to his fame combine? + + Then trace no saddening sentence o'er the place + Where rests the victor in a heavenward race; + Meeter the laurel and the trumpet-strain + For one who fought a fadeless crown to gain! + + Bring the memorials of a warrior true, + The "sword," the "helmet," and the "breast-plate" too; + Write on the marble that by _these_ he won, + And bid the gazer do as he hath done! + + Write of his faith; how humble, yet how bright, + Diffusing round a clear and heavenly light; + Write of his zeal; how quenchlessly it burned, + How many a wanderer to the skies it turned! + + And, mourner, when thou comest with a tear, + Love's costless tribute to remembrance dear, + Bend there thy trembling knee upon the sod, + And lift thy homage to the conqueror's God! + + + + +THE LADY OF FERNHEATH. + +BY MARY SPENCER PEASE. + + +CHAPTER I. + +ISOLETH. + +How shall I describe her? Who ever described the sun, or one of the +glorious stars, or the white, witching moon; or who, even the least +and simplest of the exquisitely, perfectly fashioned wild-flowers, +that grow upon the humblest road-side? If these are indescribable, how +much more so, in its highest perfection, is the most beautiful, most +perfect of all God's beautiful, perfect creations--woman? Who ever +depicted her one half as lovely and loving as she is? Who ever, amid +all the wild, rapturous praise that has been so profusely lavished +upon her, said one half that is her due for her truth and gentleness +and beauty, her untiring devotion, her unwearying patience, her ever +unselfish forgetfulness of self, her--,but what has been so many times +vainly attempted, _I_ cannot accomplish. How, then, shall I describe +thee, beautiful Isoleth? Loveliest, lovingest, glowing, glorious Lady +Isoleth! Bright Lady Isoleth!--wild as a hawk, and beautiful as Love. +Thy every motion was grace, thine every look was truth. Bewitching +little Isoleth! Her form was as lithe and flexible as a willow bough, +and light and graceful as a young fawn's. Her queenly little head sat +most proudly upon the daintiest, softest, whitest neck and bosom you +ever saw. Two deep wells of light and love were her eyes, revealing +every feeling of her beautiful soul. When she was sad, they looked +out, half shut, through their long shining lashes, dewy, dark and +tender; and when her mood grew merry, they danced in very joy. None +yet agreed on their color. One would have sworn they were the softest, +warmest brown--he saw them only when they were looking love, and he +was--but of him anon. Another would have told you they were pure, +clear blue--but he was the Lady Isoleth's confessor, with her when her +thoughts dwelt upon things holy. By turns were they violet and gray, +and all imaginable colors, in fact, except, indeed, green, or any +other such unrighteous shade that eyes sometimes take upon themselves. +Then her little, ripe, tempting mouth--ah! was it not just the mouth +one loves to kiss? small, dimpled, with soft, rose-red lips; and +tremulous ever--trembling with the love and gladness that filled her +young heart. Most beautiful was the Lady Isoleth of Fernheath. + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE BIRTH-DAY. + +"My lady!" exclaimed a bustling, good-natured little old body, +entering the room, which Wilhelm Gottfried, Baron of Arnhiem--the Lady +Isoleth's uncle and guardian--ever pleased himself with calling the +Lady Isoleth's menagerie, because, forsooth, the little lady delighted +herself with feeding and taming countless birds that had been brought +from all the known quarters of the globe. "My lady," spoke she, "do +you know that this is your ladyship's birth-day, that you this day +have arrived at an age which behooves you to put away childish things, +and take upon yourself the cares that belong--" + +"You wise, dear little nurse! don't put on so much of the awful; don't +talk of care, you make me shiver at the bare idea. + + + "Where the bee sucks, there lurk I: + In the cowslip's bell I lie, + There I couch when owls do cry, + On the bat's back do I fly, + After summer merrily, + Merrily, merrily!" + + +And thus merrily sung the little airy Ariel, dancing around the room, +scarce touching the floor as she sung. + +"Bless her light, little, happy heart! What a sin that love must come, +and with love, the self-loving, proud husband, that will bend that +bright will to his own; and then old age, and care, sure enough, and +wrinkles--and then that light, fairy-bounding step will be slow and +leaden, and that--alas! alas! that such perfect beauty--!" + +"What is that you are muttering about, nursey dear? You must not let +me see one sad look to-day, for am I not this day sixteen--bright, +merry sixteen!" + +"Yes, my dear lady, sixteen to-day--sixteen to-day;" and the little +dame, recovered from her momentary sadness, gave her lady a +mysterious, quizzical look, as she once more repeated, "sixteen +to-day!" + +"Well, dear nurse, what would you have me do, or what shall I leave +off from doing, now that I have grown so exceedingly old?" asked +Isoleth, smiling that precious smile of hers--ten thousand dimples +danced around it--ten thousand loves nestled in each dimple. + +"Sixteen to-day!" replied the queer little old body, with what she +meant for a very significant look. "Your guardian, the noble Baron of +Arnhiem, comes this day--" + +"As he does every year to see me, dear nurse, staying several weeks, +sometimes months, with me." + +"He comes not alone this year, my sweet lady," added the little woman, +looking still more significantly. + +"I suppose we shall have my dear prim old maiden aunt of Hansfeldt, +with her snuff and lap-dogs, or is it my dear, sweet, beautiful +cousins Blumine and Alida? Tell me, nursey, if they are coming. You +shake your head. I guess, then, my proud uncle and aunt of Allwrath, +and my aristocratic cousins, their haughty sons and daughters?" + +"None of them, sweet lady--that is, just yet." + +"My beautiful, loving-cousin, Alice of Bernstorf, who has been living +these six years alone and lonely in her castle with only her younger +son and daughters. Is she or any of hers coming here again? And when +will my cousins of Bernstorf return from those hideous wars? I have +not seen them for so many years I should not know them." + +"Now, dear lady, you are approaching nearer the fire, as the children +say in the play." + +"You dear, queer little old nurse, don't look so mystical and +mystified, my circle of acquaintance, by reason of my father's will, +is not so very extensive but that the roll might soon be gone through +with. Come, unfold thy important, mysterious budget--who is it?" + +"Who should it be, dear lady, but your noble cousin, Ferdinand, Prince +of Bernstorf! My lady, there is a clause in your father's will, that +you were not to know until your sixteenth birth-day, revealing a +compact between your noble father and your Cousin Ferdinand, the +reigning Duke of Bernstorf, that gave you as bride to your cousin, +Prince Ferdinand Of Bernstorf. There, now, my lady, 'tis out. The +secret has half-choked me these twelve years." + +"Very kind and considerate in my father; but his child does not choose +to become the bride of any one just yet, least of all of one old +enough to be her grandfather." + +"Old!" exclaimed the dame, throwing back her hands in amazement, "Old! +why, my dear lady, he is a mere boy; he will be but twenty-eight--" + +"Twenty-eight! and I sixteen! why they would have me marry my +grandfather." And the little lady threw back her head, and with it its +world of soft brown curls, and laughed in very glee. + +"He will be but twenty-eight, two--no, three days after this coming +Christmas. But, dear lady, do leave these screaming, noisy jack-daws +and mackdaws, and come and let me dress you in the beautiful new +court-dress your guardian sent you this morning." + +"You naughty nurse! to abuse my beautiful birds. I have only one +jack-daw, and these are my pretty West Indian macaws, _not_ mackdaws, +wise nursey. And those are my bright-eyed canaries, and that is--but +you will not remember their names, although I have told them to you so +often." + +"I see some are blue, and some bright red, and I know that little +Jenny, who helps you take care of them, loves them as well as you do. +But will you not come now and try on your splendid dress? I would have +you look your best and prettiest when your cousin comes." + +"I know I shall not like him, and if I do not, my guardian will not +force me to marry him." + +"But your father's will--" + +"I will not think of that now, nor will I dress, dear nursey. I will +go ride my pony, and gather some of those wild-flowers my guardian +loves so well." And away flew the bright, happy little maiden; she +herself, of all the glad, sweet wild-flowers that grew among the +shades of Fernheath, the gladdest, sweetest, merriest and wildest; +and the one of all the rest her guardian uncle loved the best. + +Little Dame Hildreth, while she flew about preparing for the reception +of Baron Arnhiem and the prince, could not help sadly bemoaning the +strange perversity of her young lady, in preferring birds and +wild-flowers and ponies to court-dresses and husbands. + +The Lady Isoleth soon forgot that she had arrived at the advanced age +of sixteen, and that she had to put away childish things, and all +about her father's will, and the awful prince. She rode her pony +through the wood down to the sea; then ran a race with him upon the +beach--the pony playfully allowing his mistress to win. She climbed +the highest rocks in search of wild-flowers, and wove the sweet +flowers into garlands; at length, recollecting how long she had been +gone from home, she mounted her pony and galloped on toward the +castle, her head wreathed with holly, and her arms full of flowers. As +she entered the avenue there stood her impatient nurse awaiting her. + +"My dear, darling young lady, what an age you have been away. We have +all been watching--" + +"Has he come?" + +"Who, the prince?" + +"My dear uncle--has he come?" + +"Yes, my dearest lady. They both came, Prince Ferdinand and your +guardian, soon after you left, and have been here for three long +mortal hours waiting for you very anxiously. The prince looks very +noble and handsome, and is dressed most magnificently. You must not be +disappointed though, dearest lady, for he is somewhat changed." + +"Changed! How changed, dear nurse? I have not seen him these six or +seven years, ever since, you remember the time, he and my cousin duke, +his father, with so many others, went to fight those horrid Turks." + +"He looks older, much older than he did--that, though, must be--yes, +it must be on account--" + +"Older! why you simple, queer little nurse, he _is_ older. Why should +he not look--I expect to see him look half as old as Methuselah at +least. How shockingly old one must feel if they live to be +twenty-eight." + +"Yes, he _does_ seem older than I expected to see him--though, to be +sure, he has been, for the last seven years engaged in the wars; yes, +that must be it. Nothing makes one grow old so fast as fighting. But, +dear lady, come, now, and dress, there's a darling. You will have just +about time enough before dinner. But where is your bonnet?" + +"Up in the branch of a tree, nursey dear. It will make some bird a +delightful nest next spring. I lost it getting this curious white +flower. Look at it. It grew in an almost inaccessible spot upon the +cliff by the sea." + +"You are a dear little kid clambering among those ugly rocks. Let me +take some of your flowers, your bundle is nearly as big as yourself. +The saints preserve us! if there are not your uncle guardian and the +prince! And you in such a tattered plight. For the love of Heaven, +dear lady, come in here among these bushes until--" + +But the little dame had to finish her speech to the winds, for the +impulsive Isoleth had sprung from her pony, and was clasped in her +guardian uncle's embrace before her nurse was half through beseeching +her to hide. + +"Why, my dear child, have you turned gipsy? You are as ragged as one, +and are as brown as a berry. But I can see through your long, thick +curls that the last year has improved you most wonderfully. Let me +introduce you to your cousin, Ferdinand of Bernstorf." + +Isoleth looked up and beheld--gracious me! He was every day as old as +her guardian, and positively had gray hairs. She was sure she saw +white hairs among his black curls. She could give him only one glance, +for his dark, handsome eyes were fastened searchingly upon her. Her +eyes fell beneath his admiring gaze, and fell upon her torn muslin +dress--the rocks and briars had paid no respect to it--rather _had_ +paid their best respects to it; and, without vouchsafing a word in +reply to her uncle or handsome cousin, she sprung, light as a fawn, +into her saddle, and was out of sight in the twinkling of an eye. + +"What say you, Cousin of Bernstorf, to such a bride as that for the +proposed alliance--a wild one, is it not?" + +"I like her exceedingly. By the holy mass! but she is the most +beautiful creature I ever saw. We will take her to court, she will +bewitch us all, old and young. By my faith, but she is--" + +"Yes, yes, she _is_," replied the baron, smiling at Ferdinand's +earnestness. I thought she would surprise you. I cannot conceive of +any thing one-half so beautiful as she." + +"Beautiful! you surprise me! Bless my soul! she is radiant with +beauty, and she is the greatest surprise I ever had in my life. We +will electrify the whole court with surprise and delight at her +wondrous grace and beauty, and--" + +"All in good time, noble cousin. You recollect her father's will--that +she should remain at Fernheath, neither going from here, nor receiving +much company, save her own kinsfolk, until after her marriage with +your noble--" + +"Yes, yes, I have not forgotten the will. 'So was it nominated in the +bond.' It delights me most exceedingly that she is so marvelously +beautiful. St. Jerome! but I feel already that I love her as dearly as +though she were my own--" + +"Good gracious, cousin! You always had a spice of enthusiasm that is +delightful and refreshing to me." And the baron laughed right heartily +because he was delighted--and the laugh seemed to refresh him. "After +all," continued he, as soon as the corners of his mouth had come +within speaking distance of each other, "after all, she is but an +untrained country-girl; she--" + +"Nature, and her own beautiful soul, have given her all the training +she needs. Her wild, unconstrained life, has developed her as no court +or city life could. That I can see, seeing her as little as I have." + +"You think just as I do, dear cousin. My brother's will was a wise +one, that kept her thus from the deadening conventionalities of a +court life." + +"By my soul! how exceedingly lovely she is. She surpasses all my +expectations. I recollect her as a little fairy thing of eight or ten. +I have not seen her until now--" + +"Since just before this last war, full seven years ago." + + * * * * * + +If Ferdinand of Bernstorf thought the little tattered gypsey Isoleth +so inconceivably lovely, his eyes were half blinded with the radiant +beauty of the young Countess of Fernheath, as she entered the +dining-hall, clad in the shining court-robe her guardian had sent her. +Her cousin's dark eyes were fastened upon her with a look of +passionate admiration, that caused the bright blood to burn on her +face and bosom. Nor did those handsome black eyes scarce leave her +during the whole long dinner. As soon as she could release herself she +hastened to her only confidante, Dame Hildreth. + +She found the little dame kneeling upon the floor, busily engaged in +unpacking boxes, while the floor was literally alive with silks, and +satins, and laces, and woman's finery. + +"See here, my lady--and here--and there! Look what your uncle guardian +of Arnheim has provided for your approaching nuptials! And, dear lady, +do but look here;" and the eager, proud little dame opened a casket of +beautiful pearls--necklace, girdle, coronet, brooch and armlets. This +noble present comes from the father of your betrothed. It is to be +followed by a still more beautiful set of diamonds." + +"These pearls may deck my burial instead of my bridal, for I never +will live to wed with _him_ below." + +"Why, my sweetest lady!" exclaimed nurse Hildreth, glancing up in +surprise at her young mistress's flushed and excited face. "For the +love of Heaven, do not talk in that way! What objection can you +possibly have to such a noble, handsome, princely prince? He is the +oldest son and heir to--" + +"Oldest, indeed! He is old enough to be my father's father." + +"Mercy on us! Lady Isoleth, you talk wild. I will wager my life he is +only twenty-eight, three days after this coming Christmas. He has been +in the wars, you know--and war is no gentle nurse. Exposure in the +wars has caused him to appear somewhat older than he is. You know, +dearest lady, that war--" + +"But he is gray--" + +"Exposure in the wars--" + +"And wrinkled--" + +"Exposure in the wars--" + +"But there is that about him I never could love, were he as young +as--I never can love him--I hate him, and I will not wed him." + +"But, my dear, dear, dearest young lady, what _will_ you do?" The +thought never entering her head that the Lady Isoleth could do any +thing but submit to the will of others; for woman in those times was +sought and given in marriage without often consulting her own +inclination. + +What will I do, dear nurse? Why I will fall on my knees at the feet of +my beloved guardian and plead with him. He never refused me any thing; +and I know he will grant--" + +"But your father's will, dearest lady--" + +"Shall be put aside, where his daughter's happiness is at stake." + +"Would it may be as you wish, sweetest lady. But I fear. Still he is a +right noble prince, and will make a right noble husband." + +"_Not_ for me." + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE SURPRISE. + +In the saddest of sad moods the Lady Isoleth betook herself to her +favorite retreat among the rocks, and there within her own little +vine-covered bower, was--not a bird, nor a squirrel, nor her tame +deer--but a man! young and wondrously handsome; with a broad, pale, +noble brow, and a host of jet-black curls shading it. There was +something in his clear, dark eye, so still and serene as it gazed +beyond this world, and something in the expression of his fine, manly +face, so tender, so almost sad, that made her forget to be afraid of +him. She approached him gently, and asked him in a soft voice, + +"What are thy meditations, beautiful stranger?" + +"I was dreaming of thee!" uttered he, awaking from his reverie, and +fixing his dark, earnest eyes full upon the glowing form before him. +His glance, so full of passion, so full of tenderness, so fervent, +went to her heart and woke it up--that precious little heart that had +been sleeping for sixteen long years. + +"Of me! How can that be?" asked Isoleth, with a deep blush. "Dost thou +know me? Dost thou--' + +"One like thee, most beautiful being!" + +"One like me--just like me? How strange! What is her name?" + +"Whatever is thy name, loveliest, most lovely lady, is hers." + +"My name is Isoleth," replied she, with a low voice, and a deep blush. + +"Art thou the Lady Isoleth of Fernheath? _Art_ thou? Stupid! that I +did not see sooner that thou art! Yes, thou art! And I am happy, most +happy, most inconceivably happy that thou art! Ah!" continued he, in a +tone of the most rapturous delight, "that my dream and my bride should +prove to be one and the same. I am most inexpressibly joyful!"--and +the large tears fell from his eyes like summer rain--"most +unutterably--and thou, wilt thou love me, and be mine, my glorious, +sweetest, loveliest cousin--my most, most beautiful bride!" + +"Thy cousin! thy bride! Alas! alas! thy cousin I may be, but thy +bride--! They are going to marry me up there at the castle to an old, +ugly, cross prince; he is there now, and you cannot know how much I +hate him. I will die--" + +"The devil they are! Forgive me, sweetest, most beautiful cousin, it +is a foolish way we learn of speaking in camps. But, loveliest, do not +talk of dying, let the old and the ugly die, but thou--First tell me +who this ugly, old, cross prince is, they shall not marry you to any +such." + +"Why he is not so very ugly--and I do not exactly know that he is +cross; but then he is old, very old--yes, very old and very +disagreeable--and I never can love him." + +"Nor shalt thou--his name, most beautiful?" + +"Ferdinand, Prince of Bernstorf." + +"Ferdinand, prince of ten thousand devils! I beseech of thee to +forgive me once again, sweetest cousin; but thou dost petrify me. +Ferdinand, Prince of ---- Ah! it must be--yes, yes, it must be so." + +"What must be? Thou speakest in riddles, stranger cousin." + +"And thou lovest him not, nor dost thou wish to wed him?" asked the +stranger, an almost provoking smile just curling his handsome mouth. + +"No, no, never--never!" + +"Nor shalt thou ever!" exclaimed he, his manner changing to one of +serious earnestness. Nor shalt thou ever, dearest, most beautiful--for +_I_ will prevent it, I--" + +"Thou? Alas! alas! I have been betrothed to him ever since I was an +infant. How could my dear father--" + +"Dearest cousin, trust to me--wilt thou not? And, dearest, sweetest +cousin, love me, and be my beautiful wife. Nay, shake not thy +loveliest head. Have I been too hasty in urging my love? I have known +thee, and loved thee, for so many years; thou hast, thy beautiful +spirit has ever, night and day, been near me, the light of my life; +but I have frightened thee by my impetuosity--and thou canst never +love me? But, no, thy beautiful eyes look tenderly upon me; and thou +wouldst not let me hold this little soft, warm hand, and imprison it +within mine, if thou didst hate me. I do not lightly ask that precious +boon, thy love. Believe me, it is as I say," continued he, earnestly +bending upon her his deep, dark, eloquent eyes--eyes that made her +little heart thrill to its very core. "It is as I tell thee, thou hast +been my dream by day and by night. See here," and he drew from his +bosom a small miniature, and handed it to her--the exact image +of--herself. "And now I will tell thee what I never before told mortal +being. Just three years ago, after a fatiguing day's fight, I lay in +my tent, awake; and thou didst come to me, just as thou now dost +appear--a vision of light and purity and glorious loveliness. Whether +it was a dream or not, or a trance, I know not; but never since has +that radiant vision left me. Thou didst lay thy little soft, white +hand upon my fevered brow, and I heard most distinctly, as thy sweet +face bent over me, these words: 'Do not love other than me, for I +alone, on earth, am destined for thee.' From my earliest boyhood have +I loved to use the pencil; and on the next morning I tried, and +succeeded in conveying to this bit of ivory the image of that most, +most beautiful vision; and I have worn it upon my heart ever since, +where I would the loved, deeply, dearly loved and beautiful original +might ever be. From then till now have I worn next to my heart that +semblance of my nightly, daily dream; but never until now have I been +blessed in seeing my dream, living, breathing before me." + +How that young heart throbbed and bounded, almost suffocating its +loving, lovely owner with the intensity of its joyous emotion, as the +earnest tones of that low, passionate voice fell, word by word, into +its inmost centre, as the glance of those deeply, deeply loving eyes +awoke it to life and love. Her hand lay within his, and by little he +drew her more and more closely and warmly to his heart, and by little +her head gradually sunk upon his manly breast, her eyes looked up +tenderly and trustingly into his and drank in his passionate gaze, as +though it were her life. Time flew by them unheeded, each pouring out +joy and life into the heart of the other. Their very being melting and +mingling each into the other, until each felt that their two lives +were one. Nor did he sully those pure, exquisite lips, with one +earthly kiss. His soul kissed hers, and her own vibrated to his in +trembling unison. + +Such moments of intense soul-rapture do not often occur to many of us +on earth, for perfect love seeks perfect fulfillment; and in the +perfect fulfillment of love is too often the satiety that deadens its +finest, most spiritual impulses. + +The castle gong sounded, booming heavily through the trees. Isoleth +started to her feet like a frightened doe. + +"I must go," exclaimed she, "my guardian--" + +"Stay one moment, sweetest, I have something to tell thee, that thou +must hear." + +"I have staid too long already," interrupted she, hastily, "my +guardian will be sending out for me--it is already growing dark. Fare +thee well;" and she gave him a farewell with her soft, brown eyes that +never left his heart--so full of unconscious love was it. + +"You will meet me here again to-morrow morning? Promise me at least so +much, dearest beloved." + +"Yes, yes," and with another glance from her soft, bright eyes, she +glided out of his sight. + + +CHAPTER IV. + +SUSPENSE. + +"I am glad to see thee safely at home, my dear child. Where hast thou +been? Thou knowest I hate to have thee rambling about the +castle-grounds after night-fall. I have already sent out to seek thee, +and was on the point of going in search of thee myself. But, dear +child, if walking at any time will bring thee home with such a +radiant, glowing color, I shall not quarrel with the cause or hour. +Thou art looking as bright and as happy and beautiful as I hope always +to see thee look." + +"I was afraid, dear uncle," replied Isoleth, blushing still more +deeply, and casting her conscious, love-full eyes to the ground, "I +was afraid thou wouldst begin to be uneasy about me, and I hastened--I +have no one, dearest uncle, when thou art away, to take such good care +of me. I go wandering about among my favorite haunts at my own good +will and pleasure, night or day, as it happens." + +"The time is coming, eh! sweet Isoleth, when thou wilt have to consult +another will save thine own," said the baron, patting her fondly on +her soft, white neck. + +Ferdinand laughed, and looked very impressed and impressive, and gazed +her out of countenance with assured, admiring eyes, as he answered for +her, + +"Yes, yes, we are waiting only for the goodly company that are to +witness the approaching nuptials. Is it not so, fairest lady?" + +"The hideous being!" thought Isoleth, without vouchsafing an audible +reply. "Is this the one with whom I am to spend my days--but no, it +shall not be." + +She did the honors of the supper-table with a suffocating throat, with +a proud rebellious heart, full of love for one she felt she ought not +to love, and full of hate for another that she knew she ought to love. +She was absent in spite of herself, and did all manner of queer things +that people do, who, for a time, take leave of absence of +themselves--answering yes, for no--and no, for yes--attempting to bite +a piece out of her little porcelain cup-plate, instead of the cook's +snowy cake; pouring her guardian's cup up with cream instead of +coffee, and sweetening it with salt instead of sugar. Many other +little pleasantries of like nature did she perform, very much to the +amusement of her guardian and the hated Ferdinand. The latter made +himself exceeding merry at her expense, at the same time showing her +every attention and gallantry that he, finished courtier, could +devise. Isoleth felt at length completely worried and tired to death, +as though she could not for one moment longer, endure the torture of +her heart's conflicting emotion. + +"You look pale and tired, my beloved child," said her guardian, +tenderly taking her little cold, white hand within his. All your +beautiful color is gone. I fear that after all your walk, or the +excitement, has been too much for you. You had best retire for the +night. Shall I ring for Dame Hildreth, or some of your maidens?" + +"No, dear uncle, with your permission, I will seek those I wish," +answered Isoleth, only too glad to escape from the hated presence into +the calm stillness of her own room. + +She found the good little dame awaiting her; and to her compassionate +ear she poured forth the sorrow and joy of her young heart. The +kind-hearted little woman sympathized cordially with her precious +foster-child, wishing over and over again that some benevolent fairy +would change the beautiful stranger cousin with the hateful old Prince +Ferdinand--she had to acknowledge that he did _look_ old--until after +the happy wedding was over. "And then how blank and black the prince +would look, and how astonished we all would be to find you had married +the handsome young man instead of the grumpy old one." + +"Now leave me, good nurse, I would be alone. I will entreat my dear +uncle on the morrow to release me from this dreaded alliance. He +never yet refused a request of mine." + +Isoleth quieted herself in the belief that her beloved guardian would +certainly grant her petition as soon as she made it known to him. In +child-like confidence, therefore, she sunk to her happy sleep, with a +pair of dark, loving eyes hovering over her and mingling with her +dreams. And never eyes gazed on more gentle sleep or lovely sleeper. + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE APPEAL. + +With a buoyant step and a sparkling eye the Lady Isoleth sought her +guardian early the next morning. He was deeply immersed in papers and +parchments, while huge, formidable-looking books were piled high +around him. He nevertheless welcomed his sweet niece with a sudden +clearing off of his thought-lined brow, and a fond, affectionate +smile. + +"Forgive me, dearest uncle, if I have disturbed thy studies; but I +would see thee alone, and I feared this might be the only opportunity, +as the carriages containing our kinsfolk are even now expected; so +nurse Hildreth informed me." + +"What would my pet bird have that she seeks her uncle thus early?" + +"A boon that you must grant, dearest uncle, for upon it depends my +heart's happiness now and forever." + +"Name it, my darling Isy--what wouldst thou have, little enthusiast?" + +"Release from one I never can love. Oh! my dearest uncle," continued +she, fondly twining her soft, white arms around his neck, and lovingly +kissing his time-worn brow, "do, for Heaven's sweet love, tell me at +once that I need not wed him, for I never can love him--never, never!" + +"Bless her little heart, what is the child raving about? Whom dost +thou mean, dear baby, by _him_?" + +"Who should I mean, dearest uncle, but my cousin, this Prince +Ferdinand. I _need_ not be his wife. I--" + +"Thy cousin, Prince Ferdinand!" + +"I hate him--I abhor him--I utterly detest him! I never can love him! +I never will be his wife! I never--" + +"Hold, hold! not so fast; why thou romantic little recluse! thou hast +lived alone too much by half. Thy little head is brim full of fancies. +Thy tongue is running wild. Thou _hatest_ him! Why what wouldst thou +have better? Is he not all a woman could desire? Is he not young +and--" + +"Young!" + +"And handsome, and--" + +"Handsome!" + +"And is he not a prince? And is he not heir to a powerful, wealthy +ducal throne? And will he not take thee to court--the gay, beautiful +court; and wilt thou not reign there a queen--a queen of beauty and +joy and light--and ere long queen of the throne?" + +"All that does not dazzle me, dearest uncle--for what are thrones and +splendor where love is not? Oh! dear, dearest uncle, do not press +this hated match upon me. Do not doom me to eternal sorrow. Do not--" + +"Hoity, toity! Why thou dost talk just as they do in those silly +romances. I wager thy head is full of them. Thou hast had bad +teachers, child, to permit thee to fill thy poor little brain with +such trash instead of useful knowledge. Or is it," said he, fixing his +gray eyes searchingly upon her, "or is it that thou hast met some +sighing Adonis in the woods? Ha! thou dost blush--have a care, child. +There, thou needest not tremble, I will not seek to know thy secret, +if secret thou hast. This much, however, know for a certainty, that +Prince Ferdinand is destined to be thy--" + +"Dearest uncle!" exclaimed the little lady, her beautiful eyes filling +with tears, "thou shalt know all--all I have to tell, if thou wilt but +deliver me from this--" + +"Have done with this folly, Lady Isoleth," and his cold gray eyes +sternly regarded her. "It was thy dead father's will that thou +shouldst marry thy cousin, Prince Ferdinand of Bernstorf; and thy +father's will must and shall be obeyed." + +"'Folly!' 'Lady Isoleth!' 'must and shall!' He never before now spoke +one unkind word to me." And the weeping Isoleth went with a breaking +heart and shut herself in her own room, alone, and locking herself in, +she gave unrestrained vent to her passionate grief. + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE LAST APPEAL. + +"I will seek _him_--yes, _he_ will not refuse my prayer. I will tell +him I hate him. He will be only too glad to release me when he knows +the depth of hatred I bear him. I will go this moment, for soon will +all my gay cousins be here, and then will be the horrid betrothal +ceremony--but I will not think of that--" + +"Ha! my shy, beautiful cousin, Lady Isoleth!" Ferdinand was in the +library, amusing himself with books and prints. "See here, beautiful +cousin, I have found a book of rare merit, and beautifully +illuminated. I suppose, though," continued he with a quizzical look, +"that all the books here and their manifold contents are familiar to +thy bright eyes--is it not so?" + +"Not exactly _all_," replied Isoleth, smiling in spite of her sorrow, +as she glanced at the endless rows of huge leather-bound tomes, that +had not even had the cobwebs dusted from them for a century at least. + +"Wilt thou not deign to look over this precious book with me, most +beauteous lady? Thy sharp wit may help my slow faculties to comprehend +its quaint poetry, and thy glorious eyes will love its finely executed +prints." + +"I came not to disturb thy meditations," replied she, shrinking from +his approaching steps. I came to crave a boon from thee." + +"It is granted thee, fairest lady, even before thou dost utter it. But +what is it, the most beautiful, most lovely of her beautiful, lovely +sex would ask? Be it even unto the half of my kingdom--" + +"It is not the half of thy kingdom, but the whole of it, together with +thy kingdom's lord, that I would be freed from." + +"Thou art pleased to be facetious, most charming Lady Isoleth. Pray +explain thyself, that my dull understanding may comprehend thy +meaning." + +"Ferdinand, Prince of Bernstorf--" + +"Yes--" + +"Is one that I never, never can love--one that I had rather should see +me in the grave ere he shall call me wife." + +"Ha! well, loveliest cousin, that is plain, and easy to be understood +even by the slowest comprehension. Thou hatest him, dost thou?" + +"Most cordially." + +"My son thanks thee, fair cousin--and I also, in his name." + +"Thy son!" + +"Ay, and here he is to thank thee himself. How now, scapegrace! Thou +art tardy in paying thy respects to this beautiful, noble lady. Thou +shouldst have been here days ago. Even now thy fair cousin was on the +point of refusing thee. I tell thee, lad, thou'lt never find a fairer. +Courting was not done in this slipshod way when I was a boy." + +All this while Isoleth was gazing in mute astonishment upon--yes, she +was not mistaken--he was the very one--the very most beautiful being +to whom she had given, only the night before, her precious little +heart. And those dark, earnest eyes were passionately regarding her, +drinking in rapturously her glowing beauty, until her eyes, abashed, +sought the floor, unable to bear the light of those intensely loving +ones. + +"Then thou'rt the _Duke_ of Bernstorf, my father's cousin?" suddenly +asked she, of Ferdinand the elder. + +"Who else, fairest cousin? Ha! thou didst then think--" a sudden light +seemed to break through the chambers of his brain. "Ha! ha! ha!" +laughed he, "Thou thoughtest that _I_ was the one. I could not wish a +fairer, more beautiful bride than thou; but--ha! ha! ha! I have one +goodly wife already, who is to be here this very day; and, between you +and I, one is more than I can manage, although she is one of the best +of her perfect, bewitching sex. Still--So, that was the reason thou +wert so shy of me, sweet flower." And the father, Ferdinand, threw +himself back in his chair, and gave way to the most uncontrollable +bursts of laughter; while Ferdinand, the son, had taken the soft, +lily-white hand of his lovely betrothed, and was talking to her in +words from his heart's heart. + +"I should have told thee all this last evening if thou couldst have +waited but one instant longer. I was to have accompanied my father and +thy guardian here; but I dreaded so much to see my affianced +bride--not dreaming until last evening that my beloved and betrothed +were one and the same--that my beautiful dream was a more beautiful +reality. If I had come and found the young Countess of Fernheath one +that I could not have loved, I should certainly have moved earth and +heaven but that I would have had the contract, made by our goodly +sires, annulled--or I would have drowned or shot myself. Don't +shudder, sweetest, I shall do neither now, unless I am shot by the +lightning of your bright eyes, and drowned in the bliss--but, dearest, +I love you too dearly to speak nonsense to thee--even love nonsense. +Strange, was it not, darling, that I should not have recognized you? +It has been many a long year since I saw you a little rosy, romping, +fairy thing of only a few bright summers. We have had troublous times +since then; war and bloodshed that would--" + +"Pardon me, most beautiful cousin, my long laughter hath been rude; +but, indeed, thy mistake was most droll. There, sweet cousin, I have +done! Thy blushes, however, are exceedingly becoming thy fair face. So +thou and my goodly son hast met before--is it not so? And he is not +the laggard in love I unjustly deemed him. And now I suppose the best +thing for me to do is to take myself off to another world, and resign +my kingdom and crown in this for one in the--however, we will arrange +all that after the wedding. Let us, meantime, enjoy the present. Ah! +here comes thy good uncle with a cloudy brow; something has gone wrong +with him--we must have no gloom to-day. And here also comes thundering +down the avenue all the goodly old carriages containing our expected +kinsfolk." + +And here also comes, + + +CHAPTER THE LAST, + +Which I know will delight you, dearest reader, as it containeth the +wedding; but most especially will it delight you because it _is_ the +last. The wedding was of course a splendid one, and better still, a +joyous one. Little Dame Hildreth would let no one but herself fasten +so much as a bridal ornament on her beautiful young foster-child. It +would be hard saying which moved fastest on the important day, her +hands or her tongue. + +"Just to think!" exclaimed she, as she clasped those same pearls, that +had once been cast aside in scorn, upon her darling--and pure and +lovely they shone among her soft, brown curls, and on her snow-white +arms and neck, and around her lithe and slender waist--"to think that +I could have mistaken Ferdinand, the reigning Duke of Bernstorf, for +Ferdinand, the Prince. Really, though, my lady, to look at them, one +does not see much difference in their appearance--they are both so +handsome and grand-looking. Oh, yes! _you_ see a vast odds in their +looks--that's natural! These old eyes, I suppose, are growing dim--but +they are bright enough to see that thou art the dearest, loveliest, +most beautiful bride that ever the sun shone upon." + + "_Sic transit gloria mundi._" + + + + +THE CITY OF MEXICO. + +WRITTEN WHILE THE WAR WAS PENDING. + +BY M. E. THROPP. + + + Pride of the South, thy glittering spires + Point to the arching sky, + While tower and palace proudly rear + Their stately forms on high; + Thy spacious squares spread far and wide + Along the valley green, + And bright above thy hundred fanes + An hundred crosses gleam. + + Bland, spring-like breezes, brilliant skies, + Birds of gay song and plume, + Cool sparkling founts, wide shaded walks, + Trees, of eternal bloom, + Bright glowing flowers, as fresh and pure + As infant's rosy mouth, + Rare, tempting fruits--all--all are thine, + Sweet City of the South. + + Around thee lime and citron bowers + In peaceful beauty rest, + While orange groves stretch far away + To blue Tezcuco's breast; + Beyond thee giant bulwarks stand, + Cordillera's mountain line, + And lift along thine azure sky + Their silver crests sublime. + + Ah! thou hast beauty, Southern Queen, + And thou hadst wealth and power; + But wealth and beauty proved to thee + "A darkly glorious dower." + Iberia on her rocky heights + Beheld thee from afar, + And rolled o'er all thy subject clime + The lurid tide of war. + + On thee the mighty torrent burst, + And with resistless sway + Bore from thy desperate, struggling sons + Their gods, their kings away. + Then followed weary, weary years, + Such as the conquered know, + When brave hearts bleed and faint ones break + Beneath their weight of wo. + + Iberia's brood with iron sway + Kept down thy fallen ones, + And bonds and stripes were freely doled + To thy degraded sons; + Then spear and lance were left to rust + Along thy bannered walls, + Thine eagle drooped and strangers dwelt + In "Montezuma's halls." + + Oppression's long dark night of pain + At length wore slowly on, + And, radiant 'mid receding gloom, + Hope heralded the dawn. + Day broke, and Freedom's glorious sun + Uprose o'er thine and thee, + While thy clear bells with silvery chime + Proclaimed a country FREE. + + And mingling with their heavenly tones + Glad triumphs swelled the breeze, + For that bright sun dispelled the gloom + Of rolling centuries. + A flood of golden light streamed down + O'er valley mount and plain, + Thy joyous eagle plumed his wing + And soared aloft again. + + Thy sons rejoiced o'er rights restored, + The joy of other years, + And gentler woman's truthful heart + Wept silent grateful tears; + And thou--bathed in thy new-born light-- + Thou ancient island-gem, + Ah! to thy proud fond children's hearts + Thou wert an Eden then. + + But thy stern oracles the while + Spoke ever deep and slow-- + "Dark hours are yet reserved for thee, + Ill-fated Mexico!" + And after years proved all too soon, + Proved to thy bitter pain, + Thy soil's vast wealth, thy sons' best blood, + Had flowed, and flowed in vain. + + How hast thou mourned the civil broils + That shook thy peaceful homes? + How hast thou mourned the broken faith + Of thy degenerate sons? + The faith thrice broken that incurred + Columbia's vengeful sword, + Till red o'er many a battle-plain + Thy blood like water poured. + + Again the stranger's echoing tread + Sounds from thy ancient halls-- + Again the flag of other lands + Waves o'er thy captured walls. + Thy peerless beauty, storied lore, + Thy buried heroes' fame, + Wealth, power--ah, what are they to thee + With thy dishonored name! + + The foe that first beheld thy towers + Beyond the lake's green shore, + And they who fondly reared thee up, + The lordly ones of yore-- + They did not dream a change like this + Could on thy pride be hurled, + Who erst amid thy mountains reigned + Queen of the new-found world. + + + + +GAME-BIRDS OF AMERICA.--NO. XI. + +[Illustration: THE RUFFED GROUSE OR PHEASANT.] + + +In the Eastern States the true partridge is known by the name of +quail, the appellation of partridge being there given to what in +Pennsylvania is called the pheasant, and which in the Ornithologies +bears the name of the Ruffed Grouse, (_Tetrao Umbellus._ WILSON.) It +inhabits a very extensive range of country, being found at Hudson's +Bay, in Kentucky and Indiana, Oregon and the Floridas. Its favorite +places of resort are high mountains covered with the balsam, pine, +hemlock and other evergreens, and as we descend from such heights to +the lower country they become more rare; and in the Carolinas, Georgia +and Florida they are very scarce. The manners of the pheasant are +solitary, they are seldom found in coveys of more than four or five +together, and more usually in pairs, or singly. They are often shot in +the mornings in the roads over the mountains bounding the Susquehanna; +where they come for gravel. On foggy mornings very considerable +numbers may be seen in these situations, moving along with great +stateliness, their broad fan-like tail expanded to its fullest extent. +The _drumming_ of the pheasant, a sound compared by Wilson to that +produced by striking two full blown ox bladders together, but much +louder; the strokes at first slow and distinct, but gradually +increasing in rapidity till they run into each other, resembling the +rumbling sound of very distant thunder dying away gradually on the +ear. This drumming is the call of the male bird to his mate, and may +be heard in a calm day nearly half a mile. Wilson thus describes the +manner in which this singular noise is produced. The bird, standing on +an old prostrate log, generally in a retired and sheltered situation, +lowers his wings, erects his expanded tail, contracts his throat, +elevates two tufts of feathers on the neck, and inflates his whole +body something in the manner of the turkey-cock, strutting and +wheeling about with great stateliness. After a few manoeuvres of this +kind he begins to strike with his stiffened wings in short and quick +strokes, which become more and more rapid until they run into each +other, as has been already described. This is most common in the +morning and evening, though Wilson states that he has heard them +drumming at all hours of the day. By means of this the pheasant leads +the gunner to the place of his retreat, though to those unacquainted +with the sound there is great deception in the supposed distance, it +generally appearing to be much nearer than it really is. Audubon +mentions having often called them within shot by imitating the sound. +This he accomplished by beating a large inflated bullock's bladder +with a stick, keeping up as much as possible the same time as that in +which the bird beats. At the sound produced by the bladder and the +stick, the male grouse, inflamed with jealousy, has flown directly +toward him, when, being prepared beforehand, he has easily shot it. +When flushed, the pheasant flies with great vigor through the woods, +beyond the reach of view, springing up at first within a few yards, +with a loud whirring noise. Noticing this peculiarity of flight, Mr. +Audubon states that when this bird rises from the ground at a time +when pursued by an enemy, or tracked by a dog, it produces a loud +whirring sound resembling that of the whole tribe, excepting the +black-cock of Europe, which has less of it than any other species. The +whirring sound is never heard when the grouse rises of its own accord, +for the purpose of removing from one place to another; nor, in similar +circumstances, is it commonly produced by our little partridge. "In +fact," he continues, "I do not believe that it is emitted by any +species of grouse, unless when surprised and forced to rise. I have +often been lying on the ground in the woods or the fields, for hours +at a time, for the express purpose of observing the movements and +habits of different birds, and have frequently seen a partridge or a +grouse rise on wing within a few yards of the spot where I lay, +unobserved by them, as gently and softly as any other bird, and +without producing any whirring sound. Nor even when this grouse +ascends to the top of a tree does it make any greater noise than other +birds of the same size would do." + +With a good dog, pheasants are easily found, and what is singular, +they will look down upon him from the branches of a tree, where they +sit, apparently stupefied, not attempting to fly, but allowing +themselves to be shot one by one until all are killed. Should one of +those on the higher branches, however, be shot first, the sight of his +fall will cause an immediate flight. A figure 4 trap is used with +success in taking them, especially when deep snow lies on the ground. +They were formerly numerous in the immediate vicinity of Philadelphia, +but the advances of the agriculturist have led them to retreat to the +interior, and but a very few can be now found within several miles. +The pheasant is in the best order in September and October, but in +mid-winter those who shoot them should be careful to draw them as soon +as possible, as the buds of laurel on which at that season they +sometimes feed, if left in the stomach of the dead bird, diffuse their +poisonous qualities over its whole body, and render it dangerous food. + +[Illustration: AMERICAN PARTRIDGE, OR QUAIL. (_Perdrix Virginianus._ WILSON.)] + +This well known bird, though not very migratory in its habits, has +extended its colonies from New England to Mexico. The spot where they +have been raised, if they can at all support life, is their home; and +there they will remain until the whole flock is destroyed by +sportsmen. This fact sufficiently disproves the asserted identity of +our partridge with the quail of the European continent, which is a +bird of passage, leaving Europe for Asia at the approach of winter, +and returning in very great numbers in the spring. Partridges assemble +in small families, varying according to circumstances from three to +thirty; and, except in the breeding season, they all live together in +a happy and mutual alliance. The quails on the other hand are +pugnacious to a proverb--"as quarrelsome as quails in a cage." + +The partridges are nearly full grown by the beginning of September, +and associated in the usual coveys of from twenty to thirty afford +considerable sport to the gunner. The notes of the males at this time +are frequent, clear and loud, and they may by skillful imitation of +the call be deceived and induced approach. Their food consists of +grain seed, insects and berries of various kinds. The buckwheat fields +suffer severely from their depredations in September and October, +affording them at that time abundant food and secure shelter. At night +they roost in the middle of a field, on high ground, sitting round in +a circle with their heads outward. In this position they place +themselves at the commencement of a fall of snow, when their mutual +warmth is the better able to resist the effects of frost, and each +forms a guard for the whole against the approach of danger. They are +not afraid of snow, for they sometimes fly to a drift for safety; it +being only when a coating of frozen sleet resists their efforts to +leave it that they experience bad effects from it. The loud whirring +sound of their flight when flushed is well known. Its steady, +horizontal flight renders it an easy prey to the sportsman, especially +when he is assisted by a sagacious dog. The flesh of the partridge is +peculiarly white, tender and delicate, in this respect unequaled by +any other American game. + +[Illustration: THE AMERICAN ROBIN. (_Turdus Migratorius._)] + +This well known bird, and universal favorite, can require but a very +few words at our hands. His unassuming familiarity of manners has +caused him to be immortalized in the Songs for the Nursery, and others +of Mother Goose's collections for the little ones. His nest is +preserved from the rude hands of boyhood by a sort of instinctive +veneration for his well known and long established character, and his +cheerful, zealous singing not unfrequently causes the older sportsman +to take down the armed gun from his shoulder, and suffer the assiduous +songster to enjoy his liberty and life. + +The robin is particularly fond of gum-berries, and it is only +necessary for the sportsman to take his stand near one of these trees +when it is covered with fruit, and load and fire his gun. One flock +after another will come to it without intermission during the whole +day. + + + + +TO A ROSE-BUD. + + + Thy leaves are not unfolded yet to the sweet light of love, + Thy bosom now is blushing like the sunset clouds above; + Thy beauteous form is perfect, thy hopes are fair and bright, + Thy dreams are sweet while sleeping in the gentle breeze of night; + And though I know a dew-drop tear hath in thy bosom been, + 'Twas only sent to nourish thee, and make thee pure within: + No canker-worm corrodes thy rest, and life is life to thee, + And as the past has ever been so may the future be. + May all thy dreams be realized, thy hopes be not in vain, + Thy life pass calm and sweetly on without a sigh of pain: + And when thy leaves shall droop and fall, as droop and fall they must, + Thy lovely form will then lie low, to mingle with the dust; + And to thy long last resting-place soft winds shall be thy bier, + While the fragrance of thy loving heart will ever linger near; + To me thy memory will come back when I am lone and sad, + And thoughts of thy pure, gentle life shall make my spirit glad. + Ah! lovely rose-bud, well I know that both of us must die, + And when death comes, may I, like you, leave earth without a sigh; + May I, like you, when youth shall fade, still yield the sweet perfume, + The incense of a worthy heart, which age can not consume: + Farewell, farewell, sweet rose-bud, were I but as pure as thee, + My soul would be contented, my spirit would be free, + Each wish would then be gratified, each longing have a home, + And joy and peace would fill my heart wherever I might roam. + + Y. S. + + + + +ERIN WAKING. + +BY WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER. + + + Light streams through a rift in the cloud + That hangs over green Innisfail-- + While voices of millions are shouting aloud + The satraps of Tyranny quail: + The collar of Shame hath been worn + Through ages of folly and wo-- + Too long hath thy neck, O Hibernia! borne + The yoke of a merciless foe, + Whose creatures, while Perfidy sharpened the dart, + Like vultures have crimsoned their beaks in thy heart. + + Hot winds from the waste of Despair + On thy blood-bedewed shamrock have breathed, + But the leaves, growing verdant in Liberty's air, + Again round her brow shall be wreathed: + And chisel of Art on the stone + Shall name of that martyr engrave + Who prayed for a sepulchre, noteless and lone, + While foot of one heart-broken slave + Polluted the green of that beautiful shore, + By steel-harnessed champions trodden of yore. + + Gone forth hath the gathering word, + And under Hesperian skies + Fond exiles the call of their mother have heard, + And homeward are turning their eyes: + They send o'er the murmuring brine + In answer a shout of applause, + And drops, that give warmth to their bosoms, like wine, + Are ready to shed in a cause + That cannot march on with a faltering stride + While Truth wears a buckler, and God is a guide. + + Land of the valiant! at last + The brow of thy future is bright; + In return for a shadowed and comfortless past + Is dawning an era of light: + The Lion of Britain in vain + + Is baring his teeth for the fray-- + Thy children have sworn that dishonoring stain + Shall be wiped from thy forehead away: + The bones of thy martyrs have stirred in the tomb, + And glimmers the starlight of Hope through the gloom. + + Invaders thy valor have rued-- + To deeds that will aye be admired + Bear witness, Clontarf! where the Dane was subdued, + And Bryan, the dauntless, expired: + Thy sons on the scaffold have died, + The block hath been soaked with their gore, + And long ago banished thy splendor and pride; + But idle it seems to deplore-- + Unbending resolve to blot out thy disgrace, + In hearts of the brave, to regret should give place. + + The Genius of Erin from earth, + Uprising, hath broken the bowl, + Whose tide to a black-crested viper gave birth, + That long dimmed the light of her soul; + And millions of high-hearted men + Who thus can wild passion restrain, + Though driven for refuge to cavern and den, + Will arm for the conflict again-- + And, venturing all on the hazardous cast, + Prove victors, though worn and outnumbered, at last. + + Thou isle, on the breast of the sea + Like an emerald gracefully set, + Though feet shod with iron have trampled on thee, + A brightness belongs to thee yet: + In bondage thy magical lyre + Hath thrilled a wide world with its strains, + And thine eloquent sons have awakened a fire + That fast is dissolving thy chains:-- + The Saxon is watching the issue in fear-- + He knows that thy day of redemption draws near. + + + + +LINES + +TO A SKETCH OF J. BAYARD TAYLOR, IN HIS ALPINE COSTUME. + +BY GEO. W. DEWEY. + +[SEE ENGRAVING.] + + + The inspiration of thy smile, + Thou minstrel of the wayside song, + Yet lingers on thy face the while + I see thee climb the Alps along; + As if thy harp's unwearied lay + Sustained thee on thy rugged way. + + There dwells within thy poet-eyes + The spirit of the ancient bards-- + A soul in which no shadow lies-- + A glance forever heavenwards; + As though the thoughts thy dreams unfurled + Hung, star-like, o'er a watching world. + + Methinks the bard who saw at night, + Amid the glacier's snow and ice, + A youth ascend the spectral height, + Unfurling there "the strange device," + Did, with a prophet's pen, foreshow + Thy form upon those mounts of snow. + + And when the mists have valeward rolled, + Below thy pathway, hard and long, + Stern Death shall find thee, pale and cold, + Upon the highest _peak_ of SONG-- + Still grasping, with a frozen hand, + The banner of _that_ ALPINE LAND! + + +[Illustration: Yours ever, Bayard Taylor +ONE OF OUR CONTRIBUTORS +Expressly engraved for Graham's Magazine] + + + + +GAUTAMA'S SONG OF REST. + +BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR. + +[The Hindoo philosopher Gautama, now worshiped under the name of +Buddha, lived in the fifth century before Christ. He taught the unity +of God and Nature, or rather, that the physical and spiritual worlds +are merely different conditions of an eternal Being. In the spiritual +state, this Being exists in perfect and blissful rest, whose +emanations and over-flowings enter the visible world, first in the +lowest forms of nature, but rising through gradual and progressive +changes till they reach man, who returns after death to the original +rest and beatitude.] + + + How long, oh! all-pervading Soul of Earth, + Ere Thy last toils on this worn being close, + And trembling with its sudden glory-birth, + Its wings are folded in the lost repose? + + Thy doom, resistless, on its travel lies + Through weary wastes of labor and of pain, + Where the soul falters, as its Paradise + In far-off mirage fades and flies again. + + From that pure realm of silence and of joy, + The quickening glories of Thy slumber shine, + Kindling to birth the lifeless world's alloy, + Till its dead bosom bears a seed divine. + + Through meaner forms the spirit slowly rose, + Which now to meet its near elysium burns; + Through toilsome ages, circling towards repose, + The sphere of Being on its axle turns! + + Filled with the conscious essence that shall grow, + Through many-changed existence, up to Man, + The sighing airs of scented Ceylon blow, + And desert whirlwinds whelm the caravan. + + On the blue bosom of th' eternal deep + It moves forever in the heaving tide; + And, throned on giant Himalaya's steep, + It hurls the crashing avalanche down his side! + + The wing of fire strives upward to the air, + Bursting in thunder rock-bound hills apart, + And the deep globe itself complains to bear + The earthquake beatings of its mighty heart! + + Even when the waves are wearied out with toil, + And in their caverns swoon the winds away, + A thousand germs break through the yielding soil, + And bees and blossoms charm the drowsy day. + + In stillest calms, when Nature's self doth seem + Sick for the far-off rest, the work goes on + In deep old forests, like a silent dream, + And sparry caves, that never knew the dawn. + + From step to step, through long and weary time, + The struggling atoms rise in Nature's plan, + Till dust instinctive reaches mind sublime-- + Till lowliest being finds its bloom in Man! + + Here, on the borders of that Realm of Peace, + The gathered burdens of existence rest, + And like a sea whose surges never cease, + Heaves with its care the weary human breast. + + Oh! bright effulgence of th' Eternal Power, + Break the worn band, and wide thy portals roll! + With silent glory flood the solemn hour + When star-eyed slumber welcomes back the soul! + + Then shall the spirit sink in rapture down, + Like some rich blossom drunk with noontide's beam, + Or the wild bliss of music, sent to crown + The wakening moment of a midnight dream. + + Through all the luminous seas of ether there, + Stirs not a trembling wave, to break the rest; + But fragrance, and the silent sense of prayer, + Charm the eternal slumber of the Blest! + + + + +MY FATHER'S GRAVE. + +BY S. D. ANDERSON. + + + It is a sweet and shady spot + Beneath the aged trees, + Where perfumed wild flowers lowly bend + Unto the passing breeze; + And joyous song-birds warble there + Rich music to the sunny air, + And many a golden-tinted beam + Fails on the spot like childhood's dream. + + The moss-clad church is standing there, + The stream goes laughing by, + Sending its gurgling music out + Along a summer sky; + The rose has found a dwelling here + Beside the coffin and the bier; + And here the lily rears its head, + Within this _Eden_ of the dead. + + The sunlight glances on the scene + With many a sombre hue, + Caught from the cypress near the stream, + Or from the funeral yew; + And, spirit-like, above each stone + Is heard the night-wind's whispered tone, + As if the spirit lingered there, + Enchanted with a scene so fair. + + The wild bee revels 'mid the flowers + That climb the ruined wall, + And, gently drooping, shroud the tomb + With Nature's fairest pall; + And dirge-like sings the trickling rill, + At evening's hour when all is still; + Whilst echo answers back again + In mimic notes the plaintive strain. + + But moonlight gilds the scene anew, + Now all is hushed and calm; + The very winds seem sunk to rest, + O'erladen with their balm; + The stars, pale watchers of the night, + Look brightly out on such a sight; + Whilst from the hill the bird's low wail + Is wafted on the evening gale. + + Be mine the lot, when life's dull day + Has drawn unto a close, + And dreams of Love, and hopes of Fame, + Have sunk to calm repose, + By all forgot, to rest my head + Unmarked beside the silent dead; + Hushed by the murmurs of the wave + That moans around my FATHER'S GRAVE. + + + + +VOICES FROM THE SPIRIT LAND. + +WORDS BY JOHN S. ADAMS. + +COMPOSED AND ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO FORTE + +BY VALENTINE DISTER. + +Presented by George Willig, No. 171 Chestnut Street.--Copyright +Secured according to Law. + +[Illustration: music sheet 1] + + + In the silence of the midnight, + When the cares of day are o'er, + In my soul I hear the voices + Of the loved ones gone before; + +[Illustration: music sheet 2] + + + And the words of comfort whisp'ring, + Tell they'll watch on ev'ry hand, + And I love, I love to list to + Voices from the spirit land, + And I love, I love to list to + Voices from the spirit land. + +2. + + In my wanderings, oft there cometh + Sudden stillness to my soul; + When around, above, within it + Rapturous joys unnumber'd roll; + Though around me all is tumult, + Noise and strife on every hand, + Yet within my soul I list to + Voices from the spirit land. + +3. + + Loved ones that have gone before me + Whisper words of peace and joy; + Those that long since have departed, + Tell me their divine employ + Is to watch and guard my footsteps: + Oh, it is an angel band! + And my soul is cheered in hearing + Voices from the spirit land. + + + + +GEMS FROM LATE READINGS. + + +BY THE AUTHOR OF KATE WALSINGHAM. + +Oh, there is many a spot in this every-day world of ours as bright and +beautiful as those of which we dream, or go miles away to visit and +admire; but we must seek for them in the right spirit, ere the dimness +will pass away from eyes blinded by the love of foreign novelties. Our +own land, ay, even our own city--the crowded mart of commerce, and the +vast haunt of poverty and crime, is rich in many a quiet nook, which, +although it might arrest the attention if depicted on the gemmed page +of the picturesque annual by some summer tourist, it is considered +plebeian to notice as we pass them in our daily walks. + +We have sat beneath the vines and blue skies of Italy, and heard from +her moonlight balconies such strains as made us hold our breath to +listen that we might not lose a note ere the perfumed breeze bore it +lingeringly away: and in after years, in those English balconies we +have described, wept, beneath the same moon, tears that had more of +joy than grief in them, at some rude and simple strain which, sung by +loved lips, made the charm of our careless and happy childhood. We +have stood awe-stricken before the walls of the Colosseum, at Rome, +and dreamt of it for evermore! But we have likewise paused opposite +the Colosseum in the Regent's Park, investing it in the dim twilight +with a thousand beauties that made it an object of interest. We can +well remember lingering in the neighborhood, before the mimic church, +or convent, as we had been taught to call it, of St. Catharine, with +the moonshine gleaming through its arches, and the flickering lights +appearing here and there in the diamond-paned windows, watching +eagerly for the appearance of those white-robed nuns with which our +childish fancy had peopled that quiet place--wondering that they never +came. And amid all the architectural glory of foreign churches and +cathedrals, since visited, have failed again to realize that simple +love of, and faith in the beautiful, which then invested every scene +with its peculiar charm. Where the mind makes its own picturesque, it +never yet failed to find materials, and is often gifted with a strange +power to charm others into seeing with its own loving eyes! So the +poet immortalizes the humble home of his boyhood, and in after years +men make pilgrimages to the time-worn stile, the + + + Rustic bridge--the willow tree; + Bathing its tresses in the quiet brook; + + +which his genius has redeemed from obscurity, and rendered hallowed +spots for evermore. + + +BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY. + + + Oh! tell me not of lofty fate, + Of glory's deathless name; + The bosom love leaves desolate + Has naught to do with fame. + + Vainly philosophy would soar-- + Love's height it may not reach; + The heart soon learns a sweeter lore + Than ever sage could teach. + + The cup may bear a poisoned draught, + The altar may be cold, + But yet the chalice will be quaffed-- + The shrine sought as of old. + + Man's sterner nature turns away + To seek ambition's goal; + Wealth's glittering gifts, and pleasure's ray, + May charm his weary soul;-- + + But woman knows one only dream-- + That broken--all is o'er; + For on life's dark and sluggish stream + Hope's sunbeam rests no more. + + +BY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON. + + +How strange it is to those who are in some sense new to the world, to +see the way in which time plasters over wounds which we should have +imagined that nothing could have healed: wounds which we should have +expected to see bleed afresh at the sight of the inflictor, as it was +said of old that those of the murdered did at the approach of the +murderer. Sometimes we almost feel as if nothing was real in that +singular existence called _the world_. Like the performers, who laugh +and talk behind the scenes after the close of some dreadful tragedy; +we see around us men who have ruined the fortunes and destroyed the +happiness of others, women who have betrayed and been betrayed, whose +existence has been perhaps devoted to misery and to infamy by the +first step they have taken in the path of guilt, and whose hearts, if +they did not break grew hard; we see the victims and the destroyers, +those who have loved and those who have hated, those who have injured +and those who have been injured, mix together in the common +thoroughfares of life, meet even in social intimacy, with offered +hands and ready smiles; not because "Blessed are the merciful, for +they shall obtain mercy;" not because "To those who forgive, shall +much be forgiven;" but because what is genuine and true, what is deep +and what is strong, takes no root in that worn-out soil on which we +tread, thrives not in that withering air which we breathe in that +fictitious region which we live in, and which we so emphatically and +so presumptuously call _the world_. + + +BY MRS. LUELLA J. CASE. + +CHARITY. + + + Speak kindly, oh! speak soothingly, + To him whose hopes are crossed, + Whose blessed trust in human love, + Was early, sadly lost; + For wearily--how wearily! + Drags life, if love depart; + Oh! let the balm of gentle words + Fall on the smitten heart. + + Go gladly, with true sympathy, + Where want's pale victims pine, + And bid life's sweetest smiles again + Along their pathway shine. + Oh, heavily doth poverty + Man's nobler instincts bind; + Yet sever not that chain, to cast + A sadder on the mind. + + +BY G. P. R. JAMES. + + +He was a fool, and not a philosopher, who said that uncertainty was +the just condition of man's mind. In trust, in confidence, in firm +conviction, and in faith, is only to be found repose and peace. +Assurance is what man's heart and understanding both require, and the +very fact of the mind not being capable of obtaining certainty upon +many points, is a proof of weakness, not of strength. + + + + +EDITOR'S TABLE. + + +THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR.--The year is closing on us--and the change +suggests reflections, which, if rather melancholy, may nevertheless be +profitable. We acknowledge that the divisions of time are rather +arbitrary--and therefore may vary, as they do vary, in different parts +of the world. But whenever we arrive at one of these important epochs, +whatever that may be, and wherever it constitutes a point in the +popular calendar, we have passed one period of our life, and have so +much the less to spend. + +If we _feel_ the rapidity of time's march in our ordinary festivity, +and regret the approaching dissolution of the pleasant assembly, by +how much the more do we feel if we pause to think that we are +approaching the time when all our associations in life must cease, and +we be remembered--not known--and that remembrance day by day growing +less and less distinct, as new objects occupy the public eye, or new +associations are taken up by those we leave. Nor would we "jump the +life to come," by neglecting to make our approximation to that an +occasion for such a solicitude as would lead to a preparation. + +But we would not have all those reflections gloomy. We would not cloud +the close of the year, nor the evening of life with moroseness, as if +all were vanity that we had enjoyed, and all were vexation of spirit +that was left. Such a use of the season would be a poor return for all +the good things which Providence has wrought in our behalf. We know at +this season of the year that the mountain summits are covered with +snow, and in some places the drooping sides are whitened with the +treasures of the clouds, but even these things, chilling as they may +appear, are good in their season, and the beauteous covering of the +hill-tops may glisten with the reflected rays of the sun, and seem to +enjoy the visiter that has descended upon them. All the trees that +yield their leaves to the season have for weeks been bare, ready to +receive the weight of snow which might fall upon them, and teaching +man that preparation is necessary to meet the evils of life and +sustain its burthens. Here and there a few evergreens retain their +foliage, and appear doubly beautiful amid the waste that is around +them. + +But it is not alone for their beauty that these objects are worthy of +consideration--they teach also. They are full of instruction. Every +leaf that glistens with winter's frost, or is crushed dry and rustling +beneath our feet, has its lesson--it is well that all do not retain +their position--they would be less monitory, less worthy our thought. +Nature, in her use of foliage, acts upon the plan which the sybil of +old adopted--she writes her lessons upon the leaves--and yet so +arranges the truths they should convey, that they become more and more +apparent, more and more valuable, as the hand of destructive time +diminishes their number. + +Elsewhere we have given reflections upon those events by which +kingdoms and empires have been shaken in the year now coming to a +close. Let us come nearer the heart, and speak of some of those +changes by which human affections and individual attachments have been +disturbed. Not, however, to quote the instance exactly--that would be +to drag up into life the hidden sorrow, and expose to observation the +grief which is sanctified for the recesses of the heart, whither in +moments of leisure the wounded retire and sit and brood in profitable +reflection over the affliction which Providence has allowed. We dare +not drag up to day and its exposure each grief that lies buried deep +in the grave of the mourner's heart. How truly beautiful, however, is +the reflection that the stone of the sepulchre may be rolled away, +and that in appropriate seasons the afflicted one makes a retreat from +the business and the pleasures of life, and "goeth unto the grave to +weep there." Sanctified--as beautiful--be the sorrow that hath not its +exponent in the public assembly, that hath no signal by which its +existence is to be denoted--no condition of countenance by which its +extent is to be measured. Perhaps the _sufferer_ had not yet obtained +permission to call the object hers--and thus is deprived of the +privilege of admitted mourning--how deep is _that_ grief--it has known +only the hope of life which takes with it all of the sunlight that +_makes_ the rainbow; without one drop of the storm from which that bow +is reflected. Perhaps the young WIFE sits solitary in the chamber +which affection has blessed, and pines amid the thousand emblems of +the taste or customs of the dead--perhaps her grief is her +inspiration, and she gives to story or to song the promptings of her +sorrow, which the world supposes is the gift of joyous inspiration. + +Perhaps the _mother_ is pausing in the midst of renewed anguish for +the departure of her gifted, her only child, and sits enumerating all +his perfections, the greatest of which, and that which sanctified all +other virtues, and hid the very shadowings of error, was his deep, +constant love for her. Oh, how the maternal heart, smitten by the +heaviest of griefs, bathes itself in the fountain of filial love; and +when, at last, the over-wrought frame yields to the undermining +sorrow, the mourner comforts herself with the reflection of the +afflicted monarch of Israel, "I shall go unto him, he shall not come +again unto me." These reflections, with all of blighted hopes which +parent, lover, friend and patriot have indulged, the falling leaves of +autumn suggest; but the evergreen tells us of the survival of +affections, of friends, of beauty, and, perhaps, of attainments, and +teaches us that while we bend, and may bend in bitter anguish--anguish +long indulged beneath the rod of affliction--it is good for us also to +kiss the rod--for it has the power of budding anew in the hand of Him +who wields it; and the same might which made it the instrument of His +afflictive dealings can make it also the means of after joy and peace. + +Perhaps, upon the leaves that we examine, the sybil, with rearward +glance, has recorded some event for joyous reflection. Have we not +been made participants of high gratifications--domestic, social, +public associations of instructive and pleasant operation? Have not +new affections warmed the heart, or old ones sent out new tendrils to +cling with a stronger hold upon us? Perhaps we have had the +acquisition of wealth without the augmentation of desires, so that we +can make ourselves happy by judicious distribution. Perhaps, above +all, and over all, we are better, by the passage of the year, better +by newly acquired, and especially newly exercised virtues--virtues +that bless others, and, through them, bless ourselves. If so, surely +we have grounds for pleasant reflections on the close of the year, and +may hope that we have not lived in vain. + +The virtues of the human heart are like the water-springs of the +earth, their worth is measured by what overflows; nay, as an +accumulation even of the purest water must become stagnant, profitless +and offensive without an outlet, so what we call the virtues of man +become useless and even injurious, unless they extend to others, by +overflowing the fountain breast. Virtue is communicable; and those who +associate with the good, find an influx of affection and piety, as the +woman of faith was cured by touching the hems of the garment, that +covered the source and example of all health and goodness. If we have +sought to acquire good for ourselves, and to do good to others during +the present year, reflections upon its approaching close need not be +painful; it should be to us a source of high gratification, that, +enjoying as we have enjoyed, and mourning as we have mourned, we are +nearer the union of the good who have gone before us, and further from +the ills that follow upon our footsteps; and as we close our year, or +close our life, may we throw back from joyous, grateful hearts, a +smile of virtuous pleasure, which shall enrich the stern clouds that +have passed us with the bow of promise of pleasures that are to come. +C. + + * * * * * + +GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE FOR 1849.--The new volume of Graham's Magazine, to +be commenced with the January number, will, beyond all doubt, be the +most elegant volume that has ever been issued of this most popular of +all the American monthlies. The ample experience and liberal +expenditure of money by the publishers, the ability of its host of +contributors, the editorial tact which will be brought into service, +and the genius and skill of the artists engaged to embellish it, must +more than sustain the high position it has heretofore held in public +estimation. The magazine literature of this country is destined to a +warmer appreciation in the public regard, as it becomes purged from +the sickly sentimentality which degrades public taste, and when the +first minds in the nation are found devoting solid thought to adorn +and elevate it. A few years since, the highest aim of contemporary +competition seemed to be to fill a given number of pages with the +silly effusions of a class of writers whose feeble powers and false +taste were gradually undermining public regard, and bringing this +branch of national literature into contempt and disgrace, but the +higher aims of the publishers of the now leading periodicals, evinced +in the engagement of the brightest intellect of the country, have +raised American periodicals to a scale second to none in the world. + +Blackwood and Frazer, in England, and The Knickerbocker and "Graham's +Magazine," in America, now stand side by side, and by paying liberally +for talent, command the very highest. It may be doubted, however, +whether in this country the _force_ of periodical writing has not been +in some degree impaired, by a diversion of the public eye and taste in +the smaller class of magazines with feeble aims, to engravings and +pictures, many of which are but the refuse of the English Annuals, and +the efforts of second rate artists in this country; and also how far +those magazines which are marked by ability, and which, as magazines +of ART as well as of LITERATURE, embracing in their object and scope, +the improvement of a very laudable branch of art--that of +engraving--as well as the adornment of the work, should be drawn aside +into a competition in the _number_ of their engravings, instead of the +_worth_ which should mark each one of them. It appears to us that this +degrading of magazines into picture-books for children, by +impoverishing the literary department to swell the number of wretched +engravings in a department of art, so called, must impair the value +and shorten the existence of any periodical thus conducted. + +For ourselves, we have marked out a course in regard to the mere +illustrations of this periodical, from which we shall not be diverted. +We shall continue to furnish to our readers the most finished and +elegant specimens of the American engraver's skill, keeping at the +same time in view the value aside from the mere _ornament_ of the +engraving, thus catching the public desire in the portrait of a person +who may have some claim upon posterity, even though the face may not +be the most beautiful; and in sketches of such scenes as deserve to +live in the pages of this magazine, either from their own great +beauty, from their grandeur, or from association which gives them +value to the American eye and mind. + + * * * * * + +THE FEMALE POETS OF AMERICA.--Messrs. Lindsay & Blakiston have +presented to the public a delightful volume prepared by Caroline May. +It embraces biographical sketches, and extracts from the productions +of many of our own native female writers, and serves to render us +familiar with those whose sweet strains have often charmed our hearts. +The style of execution of the volume in question, corresponds with the +excellent character of its contents, and the authoress, publishers and +printers have executed their respective parts with great skill and +effect. + + * * * * * + +BURNS, AS A POET AND AS A MAN.--The admirers of the gifted Scottish +bard, will find an interesting and well executed review of his +character as a Poet and a Man, in a volume, prepared by S. Tyler, +Esq., of the Maryland bar, and just issued by Baker and Schriver, of +New York. We are indebted for a copy to Messrs. Lindsay & Blakiston, +of this city, who are ever skillful in catering for the intellectual +taste of their literary friends. + + * * * * * + +[Illo: pointing finger] We lay our present number before our readers +with feelings of pride and pleasure, confident of the admission, on +their part, that a richer or more varied treat has never been +presented in the pages of any magazine. Our contributors have supplied +us with admirable articles--our artists have acquitted themselves with +great ability--our printers have acted well their part--and now, we +trust, our patrons will complete our gratification, by being as much +pleased with the number before them as we are in making the offering. + + * * * * * + +[Illo: pointing finger] We thank our editorial brethren throughout the +country for the favorable manner in which they continue to notice our +Magazine. They do us but justice when they say that all our efforts +will be put in exercise to keep our Magazine in the enviable position +we have so long occupied. Always in advance of every contemporary, we +shall show in the new volume upon which we are entering, what +enterprise, zeal and energy can accomplish in the elevation of the +standard of literature and the arts. + + * * * * * + +KATE WALSINGHAM.--This is another of Miss Pickering's delightful +novels, just issued from the press of <sc>T. B. Peterson</sc>. The story is an +interesting one, and the book abounds with brilliant and sparkling +beauties. + + * * * * * + +LAYS AND BALLADS, _by T. B. Read_.--A volume from the pen of Mr. Read, +one of the most accomplished of our contributors, has just been +published by Mr. Appleton. The lateness of the hour at which a copy +reached us prevents us from noticing it at present as we desire to do. +We shall therefore make it the subject of a paragraph in a future +number. + + * * * * * + +J. BAYARD TAYLOR, Esq.--A life-like portrait of our friend and +co-laborer, J. B. Taylor, graces this number of the Magazine. We know +our readers--our fair ones especially--will admire him; and we would +remark, _en passant_, for their information, that well-looking as he +unquestionably is, his merits in this particular are fully equaled by +his good qualities of head and heart. + + + + +REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. + + + _Principles of Political Economy, with some of their + Applications to Social Philosophy. By John Stuart Mill. + Boston: Little & Brown. 2 vols. 8vo._ + + +Mr. Mill is almost the model man of science of his age. To habits of +deep and thorough investigation, and rigid, penetrating, exhaustive +thought--pursuing a principle through all the details of its +application, and never stopping halfway to pause or digress--he adds a +calm but strong sympathy with the philanthropic movements of the age; +and the tendency of all his writings is to advance the cause of truth, +justice and benevolence. But he is a reformer in a peculiar sense, not +practically understood by many who bear the name. A comprehensive and +patient thinker, and discussing every question bearing on the +interest, happiness and elevation of mankind with a conscientious as +well as rigid logic, he indulges in no vituperation, uses none of the +weapons of passion and malice, and irresistibly conveys the impression +to the most prejudiced mind that it is truth he is seeking, not the +gratification of vanity or antipathy. The consequence is that he is +the only radical thinker in England who is read by all parties, and +who influences all parties. With more industry, mental vigor and +scientific precision than Mackintosh, he has a great deal of that +beneficence of spirit, that judicial comprehension, and that strict +impartiality of understanding, which enabled Mackintosh to reach minds +separated from his by the walls of sect and faction. Mill is one of +those rare men who make no distinction between moral and logical +honesty; who would as much disdain to utter a sophism as to tell a +lie; and who can discuss questions which array the passions of a +nation on different sides, without adopting any of the opposite +bigotries with which they are usually connected. As a matter of course +the prejudiced and the bigoted themselves, in those hours of calmness +when they really desire to know the truth and reason of the things +they are quarreling about, go to a man like him with perfect +confidence. Thus Mill, a philosophical English radical, is ever +treated with that respect which clings to a profound and conscientious +thinker, even by the most violent of his Tory opponents. One of the +late numbers of Blackwood's Magazine--a periodical accustomed to +blackguard the men it cannot answer, and in which Mackintosh himself +was ever treated with coarse invective or affected contempt--has a +long article on Mill's present work on political economy, admitting +its claim to be considered one of the greatest works of the century, +even though it takes strong ground against many of the cherished +absurdities of the Tory political creed. + +The reputation of Mr. Mill was sufficiently established before his +political economy was published. As the writer, over the signature of +A., of several articles in the Westminster Review, such as those on +Coleridge, Bentham, and the Privileged Classes, and the author of the +profoundest and most complete treatise on Logic ever written, he +needed no introduction to the public. "The Principles of Political +Economy" is a book bearing on every page the decisive marks of his +strong and accurate mind. It is a work after the model of Smith's +Wealth of Nations, in which principles are always associated with +their applications, and economical questions considered in their +relations to social philosophy, and the general well-being of man. As, +since the time of Adam Smith, political economy and social philosophy +have both made a perceptible advance, Mr. Mill's work purports to +supply the deficiency of a complete system of political economy, +including all the latest discoveries, and combining a strict +scientific exposition of the abstract principles of the subject with +their practical applications. The result is that he has produced the +most complete and satisfactory work of the kind at present in +existence, and, on the whole, the most important contribution to +political economy since the time of Adam Smith. + +We, of course, have no space to refer at any length to his treatment +of the different branches of his subject; but the book has one +characteristic which we hope will have the effect to make it generally +read. The style is so clear, vigorous, simple and lucid, and the +illustrations so apt and copious, that the work can be readily +understood by those readers who are commonly repelled by the dry and +abstract character of other treatises on the science. The author +intended that his book should be popular as well as profound, and has +exerted his full strength of mind in simplifying the more abstruse +principles of his subject; and we trust that his labor will not have +been spent in vain. Every legislator, merchant, manufacturer, and +agriculturist, every man who is in any way connected with the creation +or distribution of wealth, should read this book. + + + _An Oration Delivered Before the Society of Phi Beta + Kappa, at Cambridge, August 24, 1848. By Horace + Bushnell. Cambridge: George Nichols._ + + +Dr. Bushnell has within a year or two taken a prominent position among +New England divines, and promises to rank high among the influencing +minds of the day. To deep and scholarly culture, he unites a strong, +independent, and singularly keen and ingenious intellect, and a +beautiful and bountiful spirit of cheerfulness and charity. The +present oration is a fine poem, expressing rather a mood of mind than +a system of philosophy, but grouping together with fine art many facts +of consciousness, and applying them to the phenomena of life. Every +thing, in fact, is surveyed in the light of two ideas, Work and Play, +and though the application is sometimes more fanciful than reasonable, +the result is a series of beautiful representations, original in +conception and finely felicitous in expression. There is room for +considerable difference of opinion in the oration, but none will be +inclined to doubt the author's ability or keenness. As a specimen of +the style we extract a passage relating to war, which he calls an +imposing and plausible counterfeit of play, or inspiration. + +"Since," he says, "we cannot stay content in the dull uninspired world +of economy and work, we are as ready to see a hero as he is to be one. +Nay, we must have our heroes, as I just said, and we are ready to +harness ourselves, by the million, to any man who will let us fight +him out the name. Thus we find out occasions for war--wrongs to be +redressed, revenges to be taken, such as we may feign inspiration and +play the great heart under. We collect armies, and dress up leaders in +gold and high colors, meaning by the brave look, to inspire some +notion of a hero beforehand. Then we set the men in phalanxes and +squadrons, where the personality itself is taken away, and a vast +impersonal person called an army, a magnanimous and brave monster, is +all that remains. The masses of fierce color, the glitter of the +steel, the dancing plumes, the waving flags, the deep throb of the +music lifting every foot--under these the living acres of men, +possessed by the one thought of playing brave to-day, are rolled on +to battle. Thunder, fire, dust, blood, groans--what of these?--nobody +thinks of these, for nobody dares to think till the day is over, and +then the world rejoices to behold a new batch of heroes." + + + _Three Sisters and Three Fortunes; or Rose, Blanche and + Violet. By G. H. Lewes. New York: Harper & Brothers._ + + +Mr. Lewes is an author very little known in this country. This is the +first work of his which has been reprinted. But in England he has +considerable reputation among the higher class of readers and men of +taste for his brilliant powers of mind and extensive acquirements. His +Biographical History of Philosophy we have never seen, but we have +observed allusions to it in other publications, exalting it to a very +high rank among thoughtful books. For some time, if we are not +mistaken, he was the chief literary critic of the Westminster Review, +and many of his articles were marked by strong and deep thinking, a +little injured by vagaries of expression. In a novel by such a writer +we should naturally expect more than a mere love story, more than a +narrative of incidents and representation of passions; and he has not +disappointed expectation. Indeed one can easily see that the book is +based on a philosophical system, and that more is meant than directly +meets the eye. The characters and events all illustrate some problems +in metaphysics and ethics, and refer more to the understanding than +the imagination. The story does not lack interest, nor the personages +character, but both are o'erinformed with meditation. Fine as the +novel undoubtedly is, the author has not given it the requisite +artistical finish to produce an harmonious impression. Speculation on +matters connected with literature, art and politics, essays on the +passions and the will, appear in their naked character amid romantic +incidents and imaginative representation. The author, in short, ought +to have made his book altogether didactic or altogether dramatic, to +fulfill the requisitions of either department. Had he fused all his +abstract thought and practical speculation in the alembic of the +imagination, and accordingly represented all in the concrete form of +character and events, t +he result would have been a much better +novel. + + + _Euthanasy; or Happy Talk Toward the End of Life. By + William Mountford, Author of Martyria, &c., &c. Boston: + Crosby & Nichols. 1 vol. 12mo._ + + +The author of this volume is one of the most profoundly meditative +writers living. We are not aware that his productions have had an +extended circulation out of New England, where they are very popular, +and if they have not, we hardly know of a better service we could do +our readers than to advise them to seek his companionship. Martyria +and the present work are two books which no one can read without being +benefitted--without having a deeper sense of the "dread soul within +him," and without feeling a warmer love of his race. "Euthanasy" is +one of those volumes which win their way into the heart with a soft +unconscious persuasiveness, and abide there when they have once found +an entrance. The author's spirit is rich, sweet, thoughtful, +tender--seeking the beautiful and the good by a spontaneous instinct, +and discerning them often, with the subtilty of purity in things which +seem valueless to the common eye--and while it soars into the highest +regions of spiritual contemplation, can still survey practical life +with a wisdom and sagacity which almost seem incompatible with its +loftiness. The truth is that the author possesses one of the rarest +things ever seen in this world--a truly spiritual mind, in which there +is established no divorce between the practical and the spiritual, +the common and the ideal. Spirituality with him is a life--no hearsay +or imagination, but an experience. He consequently spiritualizes the +human and humanizes the spiritual. + +The work, in addition to its own stores of original thought, has many +a golden sentence and rhyme from the meditative poets of Germany and +England, which lend it increased richness and beauty. + + + _Ellen Middleton; a Tale. By Lady Georgiana Fullerton, + Author of Grantly Manor. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 + vol. 12mo._ + + +Grantly Manor is a novel of high and peculiar excellence, and has had +a great run. Its readers threw themselves upon the present work as +soon as it was published, their expectations whetted by the memory of +the last. The result has been comparative disappointment. The truth is +Ellen Middleton preceded Grantly Manor, and is altogether a less +pleasing production. Considered, however, as the first work of the +author, it is rich in promise and by no means insignificant in +performance. The characters are strongly drawn and well discriminated, +and the passions with which it deals are of that potent kind which +test a novelist's strength and daring. The difficulty with the book is +not its lack of power, but its lack of homely interest. The characters +and incidents are too much made up in the author's mind--enclosed, as +it were, in a peculiar domain, and colored by one peculiar experience +of life--to give that satisfaction which results from a delineation of +actual life, or from vivid and beautiful ideal creations. There is too +much agony, and anguish, and hyperbolical emotion, and splitting of +the heart, and such like rioting in spiritual misery and ruin. The +elegance, eloquence and sweetness of the author's style, and the high +moral and religious character of her mind, appear, however, in Ellen +Middleton as in Grantly Manor, and with the advantage of as good a +story would produce as agreeable an impression. + + + _History of Mary, Queen of Scotts. By Jacob Abbott. + With Engravings. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. + 16mo._ + + +This is one of a series of popular histories which Mr. Abbott is +preparing for his countrymen. The tone and object will considerably +differ from the common historical works in circulation. Mr. Abbott +considers that the situation and principles of American readers +require views of historical events different from those they would +obtain from foreigners. The present work is devoted to one of the most +romantic and thrilling stories in historical literature--the Life of +Mary, Queen of Scotts. It is elegantly and truthfully written, and the +mechanical execution of the volume is exceedingly beautiful. + + + _Macaulay's History of England._ + + +The Harpers have received from the author, in sheets, the first and +second volumes of "The History of England, from the Accession of James +II., by T. B. Macaulay." For these they pay one hundred guineas a +volume. The work itself will doubtless create as great a stir as any +book published within the last twenty years. Every body is curious +especially to discover the style which Macaulay has adopted--that of +his Essays being too brisk, brilliant and epigrammatic for an +historian. It will probably be something like that of the Preface to +the "Lays of Ancient Rome," or that of his latest article on Lord +Chatham. + + +Transcriber's Note: + +Printer's errors and typos were corrected without comment. Irregularities +or archaisms in spelling or grammar were preserved. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol XXXIII, No. 6, +December 1848, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE *** + +***** This file should be named 32369-8.txt or 32369-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/6/32369/ + +Produced by David T. 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Graham (Editor). + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em; } + + p.main {font-style: normal; font-size: 100%; text-indent: 0em;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + hr {width: 33%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-family: serif} + + .cen {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps; font-size: 95%;} + .right {text-align: right; padding-right: 2em;} + + .rfloat {position: absolute;right:18%; text-align: right; width: auto;} + + .blockquot {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; font-size: 90%;} + + + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 2em; font-size: 70%; text-align: right; color: #A9A9A9} + + .totoc {position: absolute; left: 2em; font-size: 70%; text-align: right;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + .figleft {float: left; width: auto; clear: left; margin-left: + 0; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-top: + -0.5em; margin-right: 0.2em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; width: auto; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + .tdr {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} + + .tdl {text-align: left; padding-left: .25em;} + + .tdc {text-align: center; vertical-align: bottom;} + + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + .linenum {position: absolute; left: 5%; right: 91%; } + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px; margin-top: 1em; clear: both;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {float:left; width: auto; text-align: left;} + .fnanchor {font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol XXXIII, No. 6, +December 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. 6, December 1848 + +Author: Various + +Editor: George R. Graham + Robert T. Conrad + +Release Date: May 14, 2010 [EBook #32369] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE *** + + + + +Produced by David T. Jones, Juliet Sutherland and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 518px;"> +<img src="images/illus300.jpg" width="518" height="700" +alt="THE DEBUT" title="" /></div> +<h4>A. B. Ross<br /> +THE DEBUT<br /> Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine</h4> +<br /><br /> + +<h1>GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.</h1> +<br /> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h4><span class="smcap">Vol.</span> XXXII. + PHILADELPHIA, DECEMBER, 1848. + No. 6.</h4> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h3>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h3><br /> +<table summary="TOC" width="80%"> +<tr><td><a href="#MILDRED_WARD">MILDRED WARD.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">301</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#A_LAY">A LAY.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">310</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_SAILORS_LIFE-TALE">THE SAILORS LIFE TALE.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">311</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_MOURNERS">THE MOURNERS.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">317</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#REFLECTIONS">REFLECTIONS.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">318</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ANGELS_ON_EARTH">ANGELS ON EARTH.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">324</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#MRS_TIPTOP">MRS TIPTOP.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">325</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_GARDENER">THE GARDENER.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">328</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ONE_OF_THE_SOUTHERN_TIER_OF_COUNTIES">ONE OF THE SOUTHERN TIER OF COUNTIES.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">329</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_EXHAUSTED_TOPIC">THE EXHAUSTED TOPIC.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">330</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_RECORD_OF_DECEMBER">THE RECORD OF DECEMBER.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">335</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#OVERBOARD_IN_THE_GULF">OVERBOARD IN THE GULF.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">339</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#MY_NATIVE_ISLE">MY NATIVE ISLE.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">340</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#SONNET">SONNET.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">340</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ROCHESTERS_RETURN">ROCHESTERS RETURN.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">341</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#LOVE_THY_MOTHER_LITTLE_ONE">LOVE THY MOTHER LITTLE ONE.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">346</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_EARLY_CALLED">THE EARLY CALLED.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">347</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_CHRISTIAN_HEROS_EPITAPH">THE CHRISTIAN HERO'S EPITAPH.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">348</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_LADY_OF_FERNHEATH">THE LADY OF FERNHEATH.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">349</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_CITY_OF_MEXICO">THE CITY OF MEXICO.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">356</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#GAME-BIRDS_OF_AMERICA_NO_XI">GAME BIRDS OF AMERICA.—NO. XI.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">357</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#TO_A_ROSE-BUD">TO A ROSE-BUD.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">359</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ERIN_WAKING">ERIN WAKING.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">360</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#LINES">LINES.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">360</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#GAUTAMAS_SONG_OF_REST">GAUTAMA'S SONG OF REST.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">361</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#MY_FATHERS_GRAVE">MY FATHER'S GRAVE.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">361</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#VOICES_FROM_THE_SPIRIT_LAND">VOICES FROM THE SPIRIT LAND.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">362</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#GEMS_FROM_LATE_READINGS">GEMS FROM LATE READINGS.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">364</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#EDITORS_TABLE">EDITOR'S TABLE.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">365</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#REVIEW_OF_NEW_BOOKS">REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</a></td> +<td class="tdr">367</td></tr> +<tr><td> </td><td> </td></tr> +</table> +<br /><br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MILDRED_WARD" id="MILDRED_WARD"></a>MILDRED WARD.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> +<h3>OR THE DEBUT.</h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<h5>[SEE ENGRAVING.]</h5> + +<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4> + +<p><span class="smcap">Archibald Dundass</span> was a rich Jamaica planter, +whose estates were situated in one of the most delightful +regions in that garden of the West India +isles. His wife, an English lady, of great personal +attractions and highly connected, died when Helen, +their only child, had just entered her thirteenth year, +an age when, perhaps, a mother's counsel and tender +guidance is most required. When the news of Mrs. +Dundass's death reached her friends, they immediately +wrote, beseeching the bereaved husband to +come at once to England with his child, or if not expedient +for himself to leave Jamaica, that he would +at least suffer the little Helen to come to them; and +especially did they urge the plea that thereby he +would enable her to receive a more finished education +than could possibly be acquired upon the island.</p> + +<p>This plea, to be sure, offered a strong inducement +to Mr. Dundass; but how could he school his heart to +this second bereavement. Helen possessed all her +mother's traits—her dark blue eyes—her golden hair +and skin of dazzling purity—the smile that played +around her dimpled mouth—her light airy step, were +all her mother's. Looking upon her thus in her +budding loveliness the Helen of his youth once more +moved before him. To yield her up he could not—and +therefore Mr. Dundass rejected the oft-repeated +entreaties of his English friends. Helen remained +in Jamaica. A governess was provided, and whatever +money could secure in the way of learning was +most freely expended.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dundass possessed many noble traits of character, +yet pride was a very strong ingredient in his +composition leading him not unfrequently into errors +which his sober judgment condemned. Still he was +generally beloved, especially by his slaves, to whom +he was a kind, indulgent master. Knowing himself +to be one of the richest, if not <i>the</i> richest proprietor +upon the island, it was natural he should mark out +an alliance for his daughter commensurate with the +fortune her hand would bestow. When, therefore, +Helen, beaming and beautiful as the star of evening, +burst from the confinement of the school-room to +dazzle all eyes and move all hearts, what wonder +that pride and ambition swelled the heart of Mr. +Dundass. But</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Love will venture in where it daur nae weel be seen;"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and, unfortunately for the realization of those ambitious +dreams, a mutual love had already sprung up +between Helen and a young man without friends or +fortune, whom her father had received into favor, +and employed for some years in his counting-room.</p> + +<p>To appeal to Mr. Dundass for his sanction to their +union Ward knew would be vain, and he therefore +prevailed upon the imprudent Helen to elope with +him, assuring her that her father's anger would be +but momentary, and that his great affection triumphing +over resentment, would compel him to forgive her +error, and open his arms to welcome her return. +But, unhappily, it was not so. There was no moving +the heart of Mr. Dundass to forgiveness. His anger +and resentment were as boundless as had been his +love. He refused to see his child, spurned her from +his door, and to all the numerous and penitent letters +she addressed him, gave no reply. The blow was, +indeed, a heavy one, coming from one so idolized; +his affections, as well as his long-cherished pride, +were crushed, and his resentment rose in proportion.</p> + +<p>In the meantime Ward had removed to a distant +part of the island with his young and beautiful bride, +where he had obtained a situation which promised to +be lucrative. That he loved his young wife who +for his sake had renounced wealth, station, and a +father's love, cannot be doubted; but that he also +held a corner of his heart for the possessions she +might inherit, is also certain. His disappointment, +therefore, at the inflexibility of Mr. Dundass was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> +extreme, and mingled with it a bitterness which, in +a short time, displayed itself toward his unoffending +wife, and in an irritability which, ere the end of a +twelvemonth, caused his employer to dismiss him +from his service. From that time the life of poor +Helen was most wretched, bitterly reaping in tears +and poverty the fruits of disobedience. From place +to place she followed her husband wherever he could +obtain employ, but of which his idle, dissolute habits +soon deprived him. A constitution naturally feeble +sunk under the inroads of dissipation. Ere three +years a wife Helen became a widow. Her situation +was now truly deplorable. Without money, without +friends, and thrown upon the cold charity of the +world ere yet she had reached her twentieth year. +For the sake of her innocent babe she resolved to +make one more appeal to the mercy of her father.</p> + +<p>Over mountain ridges, through deep valleys—crossing +dense forests and treacherous rivulets—sometimes +on foot, sometimes indebted to the kindness +of some chance traveler for a few miles ride, +Helen at length drew near the home of her childhood, +and stole, unannounced, into the presence of her father. +The moment was propitious. Mr. Dundass had already +learned the death of his son-in-law, and the probable +destitution of his daughter. In those three years +alienation from his only child he had suffered much, +and untimely old age had silvered his temples and +worn deep furrows o'er his brow. Not all his wealth, +not all the goadings of disappointed ambition, nor +even the sting her ingratitude had left, could drive +her image from his heart, or check the still small +voice of conscience, which whispered that not even her +errors could excuse the harshness with which she had +been repulsed. The death of Ward seemed to unite +Helen once more to him. Over her misfortunes he +shed bitter tears; and although pride still rebelled +against the yearnings of his heart, and made him resolve +he would never more admit her to his presence, +yet even at the moment when she fell fainting and +exhausted at his feet, he was meditating some measures +by which he could place her and her little one +above want. Ah! pride, anger, enduring obstinacy, +where are ye now? There was a well of love in +that old man's heart whose depths ye had not yet +probed. One look at the sad, care-worn face of +Helen; one glance at the innocent babe pillowed +upon her breast, and that fount of love was unsealed. +The father took them to his breast and blessed them.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> + +<p>A few years and Helen, more beautiful than ever, +again made her appearance in society, and again +Mr. Dundass cherished his darling dream of her +forming some high connection. Little Mildred, in +the meanwhile, having been sent to England under +the charge of a faithful nurse, to receive her education.</p> + +<p>A second time, however, was Mr. Dundass doomed +to disappointment. The charming and attractive +young widow gave her hand to Mr. Donaldson, a +Scotch gentleman, whose only recommendation in +the eyes of Mr. Dundass was a showy exterior and +a superb set of teeth. He had known him for many +years, and had always regarded him as more shrewd +than honest, and one who, where his own interests +were concerned, would let no scruples of conscience +stand in the way of his advancement. He thought +him rich, but he had much rather he had been poor, +if able to boast a titled descent. The idea, therefore, +of this second marriage of his daughter gave him in +reality as little satisfaction as the first. His reluctant +consent was, however, at length obtained, and Helen +borne off a second time a bride from her father's +house.</p> + +<p>The plantation of Mr. Donaldson was delightfully +located in a most lovely region of hill and dale, +sparkling with delicious rivulets, and sprinkled with +charming groves of the deep-tinted pimento, the +graceful palm, and magnificent cotton-trees, and the +air rife with the fragrance of the orange and citron +blossoms, through which, like winged jewels, glanced +birds of the most brilliant plumage. Whatever may +have been the errors which Mr. Dundass detected in +the moral character of Mr. Donaldson, he was a most +tender and devoted husband; and in this paradise to +which he had brought her, the happiness of Helen +seemed perfect. The Cascade, as Mr. Donaldson +had named his station, from the numerous little rills +and waterfalls in the neighborhood, was distant fifty +miles from Mount Dundass, yet the intercourse between +father and daughter continued uninterrupted +until the infirmities of age pressing upon Mr. Dundass, +rendered his visits to the Cascade less frequent, +and the cares of a growing family confining Mrs. +Donaldson more closely at home.</p> + +<p>Helen was now the mother of several children, +charming, bright little girls, yet it was strange that +Mr. Dundass never seemed to regard them in the +same tender light he did Mildred Ward. Mr. Donaldson +had never seen Mildred, but already in his heart +he hated her. The partiality of the grandfather +rankled his inmost soul, for he saw plainly it would +interfere with the prospects of his own children. +Indeed, Mr. Dundass had already settled fifty thousand +dollars upon his granddaughter Mildred, asserting +also that at his death that sum should be doubled. +Mr. Donaldson possessed great influence over his +wife—his words to her were oracles—his wishes +laws. By degrees, therefore, he instilled into her +mind a jealousy against her absent child, mingled +with feelings of resentment toward her father, that, to +the exclusion of her little Grace and Anna, he should +have made her the object of his love and munificence. +This feeling once engendered Mr. Donaldson took +good care to keep alive. The poison worked slowly +but so secretly, that no doubt Helen herself would +have been shocked could she have read her own +heart and found that, instigated by jealousy, a mother's +tenderness for her first-born was fast turning to +bitterness.</p> + +<p>In the meantime seventeen rosy summers had +flitted as some fairy dream over the head of Mildred, +when her grandfather, no longer able to resist his +desire of seeing her, urged her return to Jamaica.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> + +<p>To merry England our story now takes us, that +we may trace a brief sketch of those scenes wherein +the days of Mildred had glided so happily away.</p> + +<p>Norcross Hall, the ancestral domain of the late +Mrs. Dundass was situated in one of England's most +charming nooks, about forty miles from the great +metropolis. It was an ancient building, the main +part of which was said to have been erected in the +time of Elizabeth—but of this little of the original +structure remained. Its present occupant, Sir Hugh +Norcross, was the son of Mrs. Dundass's eldest +brother, and to his guardianship the little Mildred +had been consigned. In this charming family she +was treated with the utmost tenderness, receiving +the same education and sharing the same pursuits as +her little cousins, between whom and herself a lively +affection sprung up. Lady Norcross was a superior +woman, both of mind and heart; and under her +guidance and gentle teachings, which her every-day +life so beautifully exemplified, what wonder that the +little family growing up around her should prove all +that was good and lovely. Helen Norcross was +near the same age as Mildred, Rupert three years +her senior. It was not until the latter had reached +his fourteenth year that the three cousins were ever +separated, even for a single day; but now, Rupert +was sent to Eton, and the two girls were left to weep +and mourn his absence, or to study a thousand delightful +projects to welcome his return at the holydays.</p> + +<p>What happy seasons those were when, released for +a time from the thraldom of college pursuits, Rupert +once more sprung in freedom through the haunts of +his childhood; the old walls rung with cheerful voices, +and every dell and dingle echoed to the merry music +of their happy hearts. And then, as each holyday +came round, what changes marked their progress. +The two little girls had become graceful, lovely women, +while Rupert from a school-boy had as suddenly +shot up into a tall, elegant young man.</p> + +<p>Sir Hugh and his lady saw with pleasure the attachment +of the cousins; they already loved Mildred as +their daughter, and it was the nearest wish of their +hearts that in time the affection which now united +them might assume a more enduring form. As the +education of Mildred might now be considered completed, +and the object for which she had been sent to +them attained, they grew every day more and more +fearful that Mrs. Donaldson would claim her long +absent child. Mildred was too young when she left +Jamaica to have other than a faint recollection of +her mother; she could only remember the beautiful +blue eyes which used to meet hers so fondly, and +the long golden ringlets through which, as she nestled +in mamma's lap, she had played bo-peep with +an old gentleman in a high-backed elbow-chair. +Then she was so happy at Norcross Hall that when +her heart whispered to her, as it often did, of her +other dear mother in a far-off land, she could not but +reproach herself for not being more impatient for +the moment to arrive when she might again embrace +her. But now the time drew near when she must +bid farewell to this cherished spot.</p> + +<p>April had smiled farewell in tears, and May with +her beauteous buds and blossoms danced over the +green earth. The streams welcomed her presence +with songs of glee, and the forests dressed in fresh +beauty opened their arms to greet her presence. It +was yet early morning, and to the uplifting of the +rosy curtain draping the couch of the day-god the +birds were singing a merry prelude, as two young +men stole softly around an angle of the old building, +and crept silently under the shadow of the wall, until +they stood beneath the windows of an apartment +whose inmates were probably buried in sleep, as +through the half-closed shutter the curtains appeared +still closely drawn.</p> + +<p>"You see I have proved a true prophet, for the +girls still sleep," cried the taller of the two, laughing. +"Now fie upon their laziness this bright May morning—why +we should have been off to the dell an +hour since, to gather the flowers ere the sun kissed +away their freshness."</p> + +<p>"Now I will warrant you, Rupert," replied the +other, "that while we stand here with 'dewy feet,' +maybe catching our deaths from this early exposure +of our delicate frames, the little jades are quietly +dreaming over the last new romance, or their first +ball—come, let us arouse them with a song!" and +dropping on one knee, the young man placed his +hand upon his heart, and lifting his eyes to the window +in the most languishing manner began:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Come, come to me, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come, love, arise—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shame the bright stars<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the light of thine eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look out from thy lattice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O lady—"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Very well sung, most tender swain—what a pity +Mildred and myself by our too early rising lost the +melting expression of those upturned orbs!" cried +Helen, issuing with her cousin from a thicket of +rose-bushes. "So you thought us still sleeping, +slanderers, when we have already brushed the dew +from the lawn, and look here," (showering down a +quantity of early violets,) "see what we stole from +Flora while you two were sleeping."</p> + +<p>A few moments were spent in playful badinage, +and then the happy party strolled off in the direction +of the dell. But, alas! like many of our brightest +hopes this morn which dawned so blissfully was +destined to end in sorrow! Upon the return of the +party to the Hall, Sir Hugh with a sorrowful countenance +placed in the hands of Mildred a package of +letters. She grew pale as she read, and ere she had +finished burst into tears, and handing the package to +Sir Hugh fled to her chamber. Those letters contained +the mandate for her return to Jamaica. That +very week she must leave Norcross Hall, its beloved +inmates, and all the delightful scenes of her childhood, +and hasten to London, to join a family who +were about returning to the island, and to whose +charge her grandfather had consigned her.</p> + +<p>The grief which filled all hearts at this dreaded +separation may easily be imagined. Rupert was +nearly crazy at the thought. He now felt how dear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> +Mildred was to him, and that to part with her was +like rending soul and body. But certain that his love +would meet the sanction of his parents, knowing +how tenderly they regarded her, he hastened to make +known his feelings to them, and to entreat that he +might accompany Mildred to Jamaica, and demand +the consent of her friends to their union.</p> + +<p>"No, my dear son," said Sir Hugh, "Mildred is +yet very young—of the world she knows little, and +it would be cruel to shackle her with ties which she +may in time be brought to abhor, nor would it be +doing justice to her friends to bind down her affections +to us alone. Leave her free, Rupert; if she +loves you, that love will not diminish by absence, +and I promise you that in due time you shall be +allowed to prosecute your suit in the presence of her +mother, and should you be so fortunate as to win a +bride so lovely, your parents' hearts will welcome +her with joy."</p> + +<p>How coldly his father reasoned thought the ardent +young lover, but accustomed to yield all deference +to his wishes, he consented that Mildred should depart +without knowing how necessary her love was +to his happiness.</p> + +<p>Both Sir Hugh and Rupert accompanied her to +London, and saw her safely on board her majesty's +ship the Essex, bound for Jamaica.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4> + +<p>Leaving Mildred to pursue her voyage we will +see what preparations were already making for her +return by Mr. Donaldson.</p> + +<p>This gentleman was by no means as rich as many +supposed him to be. His plantations were valuable, +and located advantageously, but whether from mismanagement, +or from circumstances beyond his control, +for several years his affairs had become greatly +involved, and he had only been saved from absolute +ruin through the scheming friendship of a Spaniard +named Perozzi—a man whose cunning was as deep +as his own, and who by advancing large sums from +time to time, only sought to entangle his victim in +such a snare as should secure him in the end his +valuable possessions. Pride prevented Mr. Donaldson +from applying to Mr. Dundass—every year matters +grew worse, until finally he felt himself to be +completely in the power of Perozzi, who had even +begun to threaten loudly, and talk of distraining. It +was at this critical juncture that Mr. Dundass declared +his intention of sending for Mildred Ward. +A project now suddenly suggested itself to Mr. Donaldson +which promised to relieve him from his difficulties, +and which he seized upon in his selfishness +with as little conscience as the highwayman who +robs you of life in order to obtain your purse.</p> + +<p>Mounting his mule he one morning rode over to +the "Pen" of Perozzi, some few miles farther down +the valley. He was received rather coolly.</p> + +<p>"Your timely visit has saved me a ride this morning, +Donaldson," said the Spaniard. "I have an +imperative necessity for my money, or at least for a +part of it."</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, the very thing I have come to +talk about!" said Donaldson.</p> + +<p>"<i>Corambre—to talk about!</i> It must be something +more than talk—words will not answer my +purpose," replied Perozzi, his sharp black eye glittering +with hate. "I tell you money I must have—money +I will have, or—"</p> + +<p>"Good God, Perozzi, don't drive me to desperation. +You know I cannot pay you a single piastre! +Only wait until I receive my return sales from England, +and I swear to you you shall receive your last +farthing!"</p> + +<p>"Holy Mother Mary! your return sales from England!" +exclaimed the other, in a tone of cutting sarcasm. +"In what manner of vessel must those same +returns be coming, for, if my memory serves me, +Columbus discovered a new world in less time than +this same richly-freighted <i>caravela</i> has been crossing +the Atlantic—this has been your answer for twice a +twelvemonth. And now," he continued, suddenly +altering his tone, and striding to the side of his victim, +"there must be an end of this—either pay me what +you owe me, or give me a quit claim to the Cascade, +for which you have already received from me more +than its value."</p> + +<p>"By heavens, Perozzi!" cried Mr. Donaldson, +turning pale with anger and mortification, "this is +more than I can bear even from you; but come," he +added, suddenly forcing a laugh, "it was to see you +upon a more pleasing errand I came here."</p> + +<p>"<i>Corambre!</i>" whistled through the teeth of the +Spaniard.</p> + +<p>"Hark ye, Perozzi; what would you say if I could +this moment promise to place you in possession of +one hundred thousand dollars and—a wife?"</p> + +<p>"Say! why that the Devil helped you to cajole, +and then deserted you at the pinch, as he always +does!" replied Perozzi.</p> + +<p>"No cajolery about it, as you shall find," answered +Mr. Donaldson. "But come, let us sit—by your leave +I'll taste your wine; your health, signor, and" (turning +out a second glass) "here is another to Madame +Perozzi—ha-ha-ha! There—now," said he, setting +down his glass with a force which nearly shivered +it, "listen to me. You know that Mrs. Donaldson, +by her first husband, had one daughter, Mildred +Ward, who is at this moment on her return from +England, whither she was sent at an early age for +her education. She is now, by the bye, seventeen, +and, as report informs us, extremely beautiful and +accomplished. Now what think you, Perozzi, of the +charming Mildred for a wife?"</p> + +<p>"I want money—no wife!" moodily replied Perozzi, +draining a third glass.</p> + +<p>"Precisely—money," answered the other; "and +that is what the fair hand of Mildred tenders you."</p> + +<p>"One hundred thousand dollars, did you say, +Donaldson?" said the Spaniard, with a searching +gaze.</p> + +<p>"I did. Fifty thousand with the wedding-ring, +and the balance when the old man, her grandfather, +dies."</p> + +<p>Excellent, by the Virgin!—ha-ha-ha! No one can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> +dispute your skill in diplomacy; but methinks it +would be well to know by what method you propose +to bring about a "consummation so devoutly to be +wished," said Perozzi, with a sneer.</p> + +<p>"Leave that to me; only act with me, and Mildred +Ward becomes your wife just so certain as I now +drink to you—your health, signor."</p> + +<p>"And, pray, allow me to ask," said Perozzi, "what +benefit you expect to reap from such unparalleled +generosity—it cannot surely be out of pure love to +me that you thus</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">"Buckle fortune on my back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bear her burthen whether I will or no!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"You are right," answered Mr. Donaldson, dropping +the servile tone in which he had before spoken, +"you are right—it is from no love to you; my object +is this. You know as well as I do the utter impracticability +of my refunding any part of the money I +owe you at present. True, you may seize my estates, +but this I think you will hardly do in preference to +the plan I propose; it would be at best but a vexatious +affair, while by accepting my proposition you secure +not only an equivalent for your debt, but also the +hand of a charming young girl."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, to the point," interrupted the +Spaniard, impatiently.</p> + +<p>"It is simply this; give me your written promise +to release me from all obligation, return me whatever +notes you hold against me, and I on my part +pledge to you the hand and fortune of my step-daughter."</p> + +<p>Perozzi remained for some moments in deep revery, +as if studying the feasibility of the proposed plan. +"I have half a mind to try it," he mused; "it may +do—the connection will be a good one. Old Dundass +is as rich as a Jew, and a man of great influence; +while on the other hand, should the project fail, I +shall be no worse off than now, unless an earthquake +should swallow up the estates from my grasp."</p> + +<p>"There is one contingency which seems to have +entirely escaped your forecast," he exclaimed aloud, +turning to Mr. Donaldson, "the lady may not be of +your way of thinking—she may prove refractory."</p> + +<p>"Leave that to me," was the reply.</p> + +<p>"I may not fancy her."</p> + +<p>"Nor the money?" added Mr. Donaldson, with a +meaning smile.</p> + +<p>"Ah, there, I grant, you have me. Well, well, I +am willing to talk the matter over with you a little +more freely. Miss Ward is handsome, you say?"</p> + +<p>"As a Houri."</p> + +<p>"And young?"</p> + +<p>"Scarce seventeen."</p> + +<p>"Very well—now to business."</p> + +<p>But we have already entered into sufficient detail +of the conversation of these two men to show the +reader in what peril poor Mildred stood from their +machinations. It is enough to say that ere they +parted, Perozzi pledged his word that, should their +plot succeed, he would, on his marriage-day, place +in the hands of Mr. Donaldson a quit claim to every +demand he held against him.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER V.</h4> + +<p>How beautiful was Mildred as she sprung to meet +the embrace of her old grandfather; and how fondly +did the old man gaze upon his recovered treasure, +almost incredulous that this lovely girl could be the +same little pet, whose infantine gambols and artless +caresses time had not been able to efface from his +mind.</p> + +<p>The style of Mildred's beauty was, indeed, most +captivating and piquant. To a form of perfect symmetry +and airy grace was added a countenance +beaming with intellect and vivacity. Her complexion +was of the same dazzling fairness as her +mother's, but her eyes were of a deep-gray, sparkling +beneath the most delicately penciled brows, and her +hair of that dark, glossy chestnut, flecked as it were +with sunbeams, whose peculiar tint painters so much +love to catch. A small, rosy mouth, and white, regular +teeth, which in her innocent vivacity were +often displayed, completes the picture of Mildred's +charms.</p> + +<p>After spending a few days at Mount Dundass she +took leave of her grandfather, and under the escort +of Mr. Donaldson, who had hastened thither for the +purpose, departed for the Cascade, impatient to behold +her mother, in whose love she trusted to find +a recompense for the pain which parting with her dear +friends at Norcross Hall had caused. And for a few +weeks all went happily. The sight of her innocent, +beautiful child banished for a time from the heart of +Mrs. Donaldson that unnatural jealousy her husband +had awakened. Mr. Donaldson, for his own selfish +purposes, strove by every attention and kindness to +win her esteem and confidence, while Mildred on her +part delighted with and reciprocating her mother's +affection, gratified by the interest her step-father expressed +for her, and perfectly enchanted with the +novel and beautiful scenery, threw off all her sadness—linking +the past with the present, not regretful or +sorrowful, but as one continued scene of love and +happiness, for which her heart rose in gratitude to +her Maker that he had conferred upon her so many +rich blessings.</p> + +<p>How often did she wish that Rupert and Helen +could share with her this West India paradise. +The climate so bland and delicious—soft, balmy +airs by day, and nights of unclouded loveliness; +the beautiful undulating scenery of hill and valley +stretching far away into the dim haze of ocean—hills +from whose summits towered the magnificent +cabbage-palm, its immense plume-like leaves waving +like the crest of some gigantic warrior above the +band of palms crowding around, bending their graceful +heads to this their chief; valleys of luxuriant beauty, +studded with groves of the aromatic pimento, whose +pure white blossoms seem like snow-flakes just +fallen amid their dark, glossy foliage, while at intervals +clumps of magnolia, resting on a carpet of +bright verdure sprinkled with flowers, and their trunks +garlanded with the gay passa-flora, arrested the eye. +From those beautiful hill-sides silvery cascades came +leaping and dancing down into the rich valleys, then +twining their lovely arms through this charming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> +landscape, as if they would fain bear off its beauties +to the broad ocean, whither they are gliding.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, you may be sure, Perozzi made +his appearance at the Cascade, where, under some +slight pretext, he soon became almost domesticated, +merely riding over to the Pen at intervals of two or +three days. To Mildred there was something extremely +repulsive in his appearance, and she could +not but feel amazed at the influence he seemed to +exercise over her parents, and the deference with +which they treated him. She little dreamed of the +power he would soon exert against her happiness—just +as over those luxuriant valleys, whose smiling +beauty I have but imperfectly sketched, the whirl-wind +comes rushing in terrible might, scattering ruin +and devastation around, did the tempest burst over +the head of Mildred, changing all the brightness of +her young life to darkness. Perozzi needed no other +impetus than the sight of Mildred's beauty to render +him as eager to push forward the plot in agitation as +Mr. Donaldson, and in accordance his attentions to +her assumed a direct and positive form. She, however, +had not the most remote suspicion of his intentions. +How great, then, was her surprise when one +day Perozzi made her a formal offer of his hand, +assuring her at the same time that he did so with +the consent and approbation of her parents and her +grandfather. Mildred could hardly credit her senses, +that Perozzi, a man as old as her step-father, should +think of a mere child like herself for a wife, seemed +very strange, but that her friends should also approve +of such a match, stranger still.</p> + +<p>"My dearest Mildred, what have you done!" cried +Mrs. Donaldson, meeting her daughter a few hours +after. "Can it be possible you have refused Signor +Perozzi?"</p> + +<p>"Dear mamma, you surely do not think I could do +otherwise than refuse him!" replied Mildred, surprised +at her mother's manner.</p> + +<p>"And why not, Mildred? Would it not be a most +eligible match for you—why he is not only very rich, +but will probably soon succeed to a title."</p> + +<p>"Riches and titles can never make happiness, +mamma."</p> + +<p>"But they conduce greatly to its maintainance, +Mildred."</p> + +<p>"O, no, mamma, not if attached to such a disagreeable +person as the signor."</p> + +<p>"Disagreeable! Mildred, you surprise me—pray +what can be your objections?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, they are so numerous, that the repetition +would only be tiresome," replied Mildred, smiling. +"But you are surely laughing at me; you did not +really suppose, now did you, that I could love such +a man?"</p> + +<p>"I did suppose you had more sense, Mildred, than +to refuse him," replied Mrs. Donaldson. "I can +only say your decision has deeply grieved both Mr. +Donaldson and myself; yet we regret it more for the +disappointment it will cause your grandfather, for to +see you the wife of Perozzi has long been his most +cherished wish."</p> + +<p>"Can it be!" cried Mildred. "Can it be that my +grandfather, my kind grandfather, would have me +marry Perozzi—is it so, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"It is, Mildred."</p> + +<p>"Now, indeed, am I most unhappy," cried +Mildred, bursting into tears, "for it can never, +never be!"</p> + +<p>"My sweet child, I am sorry to see you so +grieved!" said Mrs. Donaldson. "It must be +painful, I know, for you to distress your excellent +old grandfather, who loves you so truly, and has +ever treated you with such generosity; but perhaps +your decision has been too hasty—it is not too late; +reconsider the subject, Mildred, and perhaps you will +conclude differently."</p> + +<p>"No, mamma, my resolution is unalterable!"</p> + +<p>"Let me at least soften your refusal to poor Perozzi—indeed, +he is quite overwhelmed with despair; let +me bid him hope that in time you may be brought to +listen more favorably to his suit."</p> + +<p>"O, not for worlds, mamma—not for worlds!"</p> + +<p>"Well, well, my dear, you are strangely agitated. +There, go—retire to your chamber, and compose +yourself, my love;" and affectionately kissing her +daughter, Mrs. Donaldson repaired to the library, +where her husband and Perozzi were awaiting the +result of this interview.</p> + +<p>Had Mrs. Donaldson forgotten her own youth?</p> + +<p>From that day Mildred was the object of ceaseless +persecution. Go where she would, there was Perozzi +ever at her side, to annoy her with his odious attentions; +walking or riding, he intruded himself upon +her; no room in the house seemed sacred from his +approach; and even when she retired to her own +apartment, he either stationed himself beneath her +window, or stood at her door, ready to greet her +with his hateful smile as she issued forth. Constantly, +too, was he urging his suit, while her repeated +refusals, her cold words, and still colder looks, +might as well have been spent upon a rock—for a +rock could not be more impressionless to their meaning. +The persecution she underwent from the odious +Perozzi, had, perhaps, revealed to her the true nature +of her regard for Rupert, and in so doing, brought +also the pleasing consciousness that she was beloved +even as she loved him. How aggravating, then, her +situation. Daily her life grew more wretched, nor +had she even the consolation of sympathy. With a +yearning heart did she now recall the happy days at +Norcross Hall, rendered by contrast still more dear. +"O!" she cried, in her anguish, "could I but once +more rest in their loving arms, what power could +tear me thence! Dearest Helen! Dearest Rupert, +come to me! O, hasten thither and rescue me from +this horrible thraldom!"</p> + +<p>But months passed in sorrow; there came no letters +from England—nothing to cheer up her fainting heart, +and finally, Mildred, the once gay, happy Mildred, +sunk into a state of utter despondency.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER VI.</h4> + +<p>"<i>Hist—hist</i>, Pedro!" and a tall, swarthy Creole, +obeying the finger of Perozzi, glided stealthily behind +a large tree, where stood the Spaniard, both screened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> +from observation by the thick drapery of ferns and +parasitic plants clinging around its trunk. Eyeing +the man keenly, Perozzi said, in a low tone,</p> + +<p>"Hark-ye, Pedro! I have a job for you; here are +thirty pistoles as an earnest, and when it is finished, +you shall receive thirty more."</p> + +<p>"By St. Jago, signor! I am ready—what is it? +<i>This?</i>" touching the handle of his knife.</p> + +<p>"<i>Corambre</i>, knave! No. Listen to me. Do you +see yonder mansion, with the green verandas stretching +itself out on the hill-side like an anaconda +at play?"</p> + +<p>"The Scotchman's—Donaldson's?"</p> + +<p>"The same. Now look, and tell me what you +see at the open jalousie on the right, that is, if you +can see through the heavy screen of jessamines +which droop over it."</p> + +<p>"Ho, ho! I have eyes at any time for a pretty +girl, signor; she is an angel, that fair English girl!"</p> + +<p>"Very well—you know her, then. Now do you +remember the thick pimento walk between this and +the hospital?"</p> + +<p>"Si, signor."</p> + +<p>"Now, Pedro, hasten thither, and conceal yourself. +This fair Signora will soon pass that way. +Now mind me, knave, when she reaches the middle +of the grove, do you rush suddenly upon her—seize +her in your arms, and—"</p> + +<p>"Ho-ho! a pleasant job, signor!"</p> + +<p>"Peace, knave! Seize her, I tell you, and draw +your knife, as if about to plunge it in her white +bosom. Now, mark me, at that moment I rush upon +you and rescue the lady—do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"Si, signor; but will your honor please to remember +I am but flesh and blood—don't strike more +than skin deep, signor."</p> + +<p>"Tush, knave! and remember—no violence; by +the Holy Mother! if you so much as breathe upon a +hair of her head, you taste my dagger!"</p> + +<p>"Ho-ho, signor! methinks to snatch a kiss from +her sweet lips would be worth more than a thousand +pistoles."</p> + +<p>"Villain, to your work!"</p> + +<p>"Ho-ho! a pleasant job, signor—a pleasant job!" +And with a hideous leer, the lesser villain parted +from the greater, and concealing himself within the +deep shadows of the grove, awaited the coming of +Mildred.</p> + +<p>It was not long ere, little suspecting the terrible +scene which she was to encounter, Mildred set forth +<i>en route</i> to the hospital, to visit an old faithful female +slave. This was a favorite walk, and soothed by the +quiet of the scene, she lingered long in its delightful +depths. As her foot pressed the summit of a gentle +slope, enameled with many-colored flowers, and +over which frown the blood-tinged foliage of a stately +mahogany-tree, pendent garlands of the passion-flower, +and delicate white jasmine swung in the soft +breeze, she paused for a moment, as if to prolong +this happy reprieve from the presence of the +Spaniard.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, the wretch, Pedro, sprung in her path, +and while with one hand he seized the trembling +girl, with the other he drew his stiletto, and muttering +a horrible oath, raised it as if about to strike at her +innocent bosom. Mildred did not scream, she did +not faint, but he eyes closed, and all power of speech +and motion seemed paralized. But the threatened +blow was arrested; a violent struggle ensued, during +which she was clasped still more tightly to the breast +of the ruffian, who seemed to be defending himself +from some superior arm. Oaths and curses mingled +with the clash of weapons; she was dragged, as it +were, several paces through the grove, and then, +after another struggle, she felt the arm of the assassin +relax its grasp—she was caught to the breast of her +deliverer, and then placed gently on the soft turf.</p> + +<p>"Mildred—my angel—my life—O, speak to me!"</p> + +<p><i>That voice!</i> Mildred knew its hateful tones; and +a cold shudder crept through her frame, as if some +venomous reptile had touched her, as she felt the +villains lips press her brow. Recoiling, she slowly +opened her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" exclaimed Perozzi, "you are restored +to me. Holy Virgin! can it be—so near death, +and yet living and unhurt, I now hold you in my +arms! O, blessed moment, when love guided me +hither!"</p> + +<p>"I owe you my life, signor," said Mildred, +freeing herself from his embrace, "but it is a thankless +boon; methinks death would have been sweeter! +Leave me—I am better—I am well—leave me, +signor!"</p> + +<p>"Sweet angel! leave thee—leave thee thus exposed +to new dangers! No—lean on me, my beloved—let +me guide your trembling steps!" and he +passed his arm around her.</p> + +<p>"Away!" cried Mildred, springing from him. +"Away! touch me not! Monster—fiend! I hate +you! Begone from my sight forever, or, in mercy, +kill me!"</p> + +<p>Perozzi became livid with rage, and his eye-balls +gleamed like fire in the deepening shadows, as +they rested on Mildred, never more beautiful than +as she now stood before him in all the majesty of +outraged purity. But masking the hell in his heart +with a well-feigned air of desperation, he fell on his +knees before her.</p> + +<p>"Would that the assassin's knife had reached my +heart!" he exclaimed. "Better for me to die than +endure your scorn. Yes, <i>die</i>! By heavens! why +not end this miserable existence—here—yes, here, at +your feet, cruel Mildred! <i>It shall be done!</i>" and +drawing a pistol from his breast, he placed the +muzzle to his temple.</p> + +<p>"Hold—hold—for God's sake, miserable man, +hold!" shrieked Mildred, springing forward.</p> + +<p>It was too late—the pistol exploded.</p> + +<p>"Ha—ha—ha!" shouted Perozzi, wiping his blackened +brows, "that was well done!" And raising +the now senseless girl in his arms he bore her to the +house.</p> + +<p>When, after a long and death-like swoon, Mildred +opened her eyes they rested upon the anxious countenances +of her mother and Mr. Donaldson bending +over her couch.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where am I?" she cried, starting up wildly—"how +came I here—what has happened? Ah, now +I remember—or was it some dreadful dream?" She +pressed her hand to her forehead—"no, no, it was +no dream—tell me," she added, with a convulsive +shudder, closing her eyes as if to shut out some horrible +vision, "is he dead—is Perozzi dead?"</p> + +<p>"Compose yourself, my dear Mildred," replied +Mrs. Donaldson, "he lives—fortunately the ball but +slightly grazed his temple—yet, my child, such is +his despair—to such a state of frenzy has your cruelty +brought him, that we dare not trust him alone even +for a moment, lest he once more attempt to end his +misery by self-destruction."</p> + +<p>A heart-rending groan was the poor girl's only +answer.</p> + +<p>"Mildred, my daughter," said Mr. Donaldson, "I +had decided to say no more to you upon a subject so +painful, but duty to my friend compels me to make +one more appeal to your compassion. Can I stand +calmly by and witness the wreck which despair has +wrought in that beloved friend—can I behold him +resolutely rushing upon death to end his misery and +not speak! O, Mildred," falling on his knees, "save +him—for you can—Mildred, behold me thus imploring +your pity for Perozzi!"</p> + +<p>Mildred burst into tears, and placed her hand +within that of Mr. Donaldson.</p> + +<p>"You will relent, my sweet child, will you not?" +said her mother, throwing her arms around her—"yes, +you will, and make us all happy—see," she +added, drawing a letter from her bosom, "here is a +letter from my beloved father—let his words plead +with ours—shall I read?" Mildred assented, and +breaking the seal Mrs. Donaldson continued:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"<span class="smcap">Mildred</span>,—You have refused compliance with +the fondest wish of my heart—you have obstinately +cast from you the man of all others I wished to see +your husband! Henceforth I renounce you. I loved +you, my child, (as I now for the last time call you,) +I have loved you from your infancy—to you I looked +as my greatest earthly blessing—but it is all over—we +never meet again! Yet, cruel, ungrateful girl, +I will not doom you to a life of hardship and dependence. +The fortune settled upon you is still yours. +Take it, Mildred, and enjoy it if you can, knowing +that you have broken the heart of your old doting +grandfather,</p></div> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Archibald Dundass</span>."</p> + +<p>As Mrs. Donaldson concluded, Mildred sobbed +aloud. These reproaches, mingled with so much +kindness, almost broke her heart.</p> + +<p>"Give me the letter," said she, extending her +trembling hand, and once more she tearfully perused +it, while a glance of triumph was exchanged between +husband and wife. The look of agony which Mildred +cast upon them as she finished reading would +have melted a heart of stone. Mrs. Donaldson burst +into tears, and even the lip of her husband quivered +with agitation.</p> + +<p>"My God, pity me!" cried Mildred, clasping her +hands and raising her eyes to heaven. Once more +she turned them on her mother. "Mother, do not +weep—<i>I—O God—I—consent</i>!" And as if with +those dreadful words her pure spirit had fled, she fell +back cold and rigid as marble upon the pillow.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER VII.</h4> + +<p>Let the silence of despair rest upon the sufferings +of the unhappy Mildred after those fatal words had +passed her lips.</p> + +<p>Among other artful devices agreed upon between +Mr. Donaldson and Perozzi, previous to Mildred's +return, was that of keeping her entirely secluded +from society, lest some other suitor might wrest the +hand of the doomed girl from him. But now that a +consent to their infernal measures had been torn +from her, it was resolved that a magnificent <i>fête</i> +should mark the <i>début</i> of the affianced bride. The +evening previous to the wedding was the time fixed +upon for this important event, and accordingly invitations +were immediately issued for a grand <i>bal +masqué</i>, including the governor's family, together +with all the <i>élite</i> of the island.</p> + +<p>For weeks all was hurry and confusion at the Cascade—artisans +of many trades were busily engaged +pulling down and putting up—the drawing-rooms—the +halls—verandas, all newly decorated—in fact, +the whole establishment, through the purse of Perozzi +and the good taste of Mrs. Donaldson, completely +revolutionized. Mildred in the meanwhile remained +in strict seclusion in her apartment, unless dragged +thence by the importunities of the Spaniard, so sad, +so perfectly overwhelmed with the wretchedness of +her lot, that it seemed most probable death might +claim the young bride ere the day of sacrifice came. +In vain her mother strove to interest her in the gay +proceedings—entreating she would at least choose a +costume for her expected <i>début</i>.</p> + +<p>"Do with me as you will, mother," Mildred would +reply, with a faint smile.</p> + +<p>In the sleeping-room of Mrs. Donaldson there +hung a portrait of a beautiful Turkish maiden. This +picture was a favorite with Mildred, and it occurred +to Mrs. Donaldson that a similar costume would +well become the style of her daughter's beauty. A +careful examination of her own and Mildred's ward-robe +convinced her the thing could be done, and she +set herself diligently to prepare the dress—Mildred +passively obeying her directions.</p> + +<p>At length all was finished, and in its swift course +Time brought round the appointed evening for the +<i>début</i> of the wretched Mildred, so soon to become a +more wretched wife. At an early hour those guests +who resided at a distance began to arrive, and after +partaking of the grateful refreshments provided for +them were conducted to their dressing-rooms, to prepare +for the festivities of the evening—all being expected +to appear <i>en masqué</i>.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Donaldson, the still handsome mistress of the +<i>fête</i>, wore a splendid dress of the tartan, in compliment +to the Scottish tastes of her husband, who himself +appeared in the costume of a Highland Chief, +and had already entered the drawing-room, in readiness +to welcome the gay throng. The victim, too, +was ready. Passive as a lamb in the hands of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> +destroyer, she had suffered her mother and her maid +to array her, and now sat like some marbled image, +awaiting the coming of Perozzi to lead her forth.</p> + +<p>How lovely she was, nor yet casting one look to +the mirror wherein her exquisite form and beautiful +face were reflected. The robe her mother had chosen +was the same as the picture, of a pale rose color, +floating like a summer cloud around her lovely person, +and confined to her waist by a broad girdle of +white satin, wrought with gold and clasped by a +superb diamond. The sleeves of the same airy fabric +as the caftan were long and loose, revealing in their +transparency the fine contour of her snowy arm, and +were ornamented upon the shoulders and around +the graceful fold of the outer edge with rich embroidery +seeded with pearls. The caftan was slightly +open at the bust, displaying an under vest of thin +white gauze gathered in maidenly modesty over her +lovely bosom, and fastened by a magnificent cluster +of diamonds and rubies. A <i>talpec</i>, or head-dress, of +white velvet, around which were wound two rows +of the finest pearls, was placed low on her pale +brow, from which her beautiful hair fell in long +natural ringlets, looped here and there with sprigs of +the white jasmine and orange buds.</p> + +<p>Gently the wind swayed the orange boughs, and +creeping through the flowery links of the jessamine +and passa-flora, kissed the pale cheek of Mildred as +she sat there in her misery—twilight stole on with +saddened step, and from out the cloudless heavens +one by one the stars looked down upon her wretchedness. +Then over the distant mountains rose up +the full-orbed moon, bathing their summits with gladness +and flooding the valleys with calm and holy +light. On she came, majestic and serene, o'er her +glorious path, and as her mild beams quivered +through the thick clustering blossoms around the +window they touched the heart of Mildred as the +smile of angels. Throwing open the jalousie she +stepped into the veranda, and leaning over the balustrade +gazed upon the peaceful landscape stretching +before her in all the chastened loveliness of the +moonlight.</p> + +<p>There was something in the scene which brought +with it the "light of other days" to her sad heart. +For a few brief moments she was happy—present +sorrows lost themselves in past pleasures. Once +more upon the ivy-clad battlements of Norcross Hall +she was standing with Helen and Rupert, while the +scene upon which the moon looked down identified +itself with the woods and dells of that beloved spot. +Her bright dream was brief—the voice of Perozzi in +loud and angry altercation with some one awoke her +too rudely to her misery.</p> + +<p>"O, Rupert!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands +in agony as she turned to re-enter her chamber—"Rupert, +farewell—farewell forever!"</p> + +<p>"Dearest Mildred!" cried a voice whose tones +leaped into her heart with a strange thrill of joy—"dearest +Mildred!"</p> + +<p>Did she still dream—or was it indeed Rupert to +whose breast she was now folded with a bliss too +great for words!</p> + +<p>"Thank God, Rupert, you have come!" cried +Mildred.</p> + +<p>"Mildred," said Rupert, (for it was indeed Rupert,) +"what mean these tears? Are you not happy—this +marriage—"</p> + +<p>"A—h!" shrieked Mildred, clinging to him as +though the basilisk hand of Perozzi were already +upon her, "<i>save me—save me</i>, Rupert!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Save</i> you! dearest, beloved Mildred—tell me—tell +me quick—this marriage—is it not your own +choice?"</p> + +<p>"O no, no, no!" sobbed Mildred.</p> + +<p>"Then no power on earth shall compel you to it! +You are mine—mine, dearest Mildred!" and clasping +her once more in his arms, Rupert kissed the +tears from her beautiful eyes, as full of hope and +love they met his beaming gaze.</p> + +<p>"But my grandfather!" she cried, starting up.</p> + +<p>"He is here, dear girl."</p> + +<p>"Here! then lead me to him quickly—let me implore +him to have pity upon me!"</p> + +<p>The arrival of Mr. Dundass upon the scene was +wholly unlooked for by Mr. Donaldson—need we +say as wholly unwelcome. Guilt and fear paled his +cheek and almost palsied his tongue as his lips feigned +a welcome—nor was Perozzi less moved. To define +the feelings of Mrs. Donaldson would be difficult. +Her love for her daughter had been held in complete +subjugation to the will of her husband, and while she +grieved deeply for the sorrows heaped upon her, her +love and fear of Mr. Donaldson, and her knowledge +of his pecuniary distress caused her at the same time +to exert all her influence to rivet the chain around +poor Mildred—so strange is human nature! What +then was to be the result of her father's unexpected +visit—was it freedom for Mildred—was it to heap +disgrace upon her husband?</p> + +<p>In the mean time Mr. Dundass had been shown to +a private room in a remote wing of the building, +while Mr. Donaldson and Perozzi were already planning +new schemes. They resolved that Mildred +should be kept in ignorance of her grandfather's +arrival as long as possible—of Rupert's they themselves +knew nothing—and that on no account should +she be allowed to speak with him privately. The +marriage should take place at an early hour the following +morning—<i>that</i> consummated they would defy +even the devil himself!</p> + +<p>Mr. Dundass was sitting sad and sorrowful in the +apartment to which he had been conducted, for this +marriage filled him with grief, wondering that Mildred +did not appear to welcome him, or that Rupert +did not return, when the door suddenly opened and +Mildred rushed in, and falling at his feet exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"O dearest, dearest grandfather, pity me—O sacrifice +me not to Perozzi!"</p> + +<p>"Sacrifice you, my darling child! Come to my +arms—what mean you—<i>sacrifice</i>—I thought it was +your happiness I was securing by consenting to your +union."</p> + +<p>"<i>Happiness!</i> O grandfather—rather my misery!"</p> + +<p>"What does this mean?" exclaimed Mr. Dundass. +"There must be treachery somewhere! God knows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> +how it has grieved my heart to think of your union +with that man—I know him to be a villain, and when +repeatedly urged to consent to the marriage, I as +repeatedly refused, until your own letter—"</p> + +<p>"<i>My</i> letter—good heavens!" exclaimed Mildred.</p> + +<p>"Written in the most moving language, at length +won my reluctant consent!"</p> + +<p>All was now explained, and the villainy of Mr. +Donaldson and his coadjutor made clear.</p> + +<p>"Courage, courage, my darling," said Mr. Dundass, +"come with me. Come, Rupert, I will 'beard +the lion in his den,' and make known this infamous +plot—come."</p> + +<p>"My mother—spare <i>her</i>, dear grandfather—forgive +them all—I am happy now—let us not mar the +pleasure of the guests," interceded Mildred.</p> + +<p>"You say right, my child—to-morrow will be soon +enough. But come with me, children—let us join +the gay assembly—nay, fear not, Mildred. Perozzi, +the villain, he shall not dare even to look upon you!"</p> + +<p>Now strains of delicious music filled the air—lights +gleamed—jewels flashed—feathers waved, and on +every side the merry laugh and gay badinage met +the ear from prince and beggar—wild roving gipsy +and sombre nun—knights in armor—minstrels—flower-girls—jugglers +and staid Quakers, as in confused +<i>mélée</i> they swept through the rooms—yet all +stood aside in silent admiration as the lovely Mildred +Ward in her graceful Turkish costume, her +face beaming with happiness, entered the saloon +leaning on the arm of her gray-haired sire.</p> + +<p>Muttering curses through his closed visor, Perozzi +(who was dressed as a knight of Old Castile) hastily +left the scene. He had sought Mildred in her chamber—she +was not there, and well did his guilty fears +surmise where she might be found. One glance at +her speaking countenance was enough. He saw in +a moment all was over—that the fiendish plot so +near consummation was betrayed! With terrible +oaths he mounted his mule, and plunging his spurs +rowel-deep into the sides of the poor beast rushed, +armed as he was, like some terrible demon through +the peaceful moon-lit vale until he reached the Pen—vowing +that on the morrow he would seize at once +with the grip of a harpy upon the estates of Mr. +Donaldson.</p> + +<p>But here, too, he was foiled! Mr. Donaldson, it +is true, did not deserve so much mercy, but when, +like a penitent, he came before Mr. Dundass and +confessed his crime, the heart of the old man was +moved to pity. He generously advanced the necessary +funds, and wrenched the Cascade from the +clutches of Perozzi. Touched by such unmerited +goodness and generosity, Mr. Donaldson resolved to +become a better man, and to repair by his future +conduct the errors of the past.</p> + +<p>At Mount Dundass, whither the whole family accompanied +its venerable proprietor, Rupert received +the hand of the happy Mildred, and after the death of +Mr. Dundass, which took place only a few months +later, took his beautiful young bride to England.</p> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_LAY" id="A_LAY"></a>A LAY.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY GRACE GREENWOOD.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The glorious queen of heaven who flings<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her royal radiance round me now,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As with clasped hands and upturned brow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I watch her pathway fair and free,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is not so silvery with the light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She pours o'er darkened earth to-night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in the gentle thoughts she brings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of thee, dear love, of thee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The night-wind trembling round the rose—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The starlight floating on the river,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The fearful aspen's silvery shiver,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dew-drop glistening on the lea,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Night's pure baptism to the flowers—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All, all bring back our dear, lost hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till every heart-string thrills and glows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For thee, dear-love, for thee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when dawn wakes the Earth with song,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Nature's heart, so hushed to-night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Goes leaping in the morning light,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While waves flash onward to the sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While perfumed dews to heaven arise—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While glory flashes o'er the skies—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still through my soul shall sweet thoughts throng<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of thee, dear love, of thee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, thou beloved, whose heart hath thrilled<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To blessed dreams and joys with mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What power shall change thy love divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or shut its presence out from me!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since all bright things, from flower to star,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Its types and sweet reminders are<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To this fond heart, this soul so filled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With thee, dear love, with thee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We part not, though we said adieu—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since first thy thoughts chimed in with mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And from those glorious eyes of thine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A heaven of love looked down on me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My very life round thine is poured—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy words within my soul I hoard—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still true, in every heart-throb true<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To thee, dear love, to thee!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_SAILORS_LIFE-TALE" id="THE_SAILORS_LIFE-TALE"></a>THE SAILOR'S LIFE-TALE.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> +<h3>A TRUE REMINISCENCE.</h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY SYBIL SUTHERLAND.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<h3>(DEDICATED TO MY COUSIN MARY S——.)</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"There's many an 'o'er true' tale, coz,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That comes to the listening ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That makes the cheek turn pale, coz,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And brings the glistening tear."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><span class="smcap">During</span> the last summer, Mary mine, I was one +of a party of friends, who, tired of the bustle and +confusion of the busy city, resolved to lay aside +business and all other engagements, for the brief +space of one day, which was to be devoted to a +picknick in some retired country location. The destined +spot for our intended <i>fête</i> was, after considerable +consultation, at length decided upon, and we +unanimously agreed to spend the day in a pleasant +woods in the neighborhood of New Brighton.</p> + +<p>It was upon a balmy June morning, when, with +light hearts, but heavier baskets, laden with provisions, +sun-bonnets, books, music, and sundry +et cæteras indispensable upon such an occasion, we +found ourselves snugly ensconced upon the deck of +one of those spacious steamboats which hourly wend +their way toward the sunny shores for which we +were bound; and after an exhilarating sail of half an +hour's duration, we landed at Snug Harbor, and proceeded +toward our place of destination, which was +situated about ten minutes' walk distant.</p> + +<p>It was to the Sailor's woods that our steps were +bent on the morning of our picknick. Sauntering +slowly through a shady lane we first passed the great +gate leading to the Sailor's Snug Harbor, an institution +which, as you doubtless know, Cousin Mary, +was, through the munificence of a certain private individual, +erected some years since as a place of refuge +and repose to the weary, wayworn seaman. Walking +a short distance beyond these stately buildings, we +found ourselves within "the deep solitudes of the +leafy wood."</p> + +<p>How shall I describe to you, gentle coz, that dear +old woods, as on that eventful day its beauties and +wonders first greeted my gaze? We had not advanced +far within its recesses, when a welcome +sound fell upon our ears, and in a moment more</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">"The flashing ray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of joyous waters in their play,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>came gladly upon our sight. A laughing little +streamlet rose before us, its bright waters rippling +and dancing, and here and there illuminated by a +stray sunbeam that stole softly and faintly through +the thick foliage of the sturdy old trees above. The +brook was narrow, and one could have crossed it +almost at a bound; but there was no necessity for +the exertion, for glancing but a few yards ahead, we +beheld a rustic bridge, which, on nearer approach, +proved to be of cedar, and was ornamented with a +sofa of the same material.</p> + +<p>Upon this rude couch we rested awhile till our +friend C——, whom we had elected master of ceremonies, +went forward to take a more extended survey +of the woods and its surroundings. In a few minutes +we heard a loud and very expressive halloo from our +absent companion, and looking about to find whence +the sound proceeded, we beheld him standing upon a +stone-fence at some distance, and beckoning us to +hasten immediately to his side. The mandate was +obeyed, and after a scramble over the stones, we +succeeded in mounting the desired eminence, when +a pleasant sight met our delighted visions. The +waters of the brook were here so managed as to form +two sylvan lakes, divided from each other by a bridge +similar to the one previously mentioned. The borders +of these lakes, through one of which glided two stately +swans, were supplied with seats formed of cedar +wood, and so arranged as to resemble lounges, <i>tête-à-têtes</i>, +and arm-chairs, whose appearance seemed +to invite repose. And here we would fain have +lingered, but asserting that he had something to show +us in another direction, C—— bade us follow him a +few steps farther.</p> + +<p>Descending from our elevation, and roaming through +a shadowed path, we at last halted at the door of a +diminutive and picturesque-looking cottage, within +which, to our astonishment, was a table, round +which were ranged seats more than sufficient for our +number. In no measured terms did we now express +our surprise and delight at thus finding in the very +heart of the wilderness accommodations so necessary, +wondering at the same time whether the fairies had +not been there before us to provide every thing for +our convenience.</p> + +<p>Beside the door of this rustic dwelling an old man, +evidently nearing the allotted "three score and +ten," was seated upon a rude bench, busily engaged +weaving a small and dainty-looking basket. He +was dressed in a sailor's garb, but there was an indescribable +something in his appearance, betraying +that he did not belong to the lowest rank of seamen. +There was a cloud of melancholy upon his countenance, +and though the sounds of laughter and mirth +were floating around him, he desisted not from his +occupation, nor even once gazed into the bright faces<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> +by which he was surrounded. Absorbed in his own +meditations, he seemed not to heed nor care for +aught else; and it was some time ere any of us presumed +to address him. But after awhile C——, who +was on every occasion the most venturesome of our +group, approached the old man, and endeavored to +lead him into conversation. He did not resist the +attempt, and we now learned that the various adornments +of the woods were entirely the handiwork of +an aged sailor, to whose taste and ingenuity many +a previous picknick party had owed the greater +portion of its pleasures. He showed us a spring +near by, where we regaled ourselves with a libation +of the purest and coldest water, and told us of a +fitting place for a dance, an even, grass-grown spot +in another part of the woods. He also described to +us a moss-house, which he said was located just below +the opposite hill, informing us at the same time +that it belonged to the estate of Mr. G——, one of +New York's merchant-princes, who kindly and unselfishly +left it free and open to the inspection of the +curious, and wonder-loving community. And to +this latter domain my friends now agreed to adjourn—but +much to my regret, I was unable to accompany +them. A severe headache, the usual result of +excitement of any kind, was now exerting its influence +over me; and I was confident, from experience, +that my only way of soon getting rid of it +would be by remaining where I was and keeping +perfectly quiet. All of my friends expressed their +sorrow at my sudden indisposition, and each one +kindly offered to stay and bear me company; but unwilling +to deprive them of any enjoyment, I declined +their offers, alleging that I should not be altogether +alone, as the old man whom we found there would +doubtless continue where he was till their return. +The sailor looked up as I spoke, and said that it was +his intention to remain there for the rest of the morning, +adding that he frequently passed the entire day +in the woods. So, assured that I would not be +actually solitary, they at last allowed themselves to +be persuaded to go without me in search of the +moss-house.</p> + +<p>After watching their forms till they had quite receded +from my view, I re-entered the arbor where +the old sailor was still at work, and seated myself +very comfortably in a rocking-chair. It was somewhat +of an oddity, too, Mary—that rocking-chair; +and though I had almost forgotten to mention the +circumstance to you, the first discovery of such an +article of furniture in the woods had been a source +of infinite amusement to my companions and myself. +It was built of cedar, to correspond with the other +various decorations of the woods, and though hewn +of the roughest material, for ease and grace of motion, +I might confidently challenge the drawing-room +of a fashionable lady to produce its equal. Again, I +say, it was an oddity—that rocking-chair. But the +powers of my simple pen being scarcely adequate to +a description of it, this being, as I have styled it, a +true reminiscence, I would advise and invite you, +dear Mary, if you wish to behold the rocker, and +judge of its <i>indescribable</i> merits, to accompany me +on the first summer's day you may have to spare, to +the pleasantest and most romantic spot in the immediate +vicinity of New York—the Sailor's Woods at +Snug Harbor.</p> + +<p>But to go on with my record. After enjoying for +a space the easy lulling motion of this inimitable +chair; and after bathing my head repeatedly in water +from the woodland-spring, I began to feel considerably +revived, while the pure air, and the stillness +that reigned around, were of especial benefit to my +aching temples. The pain gradually grew less and +less tormenting, till at length it was no longer felt, +and again I found myself watching the old sailor, +who sat at a few paces from me weaving his pretty, +delicate basket. Gathering courage, I entered into +conversation with him. He had stated previously +that his abode was at "the Harbor," so I now made +some inquiries concerning that institution, its regulations, +&c., and he very readily gave me all the +requisite information.</p> + +<p>"They must be very happy, are they not?" I asked, +referring to the members of the institution of which +we were speaking; "very happy and very thankful, +too, to have had so pleasant a home provided for +them in their old age?"</p> + +<p>"They are generally contented," was the reply, +"but there are many among their number who, +having no fears for their earthly future, allow their +minds to dwell too earnestly upon the past—and wo +be to them, if one voice from the memories of bygone +days comes back with reproachful accents!" +He sighed heavily—and for some moments there was +a pause. At length, raising his eyes hastily to mine, +he said,</p> + +<p>"Young lady—do you think that <i>I</i> am happy?"</p> + +<p>The question was altogether so abrupt and unexpected, +that I scarcely knew what to answer; but, +after some little hesitation, I replied, "I do not, sir. +There is too much of sadness in your countenance +to speak of a mind quite at ease. I should think that +you had known many sorrows."</p> + +<p>"You are right," he rejoined, in a voice of emotion, +"I have, indeed, borne the burden of many +griefs; but, alas! I do not mourn them so much as +the errors of a heart but for whose weakness they +had never oppressed me. I know not what it is, +young lady, that prompts me to confide to you my +history. But, perchance, it may serve you as a +warning—it may impress more strongly upon your +mind that divine law of forgiveness inculcated by +Him who pardons <i>our</i> trespasses, 'as we forgive +those who trespass against us.' There is a passage +in the 'Book of Books' that never fails to convey to +me a reproof, for I remembered not the lesson till it +was too late to profit by it. 'Then came one of his +disciples unto him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my +brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven +times? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee +until seven times; but until seventy times seven.'"</p> + +<p>Though somewhat surprised at the turn matters +were taking, yet, as the speaker had paused, and +was now apparently awaiting some token on my +part of interest in his proposed narration, <i>I</i>, of course,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> +entreated him to proceed. Nor was he long in +complying with my desire.</p> + +<p>It was truly a touching story, dear Mary. I would, +indeed, that I could "tell the tale as 'twas told to +me." And yet I would not, if I possessed the power, +portray the mournful accents of that old man's voice, +and the sorrowing expression of his countenance—for +the picture would make you weep. I may not +attempt to recall the sketch in the language of the +aged sailor, for that it would be utterly impossible +to do; but I will strive to repeat it to you after my +own peculiar fashion, and to the best of my ability. +Could I boast your incomparable grace of diction, +Mary, I might do full justice to my subject. But I +know that with your accustomed kindness you will +overlook the faults which I humbly trust that time +and practice may enable me to overcome. So, +having thus worthily delivered my preface, let me +hasten at once to my task.</p> + +<p>Some sixty years since, there dwelt in the city of +Boston, a merchant by the name of Sydney—a man +justly beloved and respected for benevolence of +character, integrity of purpose and of principle, and +envied by the worldly for the enormous income +which enabled him to surround his family with every +luxury that money could procure. Early in life he +had married a beautiful girl, to whom he was tenderly +devoted. A son, whose name was Arthur, +and who, to come at once to the point, was the +original narrator of this story, was the sole offspring +of this happy union, and, as may be supposed, the +pride and idol of his parents. They watched over +him with the most untiring affection, and endeavored +to instil into his young mind those firm and honorable +principles which rendered their own lives so +lovely. But at the age of ten years the hand of +death deprived Arthur Sydney of his gentle mother, +and daily he missed her counsels and her embrace, +and most bitterly did he mourn for the footstep that +was to come no more.</p> + +<p>The loss of his wife was a stunning blow to Mr. +Sydney. He never married again, for he had loved +the departed one too well to think for an instant of +supplying her place; and so four more years elapsed, +and his child continued to be the only object of his +cares. But at the termination of that period this +good and just man was called to a mansion beyond +the skies, doubtless there to claim the crown of immortality. +And then Arthur was left alone in the wide +world—a young and almost broken-hearted orphan.</p> + +<p>Upon searching into Mr. Sydney's affairs soon +after his decease, to the surprise of every one, +instead of leaving his son in the possession of an +immense estate, there was not quite sufficient to +meet the demands of creditors. When Arthur Sydney +became older, he could not help suspecting that there +was some mystery about this, for strictly honest as +he had ever known his father to be, he could not believe +that he would ever have swerved thus from the +path of right. What was in reality the cause of this +deficiency, whether it was owing, as his son afterward +thought, to the craft and fraud of his executors, +can only be answered from the curtain of futurity.</p> + +<p>The mansion where Arthur's early years had +passed so happily, was now sold, with all its effects, +and the lonely orphan took up his abode beneath +the roof of an uncle. But, alas! it was not like the +home he had lost—the dear hearth of his sunny +childhood. His relative, Mr. Lindsay, was a far +different being from his deceased parent, and though, +like the latter, he lived in splendor, he knew not +how to enjoy it. Devoid of that generosity of spirit +which Mr. Sydney had possessed, he was also of a +morose, exacting, and passionate nature, and his +family, instead of hailing his presence with delight, +shrunk from him ever with indifference, and sometimes +with trembling. Governed by the law of fear +instead of that of love, it was scarcely to be wondered +at that his children resorted to every petty +means of covering their faults, and were often guilty +of deception and falsehood. Arthur Sydney's education +had been widely different, and he despised +the meannesses which his cousins practiced; but +when he expostulated with them, as he frequently +did, his words invariably drew upon himself a torrent +of invectives. They taunted him with his dependence +upon their father's charity, and asked what +right a beggar had to preach to <i>them</i>; and then the +youth's proud heart would swell within him, and he +would rush to his own little room, and there, unseen, +give full vent to his wounded feelings.</p> + +<p>His eldest cousin, Alfred Lindsay, who was always +foremost in every plan of mischief, and the most +perfect adept in concealing the part he had taken in +it, was a twelvemonth Arthur's senior. From earliest +childhood the two had evinced a dislike to each +other's society, and as they grew up, the feeling did +not diminish. At school they had been rivals, and +Arthur had now far outstripped Alfred in their course +of study. In various other ways he had also quite +unintentionally foiled his cousin's ambition; and he +was convinced that at the first opportunity Alfred +would have his revenge. Too soon was the fore-boding +realized.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lindsay one afternoon entered the room where +his children generally spent their leisure hours, and +with threatening looks announced that he had lost a +ten dollar bank note. He had missed it under such +circumstances that he was sure it must have been +purloined by one of the younger members of his +family; and he now declared his intention of searching +both their persons and their apartments, that he +might, if possible, discover the guilty one. Very +pale were the young faces that now gathered round +him; and though Arthur's heart was free from reproach, +he, too, trembled with fear for the criminal. +I need not dwell upon the details of that search, but +suffice it to say that the bank-note was found—found +in <i>Arthur Sydney's</i> apartment, within a little box +that always stood upon his dressing-table as the +honored receptacle of his parents' miniatures. Vainly +did he assert his ignorance as to how it came there—his +uncle refused to listen to his words, and loaded +with passionate reproaches, he was dismissed to his +own room, there to remain till he received permission +to leave it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a long while ere the boy became sufficiently +calm to reflect upon what had occurred, for the +thought that he was accused of theft came with such +bitterness to his soul that for several hours he was +almost frantic. But as he grew more composed he +became confident that this was the work of Alfred, +and he remembered the triumphant leer that stood +upon his cousin's countenance when the hiding-place +of the missing note was proclaimed.</p> + +<p>Just at this moment his meditations were disturbed +by the sound of footsteps stealthily approaching his +door, and the next instant it was opened, and Alfred +Lindsay stood upon the threshold, gazing exultingly +upon Arthur's misery, while a malicious smile +wreathed his lips as pointing his finger exultingly at +him, the single word, "thief!" fell upon the ear of +his victim. Oh! how that undeserved epithet stung +the innocent and sensitive boy; and, almost maddened +by the sense of his injuries, he rushed toward +the offender, impelled by but one thought—the wish +for revenge. But, coward-like, Alfred fled from his +approach, and then closing the door, and locking it, +Arthur threw himself upon his couch in tearless, +voiceless agony. It was not until the shades of +evening had closed in that he roused himself from +the stupor into which he had been thrown by those +overpowering emotions. And now came a determination +that he would no longer remain in his +uncle's house, where he knew that he must ever after +be subjected to the sneers and gibes of his cousins. +He resolved to quit Mr. Lindsay's dwelling, though +he knew not of any other roof where he might find a +shelter for his aching head.</p> + +<p>That night, when the unbroken stillness that reigned +around gave assurance that the family had all retired +to rest, Arthur Sydney stole softly down the stairs, +and taking with him nothing but a small bundle of +clothing, and the few treasured memorials of other +days that he could lawfully call his own, he left +forever the mansion of his uncle. And as he looked +his last upon the home of Alfred Lindsay, there rose +in his heart a wild, dark resolve, that if he ever possessed +the power, his cousin should one day reap +the fruits of his evil deed.</p> + +<p>For hours the youth wandered listlessly through +the now deserted streets of the city, till at last overcome +with fatigue, and completely unnerved as the +full sense of his desolate situation burst upon him, +he seated himself near the edge of one of the wharves, +and wept long and bitterly. Suddenly a hand was +laid upon his shoulder, and a voice whose tones +though rough were yet full of sympathy, inquired the +cause of his grief, and looking hastily up, he beheld +a man apparently about fifty years of age, and habited +in a seaman's garb. Touched with his kindness, in +the first impulse of the moment, Arthur gave him a +brief account of his misfortunes. When he had concluded, +much to his surprise, his listener informed +him that he had known his father, who had, years +before, rendered him an important service, in return +for which, he said that he would now willingly do +all in his power to serve the child of one to whom he +was so deeply indebted. He told Arthur that he was +at present commander of a large vessel lying close at +hand, and which was to sail the following day for +South America, and asked if he would be willing to +accompany him, and learn to be a sailor like himself. +The idea was a novel one, and the boy seized upon +it with avidity, as beside being his only available +means of obtaining life's necessaries, he knew that +by embracing it he should lose the chance of meeting +those relatives whom he cared no more to behold. +And when he at once expressed his readiness to go, +his new friend patted his head in token of approval, +prophesied that he would prove a brave mariner, +and then taking his young companion by the hand, +led him toward the ship which was henceforth to be +his abiding-place. The next day Arthur bade adieu +to his native city, and commenced his career as a +seamen. But upon the events of that career I have +not time to linger. For years Captain Carter, for +such was his patron's name, continued to treat his +<i>protegé</i> with unremitting favor, sharing with him all +the nautical knowledge he had acquired, and using +every endeavor for his advancement. At the age of +eight-and-twenty, through this kind friend's interest, +Arthur was himself raised to the post of captain, and +took possession of a packet-ship sailing between the +ports of New York and Southampton. He had now +attained the summit of his hopes, for a way was +opened before him of obtaining, what had long been +his desire, a competence, which would enable him to +resume that station in life which his father had occupied, +and of supplying also to his parent's creditors +the sum of which they had been so strangely defrauded. +And at the close of five more years he had +the satisfaction of knowing that this latter purpose +was accomplished.</p> + +<p>It was about this period that an incident occurred +which had a material influence over the future destiny +of Arthur Sydney. During one of his voyages, +accident revealed to his notice the wreck of what had +once apparently been a noble vessel. He immediately +despatched a boat with a portion of his crew +to survey the ruins, and ascertain if any of the passengers +survived. They returned, bringing with +them the inanimate form of a lovely girl, seemingly +not more than eighteen years old. Every effort was +used for her speedy restoration to consciousness, +but it was nearly two hours ere she opened her eyes, +and then she was so weak as to be quite unable to +move or speak. Her delicate frame was evidently +exhausted by long fasting, and the fearful scenes she +must have witnessed; and for the whole of that day +Sydney watched beside her with feelings of the +strongest sympathy for her sufferings. The next +morning she was much better, she could recline in +an easy chair, and had acquired sufficient strength to +relate her history. She was a native of Italy—the +youngest daughter of an ancient and noble family, +whose father having been undeservedly regarded by +the government with suspicion, was threatened with +imprisonment, and had barely time to escape with +his household on board of a ship bound for America. +That vessel was the one whose wreck Captain +Sydney had espied, and of the large number of souls<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> +within it, who had departed but a few weeks before +from Italia's sunny shores, but one remained—that +gentle and helpless maiden. For three days she +had continued upon the wreck without the slightest +sustenance, haunted by the memories of the terrible +past, and expecting that each instant would dash the +frail fabric to pieces, and precipitate her also into +the deep, dark sea, till at length consciousness forsook +her, and in a death-like swoon she forgot the +dangers by which she was surrounded.</p> + +<p>With tears of anguish she now spoke of the dear +ones lost to her forever on earth—the loved mother, +the noble father, the darling sisters, and the cherished +brother, over each one of whom she had beheld the +wild waves close. Then she lamented her desolation, +utterly destitute, and nearing the shores of a +foreign land, where no familiar voice would accord +her a welcome. There was a similarity in her situation +to what had once been his own, and as Sydney +listened, the story inspired him with an interest in +that fair being such as he had never till then experienced +for a fellow-creature. He used every +effort to console her—gave her an account of his +own early life, and bade her trust in the kind Providence +who in the hour of need had given <i>him</i> a +friend. He assured her also that he, at least, would +not forsake her, but that he would endeavor to place +her in some way of gaining her own livelihood till +she could write to and hear from her friends in Italy; +and begged that she would look upon him as a +brother. She heard him with glistening eyes, and +clasping his hand in hers, with child-like earnestness +expressed her thanks for his kindness.</p> + +<p>During the rest of that voyage Captain Sydney +spent every leisure moment by the side of his beautiful +charge. Returning health imparted a bloom to +her cheek, and a lustre to her soft, dark eyes, and as +Arthur gazed upon her, he often thought that earth +had never owned a fairer flower. It was not long +ere he became fully conscious that she daily grew +dearer to him, and great was his joy as he marked +the flush that invariably rose to her pure forehead +when he approached. And when at length he poured +his tale of love into the ear of the sweet Leonor, the +reply that he sought was given with an impassioned +fervor that sent a thrill of rapture to his soul.</p> + +<p>They were united the day that they landed at New +York, and renting a small but pretty cottage in the +outskirts of the city, Captain Sydney installed his +Leonor as the mistress of that pleasant domain. Here, +amidst flowers and birds, and enlivened by the music +of two loving hearts, the time glided tranquilly away +till the hour of separation arrived—and, for the first +time, Sydney quitted the land with regret, and embarked +once more upon the deep blue ocean.</p> + +<p>Eight years after his marriage, Captain Sydney +was destined to weep over the cold corpse of his +lovely wife. She had never enjoyed uninterrupted +health since her residence beneath the variable clime +of her adoption, and at last she fell a victim to consumption. +Vainly did the anxious husband consult +the most celebrated physicians—the disease was incurable, +and ere the blossoms of spring again burst +forth, Leonor slumbered beneath the sod. Wild, +indeed, was the grief of the bereaved one at her loss—but +he recovered the first effects of his sorrow, and +leaving his only child, Harry, a brave boy just six +years of age, under the guardianship of a friend who +had loved the departed mother, Sydney resumed his +former vocation.</p> + +<p>Years again fled. Harry Sydney attained the age +of manhood—and every one that knew him loved +him, for he was a fine, manly fellow, honorable and +generous in every impulse, with a heart susceptible +of the warmest sympathies. He inherited his mother's +ardent temperament, and was of a sensitive and impassioned +nature. Captain Sydney had destined him +for a merchant, and as such he had just commenced +life with every prospect of success. Had he been +allowed to take his own inclination as a guide, Harry +would fain have followed the sea. But to this his +father was averse, and early, at his command, he +relinquished the desire.</p> + +<p>Upon his son all the hopes of Captain Sydney +were centered. It was his earnest wish to see him +happily married, and determined to express the desire +to Harry, he one day sought his side for that purpose. +Both to his surprise and approval, the latter informed +his father that he had already met one to whom his +heart's warmest affections were given. He added +that the young lady, though poor and dependent upon +her own exertions for her support, and that of an +invalid father, was the descendant of a family said to +be highly respectable. "Her grandfather," he continued, +"was Robert Lindsay, a well-known merchant +of Boston; and though his son, Alfred, has dissipated +the patrimony left him by his parent, and +now relies solely for maintenance upon the proceeds +of his daughter's needle, I am sure, my dear father, +this praiseworthy effort, on the part of one so young +and lovely as Ida, will but elevate her in your +estimation?"</p> + +<p>"Robert Lindsay! Alfred Lindsay!" were the exclamations +of Captain Sydney, in a voice full of +passion, as those well-remembered names fell upon +his ear for the first time in many years; "boy—did +you say that <i>Alfred Lindsay</i> was her parent? Then +be assured that never, while life lasts, will I give +my consent to your marriage with the daughter of +him who was the enemy of my unprotected youth!"</p> + +<p>"Father—what mean you?" asked Harry, in tones +of amazement, for the tale whose memory had so +sudden an effect upon his companion, had never +been breathed to him. And suddenly recalled to a +sense of his son's ignorance upon the subject, Captain +Sydney now hurriedly sketched the history of the past.</p> + +<p>"It is very strange," said Harry, musingly; "but +they never mentioned that they were related to me. +It is probable that Ida's father, if aware of the fact, +concealed it from her knowledge."</p> + +<p>"Or rather that he instigated her to keep it a +secret, that in the end she might reap the benefit of +his injured cousin's wealth," was the rejoinder.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, father!" replied the young man, warmly. +"I could not wrong Ida by a suspicion of that kind. +She is too good and pure-hearted to countenance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> +deception, and," he added, after a moment's hesitation, +"I cannot give her up and wreck both her own +happiness and mine, for the sake of her parent's +faults."</p> + +<p>These words aroused Captain Sydney's indignation. +He accused his son of want of spirit in refusing +to resent the occurrences that clouded his +youth; and when Harry responded that he felt them +deeply, but could not on their account brand himself +with dishonor, by breaking the troth already plighted +to Ida Lindsay, his father parted from him in anger, +declaring that if his son married Ida, he might never +expect his blessing.</p> + +<p>The thought of uniting his son by indissoluble ties +to the child of his early foe, was, indeed, repugnant +to the heart of Captain Sydney; and while he remembered +his resolve uttered on the night when he +went forth from his uncle's roof a desolate, friendless +and dishonored being—dishonored through the machinations +of his cousin Alfred—he was determined +that it should be fulfilled, even though in so doing +he thwarted the earnest wishes of the one dearest +to him.</p> + +<p>A few days afterward Captain Sydney departed +upon one of his accustomed voyages, and was absent +several months. On his return he found his son just +recovering from a lingering fever, brought on, as the +physician averred, by distress of mind. He looked +very pale and thin, and his father could scarcely help +feeling a sensation akin to reproach, as he gazed +upon that colorless cheek and wasted form. He +knew that this indisposition was occasioned by the +manner in which he had treated his son's engagement, +for, through the medium of a friend, he had +learned that Ida Lindsay had nobly refused longer to +encourage attentions, which, as she learned from +Harry, were tendered in opposition to his father's +desires. Alfred Lindsay, too, had died a few weeks +before, and the object of his resentment being no +more, Captain Sydney began to feel less reluctant to +the match which he had at first looked upon with +such violent disapprobation. Conscience told him +he had acted cruelly in thus casting a blight over his +child's sweetest hopes, and he was determined that +he would now do all in his power to further them. +And when Harry grew strong enough to bear a conversation +upon the subject, he communicated the +change in his feelings. Both startled and appalled +was he at his son's reply.</p> + +<p>"My father, would you mock me with this show +of kindness, when it is too late to profit by it? Know +you not that she is now dying of consumption? I was +sure that <i>she</i> was too delicate to endure the steady +occupation necessary for her support—and my presentiment +has been verified. Yes, Ida Lindsay is +dying! I would have saved her—I would have +borne her to a more genial clime, where she might, +perhaps, have revived; but she refused to give me a +right to be her guardian, for it was against the will +of my parent, without whose sanction, she said, our +union would never prosper."</p> + +<p>He bowed his face, while for an instant his frame +shook with emotion. Hastily his father drew nearer +to him, but he turned shudderingly from those words +of penitence and self-reproach, and dashing aside +the extended hand, rushed from the apartment.</p> + +<p>It was, indeed, too true—Ida Lindsay was dying! +The constant confinement called for by her continued +exertions to obtain a livelihood, had proved too much +for a constitution by no means strong—and it was his +anxiety for her failing health which had caused the +illness of Harry Sydney. Oh! what would not the +erring father have given for power to recall the past; +but it was too late—too late! A few hours after the +interview with his son the intelligence of Ida's death +was received, and during the whole of the succeeding +evening Captain Sydney could plainly distinguish +the sound of Harry's footsteps as he wildly paced his +chamber, and each echo sent a thrill of remorse to +his soul. Little did the repentant and sorrowing +parent then think it was the last time that footfall +would ever resound in his dwelling—for that night +Harry Sydney departed from his home, leaving no +trace of his destination. Days, weeks, months +passed on, and the heart of his father grew dark +with the anguish of despair, for he felt most surely +that he should behold his son no more. Whither the +latter had gone was a mystery he tried in vain to solve, +though sometimes he remembered Harry's predilection +for a mariner's life, and blighted as he had been +in his affections, might he not now have followed the +yearnings of former times, as the only means of +gaining oblivion of his sorrows? So, night after +night, Captain Sydney sat alone at his deserted hearth—a +father, and yet childless, with a host of dark recollections +pressing heavily upon his spirit. And at +last he sought forgetfulness of his errors in the sparkling +wine-cup, whose draught he drained with an +intense eagerness, for it enabled him to mock at his +misery.</p> + +<p>And so five more years passed on, during which +period his mind was seldom free from the delirium +produced by the practices to which he had resorted; +and having, in utter recklessness of spirit dissipated +his property, deprived, through his own weakness, of +his rank as captain, he was at length forced to lower +himself to the grade of a common sailor, for the purpose +of obtaining the means of subsistence. Then a +severe illness, caused by free indulgence in intoxicating +liquors, overtook him—and with sickness came +reflection, and he resolved to yield no longer to the +voice of the tempter. He recovered from his dangerous +indisposition, but remaining fearfully weak, +the physician declared that his constitution was completely +shattered, and that he was no longer fit for +service. At first he insisted upon resuming his +wonted occupation, for he had no other way of +maintaining himself. The physician seemed to comprehend +his reluctance to obey his command, and he +now reminded his patient of an institution in the +vicinity of New York, where the indigent mariner +might find a home.</p> + +<p>It was then that Captain Sydney—for so let me +still continue to call him—sought the peaceful shades +of "the Harbor," where for two years he had, indeed, +found all the external comforts of a home, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> +but for the voices of the past he would have had no +cause to repine.</p> + +<p>About a twelvemonth after his arrival at "the +Harbor," a new inmate was admitted there, in the +person of an invalid sailor, who was said to be in a +deep decline. He seldom left the apartment allotted +to him, save now and then of a warm sunny day, +when he would go forth, leaning upon the arm of an +attendant, and seating himself upon a bench in the +garden beneath the shade of a tree, remain there for +hours, gazing silently upon the blue waters of the +bay before him. Regarded by all as in a dying state, +no one strove at these times to disturb his reverie. +His situation had excited universal sympathy, and +frequently the other sailors would steal to his side +and softly deposit there a small basket of fruit, or +some little delicacy which they knew would prove +acceptable to him on whom it was bestowed.</p> + +<p>Habitually reserved, and cultivating but little intercourse +with those around him, it was scarcely a +matter of surprise that for some weeks Captain +Sydney took but little notice of the sailor of whom +I have been speaking. But chance at length brought +him more fully beneath the scope of his observation. +While one day walking in the garden, buried in +thought, almost unconsciously he neared the spot +generally occupied by the invalid. But he heeded +not the vicinity till startled by the sound of a hollow +cough, and looking hastily up, he met the gaze of +the feeble stranger. A half-suppressed cry burst +from the latter, and springing quickly forward, Captain +Sydney caught him in his arms, while the words, +"Harry! my son—my son!" came in a tone of agony +from his lips. But he heeded not the caresses—he +answered not the words of mingled endearment and +reproach which his parent murmured as he bent +wildly over him; and when at length the stricken +father became calm enough to summon assistance, +they told him that the spirit of his child was at rest.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Such, my dear cousin, was the old man's history; +and as he ceased, his head leaned droopingly upon +his hand, while his whole attitude betokened the +most intense mental suffering. For some moments +there was silence between us, for I felt that words +were insufficient to console him. But suddenly the +stillness was broken by the sound of lively voices +approaching, and I recognized the tones of my long-absent +companions, and knew that they were close +at hand. In a few seconds more, they appeared near +the stone-fence, which I have once before alluded to. +The old sailor evidently wished to avoid them, for +their gayety was discordant to his feelings. Rising +from his seat, he now drew closer to the spot where +I was stationed.</p> + +<p>"Farewell, young lady," were his parting words, +as he clasped my extended hand, and for a moment +that pale, sad face, looked so mournfully into mine, +that tears of the deepest commiseration sprung +involuntarily to my eyes, "we may never meet again, +and I trust you will forgive me, if the repetition of +my sorrows has cast a shadow upon your heart. Remember +me in your prayers, if you will, and ask that +I may soon be borne to my last repose in the little grave-yard +yonder, where my son lies sleeping. Farewell."</p> + +<p>An instant more and he was gone—and for some +moments I remained seated where he had left me, +patiently awaiting the approach of my friends, and +meanwhile musing earnestly and sadly upon the +Sailor's Life-Tale.</p> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_MOURNERS" id="THE_MOURNERS"></a>THE MOURNERS.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Where'er</span> I wander forth I view the mournful ones of earth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They tread no more, with buoyant feet, the radiant halls of mirth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around their trembling frames are drawn the weary weeds of wo;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their sighs, like cold November rains, with saddened cadence flow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the dead hopes and faded joys of bright departed years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They twine a garland for the brow, impearled with many tears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the graves of buried loves they sit awhile and sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, mid the ruin-mantled waste of time, lie down to die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They close their weary eyes upon God's calm and holy light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They dwell girt round with misery as with a starless night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They fold a thick and icy shroud their care-worn bosoms round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rest beneath the baleful charm like streams by winter bound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They nurse their sorrow till of all their thoughts it grows a part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, like a cold and mighty snake, twines round the bleeding heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then its hissing tones descend in drops of fiery rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scathe, as lightning flashes blast, the weak and wandering brain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The mourners chant, with voices low, a sweet and sighing strain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That moans, as on a rocky shore, the solemn sounding main:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It breathes alike when summer fades and when the violets spring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It mingles with the morning light and evening twilight dim.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is the burden of that faint and melancholy lay:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The cloud of wo hath hid the smiles and beauty of the day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glow of earth, the radiant gleam, the bliss of life is o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rose of human love may bloom for us no more—<i>no more</i>."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Arise, be strong, O, mournful ones! The Future is your own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There Love may weave her rosy nest, there Joy erect a throne.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though youth's pale buds in early Spring were blighted and laid low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine yet may be the peerless bloom of life's rich summer glow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blissful ones, the glorified, build up their own bright state.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let but the slumbering spirit learn "to labor and to wait,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, like a bird of tireless wing, 'twill rise above the storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bathe its flashing pinions in the glory of the morn!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right">REV. T. L. HARRIS.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="REFLECTIONS" id="REFLECTIONS"></a>REFLECTIONS</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span></p> +<h3>ON SOME OF THE EVENTS OF THE YEAR 1848.</h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY JOSEPH R. CHANDLER.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<h5><i>Annus Mirabilis.</i></h5> + + +<p>We are approaching the close of the year—a year +marked by greater vicissitudes in the affairs of nations +than any in which we have lived—any indeed +of which we have read. History gives us accounts +of the rapid march and equally rapid conquests by +ambitious kings, who seemed only happy in the unhappiness +of others, and only proud of destroying +that which constituted the pride of others. From +time to time ambitious men have exhibited themselves +in the great theatre of the world, and their +greatness has been measured by the extent of misery +they have produced; and their claims to permanent +fame have rested upon the rapidity that marked their +destruction of cities, kingdoms and empires. While +between the epochs which are distinguished by these +promoters of extensive mischief, there have at all +times been humble imitators of their crimes, whose +limited power of doing confined their actions to provinces, +and compelled them to be ministers of local +vengeance, and the enjoyers of that petty infamy +which results from numerable murders and calculable +crime. It is but too evident that order has had its +antagonists, at all times and in all degrees, and if +history has been employed with the works of those +whose extensive scale of action gives larger consequence +to their movements, it cannot be doubted +that society has been convulsed at its centre by the +restless and the bad, who have been as efficient in +their sphere of wrong doing as have been those who +occupied a larger space. The latter struck the elevated, +and disturbed public relations; the former sent +home its weapon to the humble, and brought disturbance +and misery into the more limited circle, reaching +social life and stabbing even to the heart of domestic +peace.</p> + +<p>Such great events have marked epochs, or made +them; and such small occurrences have been the +characteristics of almost all times; so that the wars +of the present century may be considered but as continuations +of the belligerent movements of other +times, modified indeed by the improvement of the +present age, but still of the same spirit and from the +same motives. But the events of the past year are +of another kind. The disturbances that have distinguished +the history of Europe in that time are not +the result of the mad ambition of a conqueror to add +to his possessions, and subjugate kings and kingdoms +as a means of gratifying ambition; foreign conquest +and invasion from abroad are not now the occurrences +which European rulers fear or anticipate. +The convulsions that distinguish every empire from +the Atlantic to the Black Sea, has nothing to do with +the ambition of other <i>rulers</i> but are referable to the +rising spirit of their own <i>people</i>. No longer do the +States of Germany combine to repel the assaults of +the ruler of France. Each member of the nominal +confederacy is looking to itself as possessing the +active means of revolution, and each leans toward +a combination that shall sustain the rights of the +people and put a specific limit to the power of +princes.</p> + +<p>No longer do men startle at the grasping avarice +of the upper powers demanding new possessions and +the recognition of enlarged prerogative; no longer +is the peace of nations disturbed by the attempts of +an ambitious ruler to extend his domains and enlarge +his power. The convulsions that are everywhere +in Europe felt, come from the up-heaving of the lower +masses; deep down in the bosom of empires is heard +the voice of multitudes crying out for newly understood +rights. Up from that stratum comes a convulsive +heave, that is toppling down the thrones that +have rested upon the hearts of the people, and not +outside the national limits, not at the terminal portions, +not at the "outer walls" of the capital is the +movement felt—but within, at the heart of the nation, +within the shadow of the palace, along the quays +where business is pursued, in the narrow walks of +trade, over the bench of the artisan, or in the boudoir +of beauty, is planned the movement that is subverting +thrones and leveling up society. For nearly a +century past have there been at work the elements +of such convulsion. The struggle of the antagonistic +powers has been such that results were postponed—only +postponed—while the injurers lost +power, and the injured gathered strength. Premonitory +movements were observed, and in some instances +seconded, as in France, in others allayed by +power or concessions, as in Austria and Great Britain. +But when the whole is only a right, the acquisition +of a part is only a prelude to a struggle for +more, and this has been seen in every nation where +concession was made to the people, or wrung by +force from the rulers.</p> + +<p>But there was reserved for the present year the +great assertion of human rights. The annunciation +was first made in France, where tyranny galled the +sensitive portions of the people, or where a taste of +temporary freedom had created an appetite for constant +enjoyment. The flight of Louis Philippe seemed +sudden—startling—almost without a cause; and if +nothing but the <i>émeute</i> in Paris is regarded, certainly +the effect was entirely disproportioned to the cause. +But the revolution of the 22d of February was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> +natural consequence of the pre-existing state of things. +The fall of the leaf in autumn is not a more natural +result of a waning season than was the fall of Louis +Philippe a consequence of exhausted monarchy. +The spirit of the people had come up to that point at +which monarchy must either assume the form of +absolutism, and rule by fear alone, or must yield to +the upward pressure of the people, and its possessors +seek to escape the opposing principle which they +could not withstand. Louis Philippe tried the former—it +was too late—the army, that last hope of tyrants, +the sword and the bayonet <i>hired</i> to defend the throne +became the people's support—failing in the effort to +fix his power by blood, Louis Philippe fled to save +his life; a common movement of French monarchs.</p> + +<p>France may or may not establish republican institutions. +Love of monarchy will not prevent the +fulfillment of her people's hopes—difference of opinion +as it regards degrees of freedom, and want of +self sacrifice, we mean the sacrifice of personal +views, (there will never be a want of self sacrifice of +human life in France,) will do more to retard the +establishment of republicanism in France than all the +lingering attachments to monarchy that can be hunted +up in the Faubourg de St. Germain, or in all the +isolated châteux of the interior of the country. The +habits, not the affections of the mass of the French +people may also be regarded as one obstacle to true +republicanism—a constantly diminishing obstacle, it +is true, but still a formidable obstacle.</p> + +<p>The revolution in France was the signal (not the +<i>preconcerted</i> signal, as it should have been,) for a +general insurrectionary movement, and no sooner +had the press announced the departure of Louis Philippe, +than forthwith Poland gave signs of life—Austria +heaved with the workings of the under stratum—Hungary +demanded independence—Prussia +was in an insurrectionary state—a voice was heard +from Russia—and Italy from the Alps to the Straights +of Otranto began to try the strength of those fetters +which indolence, ignorance and ease had allowed to +be fastened upon her. The history of the revolutionary +movements on this peninsula has yet to be +written; it is full of interest, and if presented impartially, +with a correct reference to causes, both of +tyranny and insurrection, must prove deeply moving +and instructive. We cannot do more than refer to +the fact that Italy has been aroused; that tyranny +has received a blow from which it can never wholly +recover, and that there, as well as elsewhere, the +rights of man have been proclaimed—proclaimed in +part—proclaimed with doubts, with erroneous conceptions, +with false views and an unchastened spirit, +but still proclaimed, and what is more, openly admitted—admitted +with purer views of property, more +definite ideas of practicability, chastened wishes and +paternal feelings. All is right in its tendencies. +The false perceptions are owing to the suddenness +of the light recently admitted. The inclusiveness of +demands spring from a want of knowledge of the +sacrifices which order requires from the friends of +liberty—success will correct these views, and experience +show the path which true patriotism opens.</p> + +<p>Regarding, as we do, all movements as effects of +Providential direction, we cannot forbear to consider +the election of Pius IX. to the papal throne as +an important part of that providence, in regard to the +Peninsula of Italy in particular, and, perhaps, to the +whole world. The correctness of the doctrine which +makes that prelate a spiritual chief, or the propriety +of uniting temporal with spiritual power, are questions +to be settled elsewhere. Both exist, and both +have an influence on the movements of nations; and +the character of the new administrator of the Papal +See, had at once an effect on his own subjects and +upon all the people of Italy, and, through the people, +upon the rulers. The new Pope seemed to have +stepped forward a century from the line occupied by +his predecessor, and to have stood in the front ranks +of the reformers of the age. He was young, no old +habits of yielding retarded his movements. He was +young, none of the nervous tremulousness of age, +that is shocked at the proposition of <i>change</i>, made +him deaf to the demands of the time. He was young, +and he had not yet been hardened into that unyieldingness +of age that distinguishes the veteran church-man, +who mingles the necessity of faith in <i>divine</i> +doctrines with the necessity of non-resistance to +human precepts. He knew and sympathized in the +feelings which had animated the Italians: he was +not ignorant that the prisons had been filled by men +charged with crimes which the oppression of Austria +provoked, and which the espionage of Austria detected +and caused to be punished. He felt that his +own temporal power was abused by the overawing +influence of Austria, and he pardoned those who had +offended only a foreign potentate, and were suffering +under the condemnation of their own rulers. He +would have led the movement to a peaceful and desirable +result, but, alas! the oppression of centuries +had made the many mad; and their limbs had been +so galled with the manacles of political oppression +that they became restive under the wholesome restraints +that order and appropriate government demand; +dragged forward by these eccentric bodies, +and restrained by the timidity and prejudices of some +of his legitimate advisers, Pius has felt that his triple +crown was the means of triple sorrow; but he has +also shown that he understood the maxim, that "he +only is fitted to rule who knows how to sacrifice."</p> + +<p>The arms of the Italian States and the influence of +the Pope have been successful against Austria, and +even though that overgrown and tumid empire should +reconquer all her late possessions in Lombardy, and +be as omnipotent in Venice as she is in Triest or +Vienna, still the prestige of power is gone, and she +can no longer extend an influence over the human +mind that tends upward in its views. The <i>taste</i> of +independence has been enjoyed—the tree of knowledge +has yielded some of its fruits—and hereafter +there can be no rest, no quiet, without something of +liberty, much of science.</p> + +<p>The question has been raised as to the existence of +the power of the Pope deprived of his temporalities. +That is, can the Pope yield up the government of the +Papal States to a secular ruler, and maintain the full<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> +amount of spiritual power which he now exercises, +and which he and those of his creed deem a necessary +portion of his official life.</p> + +<p>We are noways concerned in the settlement of +that question, beyond its bearing upon the condition +of Italy, and through her upon many other portions +of the earth. We do not know that there is <i>now</i> any +probability that the Papal States will pass under another +ruler than the Pope; but we entertain no doubt +that the Pope could exercise all the functions of +Bishop of Rome, with all the supremacy which he +claims for that office over other bishoprics, as well +without the appanages of temporalities as with them. +There is nothing in the office, or all that is claimed +for it, that renders direct temporal power necessary. +Bishops of Rome existed for centuries with all the +spiritual supremacy now claimed, but as destitute of +temporal power as the bishops of any other city. +And the custom which rendered concurrent the temporal +rule—or admitted of extraordinary pomp—has +never been deemed more than a concurrence—never +a necessity. And it is a fact that when the invasion +of a foreign power has stripped the Pope of his territories, +and made even Rome the home of invaders, +attention has been at once turned to the separation of +spiritualities from temporalities, and means adopted +to drop the machinery of secular government, and +keep active and useful that of the church alone.</p> + +<p>It is, we believe, an admitted fact, that among the +papers of the Cardinal Prime Minister of Pius VII., +who was carried away and kept a prisoner in France +by Napoleon, were found plans for carrying on the +spiritual offices of the Pope without the least connection +with temporal power; and Rome was to be +to its bishop no more than Philadelphia to either of +the bishops who reside therein, and administer the +dioceses committed to their care.</p> + +<p>We mention these things, and dwell upon them, +because speculation is, and has been, active with regard +to the effect of the revolution in Italy, some +movements of which evidently looked to the transfer +of all temporal power to laymen; and extraordinary +effects were supposed to be the necessary results of +such a change. The change seems to us very probable, +and not very remote; but it does not appear +to us that the spiritual functions (proper) of the Pope +will be essentially disturbed by any such movement.</p> + +<p>We dwell longer on Italy than its geographical +dimensions would warrant, but that peninsula is +deeply interesting to the world, not only on account +of the religious relations to which we have referred, +but from the fact that for centuries a foreign arm has +held it down; and while half of the world beside was +rising into consequence, by the science and scientific +men that Italy sent forth, Italy alone of all the geographical +divisions of the earth seemed to be without +profit from her own great men. Because she <i>did</i> +decay, men believed that the elements of her prosperity +were exhausted; because she ceased to hold +the preeminence which she once possessed, it was +deemed that the seal of ruin was set upon her. These +suppositions are wrong; and the new movements in +that peninsula show that the spirit of man is yet +active, and <i>now</i> active to man's great good. What +Italy needed was concert. What other nations practiced +were constant attempts to foment jealousies +among her different States, and create a demand for +foreign interference and the presence of foreign +troops. At present a dream of the ancient republic +is the animating cause (or rather perhaps a sense of +the capabilities of Italy for the new republicanism of +the time) with leaders; who appeal to the recollections +of the past because a sense of the present is +not to be depended on in the many; and the shout for +the old federative republics of past centuries awakens +the pride of those whose patriotism might not be +strong enough to lead them to the sacrifices which +the object demands.</p> + +<p>There seems to be necessary to the Italian mind a +hope of regaining something that has been <i>lost</i>, and +if this is rightly used there can be no doubt that the +people will attain to something they <i>need</i>. The republics +of elder Italy are no more the proper object +for Italian enterprise, than would be the old colonial +dependencies for the efforts of Americans. But +Italy must be aroused; she must be called up to some +general object; her great men must be stimulated to +useful efforts, and her humbler citizens must be enticed +away from insurrectionary movements to revolutionary +action, and that cry which the soonest +rouses and unites them is the true watchword of independence. +Some proper hand, some well endowed +mind must lead them in the right path—must set +their faces and direct their efforts toward the proper +object. The alarm cry may be the same, though the +object of rising be opposite to that announced. The +same bells and the same peels would call up the citizens +of Florence to withstand or divert an inundation +of the Arno which would be used to arouse +them to check the destructive progress of a conflagration.</p> + +<p>Italy, however, must not be kept too long in chase +of the past republics. She needs the confederation +of modern democracy, and, when once aroused, must +be early directed to the true object. The Italian who +spends his power, his wealth and his influence in +attempts to restore the ancient confederacy is like +the man who starts westward at evening to overtake +the departed sun. But the Italian who, roused to a +proper sense of the capability of his country, determines +to secure to her the best good that other nations +now enjoy, is like the man who, starting at dawn, +proceeds in an easterly course to meet the sun in his +rising. There is a necessity laid upon both—failure +is certain for the former, success inevitable to the +latter.</p> + +<p>We give more space to the changes and the condition +of the Papal States than to the circumstances +of other kingdoms of Europe, because the double +power exercised there makes any change interesting, +and the extended influence of the spiritual supremacy +gives proportionate consequence to any movement +or event that disturbs the dominancy of the Bishop +of Rome. Indeed so deeply interesting is the whole +state of Italy, taking its present movement in connection +with its past history, that a whole article<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> +might be profitably devoted to a consideration of its +past grandeur, its present distressed condition, and its +means and hopes of future restoration. We may in +some future number take up the subject.</p> + +<p>The peninsula containing the kingdoms of Portugal +and Spain has been in constant agitation for the +past year—but so trifling are the relations of Portugal +that very little interest is felt in her convulsions, +and few pause to inquire which party or faction +is uppermost at the latest dates. Spain has +had her semi-revolutions, but as yet they have produced +little good to the people beyond the weakening +of the power or influence of the rulers; so that when +the people shall really rise, they will have less +weight to keep them down—less power to resist—less +of obstruction to overcome. But the energies +of Spain seem to be on a revival, and there are +hopes, founded on existing recent improvement, that +this abundant providence on behalf of that country +will not be much longer neglected by the people, but +that from one effort to another they will rise to that +rank in the scale of nations to which the kingdom is +entitled, and of which the attempt to go beyond deprived +her.</p> + +<p>Poor Portugal! She will linger yet, and perhaps +be absorbed. Her independent existence is not of +sufficient consequence to the world to induce an +effort on her behalf; and England, now that France +must relinquish her claims on Spain, can afford to +withdraw her patronage from Portugal—if, indeed, +we may not rather say that in the present disturbed +and crumbling state of European monarchies, neither +England nor any other kingdom will feel that she has +much superflux of power to shake to any decaying +state.</p> + +<p>Portugal was once an integral portion of Spain, +and she may again be in union with her sister. The +mountains that interpose need no longer make enemies +of these two small states, and the common wants +and common weakness of both should and will induce +them "like kindred drops to mingle into one." +The language of Portugal differs from that of Spain +considerably, but almost every Portuguese speaks +Spanish, and the literature of Spain is in a great +measure that of Portugal, as that of Great Britain is +shared by the United States.</p> + +<p>Portugal and Spain are both deriving the means of +true strength by the diminution of their colonial possessions, +and when they have recovered from the +shock which the exercise of power over distant dependent +states is almost sure to bring, they may, +united, have an important rank with the European +powers.</p> + +<p>Terrible has been the oppression of rulers in some +parts of Germany. That oppression has not trodden +<i>out</i>, though it may have trodden <i>down</i>, the spirit of +men. And even in Austria the awakening power +has been felt within the present year—felt to the agitation +of national councils—to the terror and flight +of rulers. It is perhaps a subject for joy rather than +regret, that the movements of the people have been +less radical than in some other countries. This is, +after all, the true way. Grasping at more than they +can retain, a rising people lose what might have been +of service. The lesson of France in her revolution +in the last century was not lost on Germany, and the +people demanded of their rulers that which might be +granted without the disturbance of order; and then +they were content with what they received, because +it was at once a proof that asking they could receive, +and receiving they could learn to enjoy.</p> + +<p>The King of Prussia, in reply to the demands of +the people, yielded some points, and then drew their +attention to a long-cherished idea of a confederation +of the German States, by which the differences of the +several powers should be settled by an accredited +tribunal, and a species of federal government be +established to watch over those rights conceded by +the individual states to the federal power.</p> + +<p>It is to be regretted that the King of Prussia should +have found occasion in these trying times to provoke +war with Denmark, upon a claim by Schleswig for +protection, and that claim rests upon the poor plea +that—though really a <i>dependence</i> of Denmark—Schleswig +is not of Scandinavian origin, like Denmark, +and therefore is anxious to maintain her German +relations. The Scandinavian blood runs through +the veins of Sweden and Russia as well as those of +Denmark, and "will protect itself," if not now, at +least when a better opportunity occurs.</p> + +<p>The union of the various <i>States</i> of Germany proposed +by the King of Prussia has been formed, and +Arch-Duke John has been elected "<span class="smcap">Vicar</span> of the +German Empire." He is a man of enlarged views, +of liberal political principles. He is a relation (an +uncle) of the Emperor of Austria. He was the representative +of the emperor in the German Diet, and his +substitute during his (the emperor's) absence from +his capital.</p> + +<p>This new organization of the German powers looks +to the establishment of a common army, and the creation +and maintenance of a common navy; and the +attempt to produce these means and evidences of +power <i>may</i> create new disturbances, as they are +costly to support, and often dangerous to their supporters.</p> + +<p>Austria, to which we have already alluded, felt the +common <i>throe</i> and manifested the general alarm. +The vigilance of a jealous government had spread over +the whole empire an appearance of tranquillity, but +the first symptom of popular movement abroad roused +the Austrians to an annunciation of their own wrongs, +(they did not comprehend their <i>rights</i>,) and as they +felt most directly the arm of the Prince Metternich, +the tyrannical and efficient minister of the emperor, +they demanded his dismissal; they assaulted his +castle of Johannisburg; they destroyed it and wasted +the palatable contents of its cellars—stores of many +years collection of the wine that bears the name of +its place of deposit.</p> + +<p>In the mean time the people of Hungary, and those +of Bohemia, which had come to be dependencies upon +the crown, demanded <i>their</i> rights as nations. It is +remarkable of the movement in Hungary, that though +the people of that government had enjoyed privileges +unknown to any other subjects of the Austrian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> +Emperor, yet they were the first to demand further +concessions; a proof this that the great agitation in +Europe is not the sudden action of an oppressed +people. If it were, it would be greatest and most +<i>exigeant</i> where the oppression was the most intolerable: +but the earliest and the most thorough opposition, +and the most effective insurrections have been +where the hand of power was most lenient, and the +civil privileges of the people were the greatest; a +proof that the whole revolutionary movements in +Europe have been caused by a prevailing sense of +human rights, rather than a feeling of the people's +wrongs; that the mind of man is rising to the assertion +of its own dignity, and is hastening forward to +the fulfillment of its own destiny; it is not content +with toleration, it demands an acknowledgment of +freedom; and whatever restrains beyond the necessity +of government—of self-government—is regarded +as an infringement of rights; and the more delicate +the perception, the greater is the intolerance of the +wrong.</p> + +<p>Austria proper has made a strong and a long stride +toward <i>freedom</i>. Comparatively she is yet in the +dark, but her face is set toward the coming light, and +year after year will show her progress toward it, and +the effect of that light upon her institutions. It is now +too late for tyrants to doubt that their true interests +will be found in graceful, moderate concessions; to +<i>give</i> a little, rather than to have much <i>taken</i>; and +with all the restlessness of the people, they seem to +be disposed to remain content with a moderate progress +of improvement; but wo to those who would +stay the motion of that to which the spirit of the +age has imparted the means of progress.</p> + +<p>The spirit of revolution has been rife along the +shores of the Danube, and the numerous states, provinces, +and dependencies, that lie toward the Black +Sea, have formed alliances, and will assert their +rights.</p> + +<p>The city of Prague, famous in story and in song, +has been laid in ashes, as a punishment for its oppugnation +against the emperor; but the ashes of a favorite +city may be as powerful a stimulant to the +spirit of injured man as to the best portion of the +vegetable world—and power may find itself injured +by a conflagration as well as its dependence.</p> + +<p>Russia, amidst all this confusion among the nations +of the Continent, has been able to maintain her apparent +quiet. But she has felt that the experience of +Austria was soon to be understood by herself; and +when light should have pierced into the almost impervious +recesses of that kingdom, her subjects would +be able to discover not only the chains upon their +limbs, but those who placed them there. Her time +is at hand. She may yield, but the empire is too +large to be conciliated by concessions. Interest and +feeling are opposite, and it is probable that the only +point upon which the whole can agree will be that of +immitigable hostility to the ruling powers. She will +attempt to seize upon the revolted provinces of other +powers, and jeopard her central position by the +miserable attempt to keep truth and its enjoyment +from the extremities.</p> + +<p>Great Britain has had her share in the difficulties +which have disturbed and convulsed her continental +neighbors. She has had in her midst a party of ultras, +called Chartists, that look to the subversion of the +present form of government. She has dealt with +them steadily, sternly, and, for a time, effectually; +but while there is oppression almost necessarily in a +form of government, there will be a place for opposition +to stand upon, and that opposition will assume +any form which can promote its object.</p> + +<p>England, of all nations of Europe, seems to have +understood the advantage of concession. She has +denied, postponed, hesitated, and then granted, so +that the joy caused by the concession has for a time +disarmed opposition, and given new strength, or at +least additional <i>time</i> to the government. She has +yielded slowly, but still yielding from time to time +what has been asked of the government in behalf of +the people, when the power of the government and +the peace of the realm were not involved. And she +has overwhelmed with power or ridicule all attempts +at subverting the monarchy. The Radicals have +been shot down as at Manchester; the Chartists +ridiculed into silence; but Catholic emancipation has +been allowed, and the corn-laws repealed.</p> + +<p>But let no one suppose that the results of force, of +ridicule, or concession are to be the yielding of the +public; the same spirit which called into action all +those opposing means, is as constantly at work now +as it was ten years ago, and the demands will be as +regular and as imperative as ever, until the last +vestige of inequality shall have disappeared. Happy +will it be for Great Britain if her ministry, practicing +the wisdom of the past, allows concession to prevent +revolution, and permits what of monarchy and aristocracy +is left, to come easily to the ground rather +than to be upturned by the violence of insurrection. +England, for many years, has been as much in a +state of revolution as has France. She has had fewer +convulsions, but she has made a steady progress in +her orbit, and those who live out the century, will +see the end of one grand cycle.</p> + +<p>Ireland has been made to occupy a large portion +of the public eye this year. The death of O'Connell +seemed to have left the "repeal party," (nearly the +whole nation,) without a leader. Certainly without +a sage adviser; and the great measures which that +distinguished man had so long lead, was likely to be +lost by the apathy of one section, or the rash zeal of +the other. That Ireland has been badly ruled by +England, ever since its conquest, is an historical fact; +that the efforts toward redress have usually resulted +in worse than failure, is known. But the prudence +of O'Connell seemed to promise as favorable results +to the <i>repeal</i> question, (reasonably considered,) as +they had wrought in favor of emancipation. He had +age, talents, learning, experience, prudence, fore-sight; +he knew when to withdraw and when to press +his claims; he could not, of course, please all who +desired the same object with him, because all could +not comprehend the powerful effect of prudent restraint, +or, as a southern statesman says, of "masterly +inactivity." And his death allowed those of more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span> +zeal but less discretion to obtain an influence which +he once possessed; and Ireland is now plunged into +the miseries of a <i>civil</i> war.</p> + +<p>Whatever may be the power of private feelings, +our intention is to refer to the insurrectionary movements +in Ireland as to those of other countries, +namely, as the consequence of the growing sense of +human rights, and as that sense must increase, must +constantly augment, it is impossible that Ireland can +remain in the same situation in which she has been +kept. It is known, however, that a galling sense of +wrong stimulates the Irish; that it is not the ordinary +effects of an oppressive government that produces +rebellion, but injury that extends to the domestic +hearth, injury that strikes at the rights of conscience, +injury that makes even the wise man mad. The end +is not yet.</p> + +<p>All is quiet in Holland and Belgium; and all is +awaiting the melioration which time and wisdom must +bring.</p> + +<p>This year has seen the close of the Mexican War, +in which our army gained fame, and our nation +gained territory. And now the great question is as +to the uses of that territory, and the character of the +institutions that are to be granted to these new acquisitions +soon to become sovereignties. We do not +mean to take any share in what may be considered +the party politics of the country; but we may allude +<i>historically</i> to measures as well as to events, and +therefore we are at liberty to say, that the question +now pressed upon the people of the United States by +the acquisition of new territory, is that of the extension +of the institution of slavery. Shall the new +<i>territories</i> be allowed by Congress to authorize +slavery within their borders? and on that question +there is much feeling, and before it can be settled +there must of necessity be more, inasmuch as it has +now become one of the elements of party movements—not +merely a question <i>in</i> the presidential canvass, +but absolutely one on which a party stands, and on +which it nominated a president, nominated not merely +a nominal candidate, but one who, having held the +office once, had acquired distinction, and having +manifested interest in all public measures since, had +maintained that distinction, and was a <i>real</i> candidate. +The sooner this question is settled the <i>better</i>; and the +better it is settled, the more for the peace and the +dignity of the nation.</p> + +<p>To this question, which has in some respect, also, +assumed one of local distinction, we will not further +refer; it is one that will agitate until settled, and +being settled, will no more disturb.</p> + +<p>It is not our intention to place before our readers +an array of political facts, nor to make out a chronological +table for the year now drawing to a close. +It would be better at once to refer the reader to the +easily accessible columns of the daily papers, which +have really been crowded with statements of convulsed +states, and revolutionized governments. It +has not been a question with them as to commercial +changes, the fluctuations of a market, or the variation +of stocks; but they have had to record the fate +of kingdoms, and the flight or concession of kings +and emperors. And we write necessarily so much +in advance of printing, that our quarter of the globe +might change its rulers between our pen and the +type of our compositor.</p> + +<p>We have been content to notice some of the most +exciting movements in Europe, without pretending +to write their termination. We see in some kingdoms +the freshness of new institutions, and in others +the renewal of contests which had been deemed +closed forever; where power has had its heels upon +the neck of the people for centuries, there are tokens +of <i>turning</i>; and from all this we learn that there is +a spirit in the mind of man, and that, in spite of all +attempts to crush that spirit, or to darken it, the inspiration +of the Most High is giving it understanding, +and it is asserting its high prerogative, doing justice +to its lofty teachings.</p> + +<p>How will all these things abroad affect us here? +What will be the influence upon the United States +of these revolutionary movements in Europe?</p> + +<p>The effect is now being felt; it is only to calculate +the increasing power to understand the augmentation +of results. Rapidly and more rapidly will the number +of inhabitants be increased; the amount of wealth +will be more than proportionably great, because not +only will not immigration be limited to the poor, but +those of the rich who <i>cannot</i> come, will send hither +their hoarded means, for safety; so that while the +abundance of our fields shall make us "the exhaustless +granary of the world," the permanence of our +institutions shall make us the depository of European +wealth.</p> + +<p>It may be asked whether our own country may not +be exposed to the very convulsions which make European +nations so unstable. We answer, no; agitation +may occur here, and momentary excitement lead to +fear of local violence, but he who strikes here, strikes +at himself. The very nature of our institutions are +such as to make it the interest of all to sustain them, +and the very causes which operate to the disturbance +of society in other countries, can have no existence +here, or if they exist, they have nothing to act upon, +that evil effects may result.</p> + +<p>In Europe, a majority of the people are deprived +of their rights, are made to yield to the dictation of a +small minority, and sustain others whom they do not +like, with their own industry. They must submit to +laws which they do not approve, or submit to the +charge of treason for their attempts to resist, that they +may change their laws. In this country, whenever +a majority is satisfied that certain measures are inconsistent +with their own good, they may instruct their +law-makers to change the enactments, or they can +change the law-makers. This is the <i>theory</i> and this +the actual <i>practice</i> of our government.</p> + +<p>The people of Europe find the means of living +unequally divided. There is less of a surplus, as it +regards the <i>whole</i>, than for a <i>part</i>; and while the +few abound in all that is desirable, nay, with the +superfluities of life, the many lack the necessaries of +wholesome existence. And this is the result of +their institutions—a result which no convulsion, no +revolution can at once change—so many centuries<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> +have passed over the abuses, that not only are they prescriptive, +but there does not seem in the people any +knowledge to apply the power they may attain, to any +<i>immediate</i> remedy of the evil.</p> + +<p>With the United States there is no system to change—no +institution to be remodeled; of course, every +year works some change in the operation of the +system, and makes more and more beneficial the +institutions of the country. The new views of man's +importance and of human rights, which work out revolutions +in Europe, only make our citizens cling +close and closer to the institutions of their own +country. While blood is poured out like water in +Paris to change the rulers of the people, the rulers +of this country are changed with a quiet that would +denote almost indifference. Men talk of an exciting +<i>contest</i> for the presidential chair; but analyze that +contest, and it is found to be only a newspaper discussion +of the merits of certain existing or proposed +acts of Congress, having nothing to do with the +organic laws of the land, or with the form of government; +the contest or discussion was closed on the +7th day of November last, and men scarcely remember +the earnestness of the newspaper paragraphs, or +the stump speeches.</p> + +<p>Broad and expanded are the views of a true Republic; +there can be no narrowness in the institution—it +is for all men, and for all times; and never since +the first gathering of people into a political body was +there such a foundation for national greatness and +diffused individual happiness, as is laid in this country. +Wealth, true wealth, the means of general comfort, +abounds. A variety of climate ensures the produce +of almost every section of the world, and the right +to cultivate a portion, gives to all the means of enjoyment; +there can never be in this country (without +a special visitation of Providence,) real want among +any considerable number.</p> + +<p>We have over twenty millions of inhabitants, and +raise more than a thousand million bushels of grain, +and one hundred million bushels of potatoes. With +these means to be multiplied indefinitely, and a free +mind, what has America to fear?</p> + +<p>It is not our purpose to make a eulogy upon our +country, or to anticipate the great results from the +full operation of our system of government with the +immense natural advantages which we possess. But +we may remark, that with the progress of civil +freedom in this country has been the diffusion of +morals and piety; and with the enjoyment of political +advantage, have been the enlargement of social +delights, and the augmentation of domestic happiness. +Woman has found her rank in the scale of existence, +and enjoys that eminence in refined estimation which +the delicacy of her feelings, the purity of her sentiment, +and the intensity of her affections demand. +And every where her influence is felt, in the melioration +of the public mind, as in the limited circle at +the home fire-side. Nay, it is <i>from</i> the fire-side that +the circle of her influence expands, and she is respected +abroad as she is loved at home. This is one +of the results of the free institutions of this country; +and while it is seen now as a result, it will be felt +hereafter as one of the powerfully operating causes +of constantly increasing human freedom and human +happiness.</p> + +<p>How beautiful the thought, that she who is the +light of our hearts and our homes is becoming the +blessing of our country; and that not less than +domestic delight is political freedom to be derived +from the sanctifying influences of woman's gentleness +and woman's purity.</p> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ANGELS_ON_EARTH" id="ANGELS_ON_EARTH"></a>ANGELS ON EARTH.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY BLANCHE BENAIRDE.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It sometimes chances, in this world of wo,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lovely flowers in gloomy forests grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which freely lend their sweetness to impart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sense of pleasure to the stranger's heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They come to cheer and bless, like showers of rain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fall in mercy on the parched plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bloom in beauty, fair as though the light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shines from heaven had never been from sight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These flowers are emblems of the angels fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That oft appear, man's lot to bless and share.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dwells within a dreary forest wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No cheering sun has ever on him smiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His way is hedged with thorns, his soul is sad—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He spies an angel in love's vestment clad;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kind words are spoken, and his grief has flown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His heart is cheered—for he is not alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An angel ministers to him and points above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bidding him cast his care on endless love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lifts his eyes to heaven, and there behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The azure sky, touched with a tinge of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Giving him promise of a brighter day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A life more calm, more clear his onward way.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And angels, too, appear when Death comes nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To wipe the bitter tear from Sorrow's eye—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They whisper of that bright and blessed shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where pain and suffering will be no more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, there are angels near us all the while,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That guard our homes and sweetly on us smile!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They minister <i>to all</i>—sometimes unseen—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And change life's desert to a living green.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MRS_TIPTOP" id="MRS_TIPTOP"></a>MRS. TIPTOP.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span> +<h3>OR THE NEW MINISTER.</h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<h5>The tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison. <span class="smcap">James</span> iii. 8.</h5> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Few</span> villages in the Union could exceed Green +Valley in local beauty and advantages; embosomed +in hills, embellished with trees, and watered by a +willow-shaded stream that meandered through its +centre. Situated, too, within twenty miles of the +great emporium, and skirted by a railway leading to +it, the cultivators of a soil, that ever fulfilled more +abundantly the hopes of the husbandman, could ask +nothing more favorable to the ready disposal of their +crops. The inhabitants of Green Valley were mostly +farmers, who, besides "owing no man any thing," +had each a comfortable dwelling and ample outhouses +of his own, nothing better than his neighbors, but +equaling theirs in the well-to-do look of the fences, +the garden and door-yard. That the village was +originally settled by Quakers, and half peopled by +this drab-coated sect at the date of our story, no +stranger needed to inquire, after passing through its +straight-cut roads, or breathing its air of purity and +quietude. Long had its simple-minded, true-hearted +people lived in the daily enjoyment of mutual kindness +and love; till contentment seemed written not +only on the broad brims of the farmers, but on the +bridles of their docile beasts, and on their very implements +of husbandry. In the course of time, other +religious denominations were established in Green +Valley; but as the descendants of Penn continued to +"work in quietness and eat their own bread," +strangers intermeddled not with them; while the +savor of their peaceful spirits seemed so diffused +among other sects, that all "agreed to disagree" with +one another, and for years unbroken harmony was +the result. But <i>we</i> have only to do with the Congregational +church of Green Valley, and will forthwith +introduce the reader to the shepherd of this little +flock. Mr. Worthiman was a plain man of God—middle-aged, +of respectable scholastic attainments, +and one who, for his sound judgment and exemplary +"walk and conversation," had ever a "good report +of them that were without." The law of kindness +dwelt in his heart and on his lips, and in all the +offices of exemplar, teacher and comforter of his +charge none was more worthy than he. The church +at its earliest organization, without a dissenting voice, +invited Mr. Worthiman to become its pastor—his +prayer dedicated the house of worship, and each +succeeding Sabbath for a series of years found him +at his post, breaking the Bread of Life to a grateful, +confiding people. Nor were his pastoral duties less +regularly fulfilled: One afternoon of every week +was devoted by himself and his wife (whose living +example was "such as becometh woman possessing +godliness,") to visiting in rotation the families of his +congregation; and so well timed was this custom, +that the farmers' wives could calculate each her +honored turn to a day; so that the substantial hospitalities +of a generous board were added to the warm +welcomes of heart and hand.</p> + +<p>Besides the neat parsonage reared for the minister +and his increasing family, he was, through the generosity +of his parishioners, the owner of an old-fashioned +chaise, and a horse gentle and well-ordered +as his master. These were always in requisition on +visiting afternoons; and a right comfortable sight it +was to see the minister and his wife jogging along +over the smooth roads, blessing all they passed with +the smile of true benignity, and receiving the heart's +blessing of all in return; while the good dame to +whose dwelling their course was directed, having +all things in readiness for the pastoral visitation, stationed +one of her cleanly-attired children at the window, +to watch for the first appearance of the reverend +chaise wending up the lane to the farm-house, at +which signal, with beaming eyes, the child hastened +to open the gate, dreaming in the simplicity of her +rosyhood, of no greater honor than to usher in the +respected pair. On these occasions the farmer +usually left the field, and donned his Sunday suit, the +good wife appeared in her best cap and snowy kerchief, +and the maid came from the dairy, with tidy +apron, to claim her seat in the snug parlor, that alike +they might sit under the lips that dropped wisdom +for all. Then, when they gathered around the lengthened +table, the pastor's blessing was music in their +ears, and supper being over, his elongated prayer, +comprehending the wants of each, and all, closed the +privileges of the pastor's visit. Mr. Worthiman was +equally satisfactory in his visits at the bedside of the +sick—in his consolations to the dying, and his sympathy +in the house of mourning. The aged leaned +on him for support—the middle-aged walked hand in +hand with his counsels, and the young looked up to +him for guidance; while no austerity on his part forbade +the merriment of their sports: so far from this, +it was his custom at weddings, after a salutation to +the bride, and a commendation of the bride's loaf, to +take early leave, lest his presence should restrain +the music and dancing that usually sum up a country +bridal entertainment.</p> + +<p>Such <i>was</i> the pastoral position of Mr. Worthiman,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span> +and such the unmolested happiness of Green Valley! +But, alas! the serpent that looked with envious eyes +on the paradise of our first parents, was about to +creep stealthily among the vine-clad cottages of the +peaceful villagers. And as in Eden his poison first +insinuated itself through the mind of woman, so from +woman was it to be communicated to these homes +of contentment and love.</p> + +<p>Among the few merchants of all-wares that had +come in to supply the growing population of Green +Valley, was a young man of more amiability than +vigor of mind, who, having lived a single but quiet +and peaceable life some years in the village, brought +unexpectedly, from a town near-by, a wife to divide +or double his blessedness. Kate Tiptop was cousin +to the young man, and did not change her name in +marrying him. She was the only daughter of parents +who lived just long enough to spoil by indulgence a +child whose native faculties of mind were more than +ordinarily vigorous and acute; such as, under a disciplinary +course of education, united with healthful +moral training, would have ripened her into the +noblest development of woman; but her first idea took +the form of self, instead of truth, and growing perception +brought only increasing self-consciousness. In +short, she had early imbibed the belief that the world in +which she moved was made for her accommodation; +and her inherent passion—love of power—became +more and more apparent as she increased in years. +Had she been beautiful in person, this might have +shown itself in more vain, but less injurious forms; +as it was, she desired to sway hearts, not to receive +their flattering unction in return, but to strengthen +and confirm her own sense of ability to do it. Love +of <i>action</i> alone induced her to engage in the practical +duties of domestic life, and she married more for the +sake of being the head of a family, than from any +motives of affection. To accomplish this desire, she +well knew that her husband must be her inferior in +mental strength; while the additional inducement +that fixed her choice on her cousin was, that in +uniting herself with him, she would not even have +to yield her name. Mrs. Tiptop soon became a +pattern-card to all housewives—always having her +work <i>done</i>, and <i>well</i> done; and never lacking time +nor tongue to entertain visiters, nor health, leisure, or +purpose to visit among the neighbors herself. She +was one of those women whose husbands are super-numeraries +at home, while their wives are mouth-pieces +for them abroad.</p> + +<p>Her go-<i>aheaditiveness</i> was a new revelation to +the plodding villagers; it not only made her household +cares a mere song, but enabled her to preside +over her husband's business affairs with a dexterity +of calculation that soon rendered his own position +but a sinecure. In short, Mrs. Tiptop was a trump-card +at home, and every where, always winning the +game of domestic differences, and turning the chances +of all neighborly or church variances, which began +to spring up simultaneously with her introduction +there.</p> + +<p>In person Mrs. Tiptop was tall, of slender frame, +and thin, almost to emaciation, giving no indications +of physical or mental strength, save that it was "all +in the <i>eye</i>"—black, penetrating, "wise as the serpent," +and possessing the optical versatility of seeing +all sides in a twinkling; yet when its latent forces +were single-eyed to a purpose, that end was achieved +as unquestionably as when acknowledged by many +witnesses.</p> + +<p>No sooner did that eye peer through the bridal veil +at Mr. Worthiman, on Mrs. Tiptop's introduction to +the village church, than her purpose was formed and +executed as truly as when carried out through all +the intricate passages leading to its accomplishment.</p> + +<p>She had determined to be <i>felt</i> in the village, and +Mr. Worthiman's godly power over his unsophisticated +people was then and there destined to totter +from its long settled foundations. Before the next +communion season Mrs. Tiptop had sent in her certificate, +and was placed on the list of church-members. +Here was a footing on which she could stand +to use the instruments that would be needed in the +premeditated revolution. The initiation of a communicant +into a country church is generally succeeded +by a call from its officers on the new member. +Nothing could be more gracious than Mrs. Tiptop's +reception of this church police, who paid her the +complimentary visit during the week subsequent to +her admission; but in this instance, on Deacon +Heedful alone fell the <i>charm</i> of her serpentine eye. +Quick as thought in discernment, she penetrated at +once through the deacon's tractable physiognomy to +his more flexible mind; and while the good man was +inwardly congratulating his church on the acquisition +of so worthy a member, she was fastening around +him the toils in which he was hereafter to do her +bidding, as willingly as the dray-horse works in the +harness. Deacon Heedful belonged to that small +minority of human beings who know nothing of +double-meanings or double-dealings; pure in himself, +he was the embodiment of that "charity that thinketh +no evil" of others; but, unfortunately, of stronger +heart than head. Perhaps an innate sense of this +<i>crowning</i> weakness made him lend a more ready +ear to the suggestions of other minds; at any rate, +Mrs. Tiptop soon had him under her easy control, +through that psychological law by which superior +intellect ever governs its inferior. This accomplished, +it were unnecessary to carry the reader through the +winding ways which led her, with the deacon, to +that point where she could spread out before him the +spiritual position of Mr. Worthiman and his church, +and convince him that they were "far behind the +times." Now this was "a secret" that she had not +even communicated to her husband, but in which +she could not be mistaken, having come from a town +where all was "stirring" in the cause of religion—where +the preachers were "wide awake," and dead-level +homilies, like Mr. Worthiman's, were not tolerated; +for her part, she should soon languish under +such enervating sermons as his; and here her fears +being profusely watered by tears, began to take root +in the heart of Deacon Heedful, who gave her a +sympathetic squeeze of the hand on parting with her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> +one evening, and turned, poor man! to the sleepless +pillow where she had planted a thorn. He, however, +determined to deliberate some days before communicating +his fears, even to his brother officers in the +church, and never to do it, unless reflection sanctioned +Mrs. Tiptop's hints.</p> + +<p>But seeds of discontent sown in one mind, are by +some Mesmeric sympathy conveyed into another, +and <i>another</i>, till a rapid, wide-spread growth is the +unlooked for consequence; yet Mrs. Tiptop waited +for another visit from the deacon, before breaking +the subject to any one else, even to "dear Mr. +Tiptop;" so <i>she</i> was not to blame for the disaffection +that was springing up around her. Deacon Heedful +arrived even sooner than she had anticipated—and +most <i>unexpected</i> to her was his account of the spreading +influence that had so <i>mysteriously</i> come to light. +The deacon's doubts were now matured into a strong +sense of duty, and, to the complete satisfaction of +Mrs. Tiptop, he had decided to take a <i>stand</i> in the +matter.</p> + +<p>The only proposition she made was that the leading +clergyman of her native town should be invited to +exchange one Sabbath with Mr. Worthiman. This +he promised should be effected, and took his leave +for the purpose. As the parsonage was in his way +home, he called to pay his respects to his minister, +whom he found confined to the house by an indisposition +that would prevent his preaching the following +Sabbath; so he requested the deacon to read +a sermon, as usual under such circumstances. This +was opportune for proposing to call in the aid of a +neighboring minister, which Mr. Worthiman acceding +to, the matter was soon arranged, and word given +out through the village that Mr. Newlight would fill +the pulpit the coming Sabbath.</p> + +<p>Providence, or <i>some</i> invisible agent, seemed on +the side of Mrs. Tiptop, under the inspiration of +which she went from house to house, promising the +parishioners a treat new to them from Mr. Worthiman's +pulpit.</p> + +<p>The Sabbath was an anxious one to her, and an +eventful one in the Congregational church of Green +Valley; the spirit-stirring tones of Mr. Newlight's +voice—his forceful manner, and novel forms of presenting +old truths, had such an electric effect upon +his audience that Mrs. Tiptop's eyes drank their fill +of satisfaction, and gratified ambition began to revel +in her brain. Nothing was talked of the succeeding +day but Mr. Newlight's great sermon; and wishes +were openly expressed, mostly by the younger members +of the congregation, that Mr. Worthiman was +more like him. Dissatisfaction spread like an infectious +disease, and before the year expired, a meeting +had been called to confer on the subject—the +church was divided against itself, and the iron had +entered the soul of poor Mr. Worthiman. But the +oldest and best of his people, those who had been the +pillars of the church, were not to be so easily moved +out of place, and the result was, that the disaffected +members—including at least one half—immigrated in +a body, under the lead of Deacon Heedful and Mrs. +Tiptop; were formed into another church, built a +modern house of worship, and called a new-school +minister to fill its pulpit.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lion was a man of strong sense, strong principle, +and strong will. His wife was an English +lady of family and attainments, who, under the influence +of a fervid attachment, had left a high-born +circle of friends in her native land, to share the lot +of an humble American clergyman, when too young +to have attained that maturity of good-breeding which +accommodates itself, without apparent effort, to the +accidents and diversities of society. Having few attributes +of mind, and no tastes in common with the +secluded inhabitants of Green Valley, but possessing +a kind heart and an amiable temper, she endeavored +to conform, so far as native refinement would permit, +to the habits and wishes of her husband's pastoral +charge.</p> + +<p>For the first six months succeeding Mr. Lion's installation +the triumph of the immigrants seemed complete. +Deacon Heedful was reappointed to the office +he held under Mr. Worthiman's ministration, and +Mrs. Tiptop assumed her undisputed place of honor +next to the minister's wife—introduced a maternal +association, and a female prayer-meeting among the +women of the congregation, in the exercises of which +she invariably took the lead, and made herself so +<i>prominently</i> useful, that Deacon Heedful often +prayed that she might live to be "a mother in Israel." +Even the spirit of discord for a time appeared to be +exorcised from their midst, while admiration of the +new minister and his lovely wife was the absorbing +passion of the day.</p> + +<p>But the evil spirit that had built the church was not +long to be denied his right to a place in it, and before +many months began to show himself in various forms +and guises. First, there arose an indistinct murmur +that Mr. Lion did not visit his people familiarly and +often enough; nor did he make pastoral tea-visits +with his wife, as was Mr. Worthiman's custom. +Then a whisper was heard that Mrs. Lion seemed to +consider herself of "better flesh and blood" than +others; that even Mrs. Tiptop wasn't a confidential +friend of hers; but they guessed her piety was no +better than theirs, by the fashionable way in which +she dressed. Then, the new minister and his wife +cared more for each other than they did for their +parishioners, as they frequently walked out together +without stopping to call on any of them. Thus, in +various quarters, discontent began to show itself, and +somehow or other could always be traced back to +Mrs. Tiptop, who evidently felt chagrined at not +being invited to share the secrets of Mrs. Lion's +household.</p> + +<p>But now an unlooked for arrival at the new +minister's gave fresh impulse and direction to the +evil genius of Green Valley. The new-comer was +a sister of Mrs. Lion's, just from England, who, it +was understood, would be a future inmate of the +family. Miss May proved to have the <i>disadvantages</i>, +in the eyes of the village belles, of beauty, +accomplishments, and independence of mind and +purse. Brought up, and having just completed her +education in the city of London, she was now a bird<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> +let loose in the free air of the country, whither she had +been drawn by affection for her sister, and a desire, +not unmingled with romance, to see the land of +liberty, and exult in the freedom of its rural scenes. +And exult she <i>did</i>—now in the woods and fields +gathering wild-flowers, and now, mounted on her +English pony, galloping over the hills and away—the +villagers said, "none knew where"—the stared-at +of all starers, if not "the admired of all admirers." +Though Miss May was sweet enough to savor all the +village with amiability, and musical enough to harmonize +the whole, the venom of the serpent made +her sweetness gall to the senses of her brother's +envious flock, and her music was discord in their ears.</p> + +<p>One morning, as Miss May was riding rapidly over +a bridge, her pony stumbled on a loose plank and +threw her over his head so violently, that she was +taken up senseless by a miller who lived on the +stream, and conveyed into his humble abode, where +the good man committed her to the care of his wife, +while he went for the doctor. Now the village +physician, who was a middle-aged, married man, had +a bachelor brother connected with him, who was the +envy of the village beaux for his gentlemanly air and +good looks, <i>he</i> it was who, in this instance, hastened +to answer the urgent call of the miller. Dr. Mannerly, +on his arrival, found Miss May recovering +from her unconsciousness, and quite alarmed at +seeing herself in such strange circumstances; but his +gentleness, joined with the homely manifestations of +kindness and concern on the part of the miller and +his wife, soon composed her mind, and after the +doctor had taken some blood from her beautiful arm, +she was enabled to rise and receive his assurance +that she had sustained no very serious injury by the +fall. Being, however, too much bruised to mount +her pony again, she accepted the doctor's polite +offer to take her home in his buggy.</p> + +<p>Before night Miss May's adventure was the gossip +of the village; especially her ride homeward with +the doctor, who was observed to look uncommonly +interested, and to be engaged in earnest conversation +with his fair companion; nor did it escape the vigilant +eye of Mrs. Tiptop that the doctor's buggy stood +at the minister's gate every day for a week thereafter, +and longer each successive time than <i>she</i> +thought necessary for a professional call. And then, +when Miss May appeared again on her pony, Dr. +Mannerly was by her side, on his own high-mettled +horse, (the doctor never rode a <i>tame</i> animal, nor perpetrated +a tame remark;) this happened, too, again +and again, so that it was soon a settled matter that +Miss May and the doctor would be a match.</p> + +<p>In the course of a few months, an unusual stir was +apparent at the new minister's; the blinds were +thrown open in the east parlor, and people were seen +bustling through the hall as if in preparation for some +important event. As Mr. Lion never received "donation +visits," as the custom is with village-ministers, +the bustle meant nothing less than Miss May's wedding—and +for once, the gossip had some foundation +in truth.</p> + +<p>Late in the afternoon a handsome carriage drove +up to the house, from which alighted a foreign-looking +gentleman, of some twenty-five years, who was pronounced +to be an English acquaintance of Mrs. +Lion's who had been invited to the wedding. And +a wedding, true enough, it was, for Dr. Mannerly +came hurrying along toward the minister's about +dark, equipped from top to toe, and wearing the +white vest that decided him to be the happy man. +And now the uninvited multitude envied the very +lights that made brilliant "the east room," and no +language could express their mortification, when +the honest chaise of Mr. Worthiman dropped himself +and wife at the new minister's door.</p> + +<p>But a greater surprise awaited them the following +morning, when the carriage that brought the Englishman +to the village, was seen rolling rapidly away, +and in it, seated by the stranger, was the heroine of +all their surmises.</p> + +<p>The doctor visited his patients as usual on that +day, and the village newspaper announced the +marriage, at Green Valley, of Sir Edward Sterling, +of London, England, to Miss Rosina May, of the +same metropolis.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Tiptop and her followers were dumb-founded! +But the evil genius, paralyzed for the +time, revived ere long again with fresh vigor, and +became so vexatious to Mr. and Mrs. Lion, that a +dismissal was asked for and obtained from the +Second Congregational Church of Green Valley, +which, at the last accounts, was about calling a <span class="smcap">NEW +MINISTER</span>.</p> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_GARDENER" id="THE_GARDENER"></a>THE GARDENER.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY GEORGE S. BURLEIGH.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From dewy day-dawn to its dewy close,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Between the lark's song and the whippo-wil's,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With life as fresh and musical as fills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their varied round, in quiet joyance goes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The faithful gardener, spying out the foes<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of queenly Beauty, whom, for all the ills<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They wrought her reign, his hand in pity kills.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That pure-eyed Peace may in her realm repose.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He bears cool water to the drooping flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And gently crops o'erflushed exuberance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trains the young vines to crown imperial bowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And guardeth well fair buds from foul mischance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let others find what prize befits their powers,<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>His</i> deeds put smiles on Nature's countenance.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ONE_OF_THE_SOUTHERN_TIER_OF_COUNTIES" id="ONE_OF_THE_SOUTHERN_TIER_OF_COUNTIES"></a>ONE OF THE "SOUTHERN TIER OF COUNTIES."</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY ALFRED B. STREET.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A realm of forest, hill and lake I sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nestling in wild and unknown loveliness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the "Empire State's" protecting wing;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But be not too inquisitive and press<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its name—my motto must be, reader! "Stat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nominis umbra"—I'll not tell that's flat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But this much I will say; it bears the name<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of a brave warrior, who, in times of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burst through the forests like a flood of flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And on the savage foe deep vengeance told.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And well that warrior kept unstained the wreath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reaped by his sword in fields of blood and death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And to be more explicit—on the west<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Chihohocki<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a> +<a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> laves its mountain sides;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">East the grim Shawangunk uprears its crest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And monarch-like this forest-land divides<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From that whose name superfluous 't were to utter<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If mention's made of golden "Goshen butter."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within this realm Dame Nature's mantle wide<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Has scarcely yet been rent by human toil;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here tower the hill-tops in their forest pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There smile the sylvan valleys, though the soil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is such, in truth, no wonder people chose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To leave Dame Nature to her wild repose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet pleasant are the sights and sounds when Summer<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wakens the forest depths to light and life;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The woodpecker, a red-plumed, noisy drummer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Times to the thrasher's clearly flourished fife;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The partridge strikes its bass upon its log,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with his deep bassoon chimes in the frog.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The stream reflects the leaf, the trunk, the root,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sunlight drops its gold upon the moss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose delicate fringes sink beneath the foot<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the quick squirrel as it glides across;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, glancing like a vision to the eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the tall trees the deer shoots, dream-like, by.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fancy your wearied foot has clambered now<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Delaware's steep hill, and then glance back.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The splendid sight will put you in a glow!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There winds the river in its snake-like track,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst rural beauty laughs upon your view—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meadows of green, and fields of golden hue,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then White Lake, expanding far away!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Oh, its pure waters gleam before me now!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It sheds upon my world-worn heart a ray<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bright as the crystal beauty of its brow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loveliest of lakes! this pulse must cease to beat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere I forget thee, beautiful and sweet!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">M., too, (the village,) is a lovely place,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Clustered midst grain-fields rich and orchards green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the grand woods around—in blended grace<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nature and Art at every point are seen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brimmed is it with good fellows, and those pearls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of man's prosaic being—witching girls.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet there are places in this rising county<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where Nature seems determined not to grow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where travelers merit an especial bounty<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For perseverance, where the starving crow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would pass, disdaining to arrest his flight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(But these things in strict confidence I write.)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The earth is sprinkled with a scanty growth<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of ragged, scrubby pine, and here and there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lofty hemlock, looking as if loath<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To show its surly head—while grim and bare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ghosts of former trees their mossy locks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shake, but all else is one great bed of rocks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet there is beauty even there when green<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sunbright—there the ground-pine twines its fringe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the low whortleberries give the scene<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(So thick their downy gems) a purple tinge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mossy paths are branching all about,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if you meet a rattlesnake, look out!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hour after hour, the stranger passing through<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This member of the "southern tier" will see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Naught but the stretching forests, grand, 't is true,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But then life's naught without variety,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though if he seeks with care to find that charm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He 'chance may stumble on some stumpy farm,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then the road called "Turnpike," "verbum sap!"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now climbing o'er some mountain's rugged brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now plunging headlong in some hollow's lap,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Still, "vice versa," laboring on you go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How high soe'er the hill, it has its brother,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're scarce down one before you go up t'other.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The people, too, who live—I mean, who stay<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In their green Alpine homes, (I like a touch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sublime,) presents a queer array<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of three most interesting species—Dutch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yankee and mongrel—and this triple mixture<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Form when they meet a very curious picture.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They call one "smart" who's keen at overreaching,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Tonguey" the babbler of the loudest din,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'll travel miles on Sunday to a "preaching,"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And seek next day to "take their neighbor in,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the word "deacon," in this charming region,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Covers, like charity, of sins a legion.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And there's another race, "half flesh, half fish,"<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That live where rolls the Delaware its flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ready to fight or drink as others wish,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not as they care; whose speech is loud and rude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half oath half boast, and think that all things slumber<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When "Philadelfy" markets fall in "lumber."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Their toil is pastime when the river leaps<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On, like a war-horse foaming in his wrath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thundering hoof and flashing mane, and sweeps<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The forest fragments on its roaring path,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What time the Spring-rains its mild current thresh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And make what vulgarly is called a "fresh."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then from deep eddy and from winding creek<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His mammoth platform the bold raftsman steers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as his giant oar he pushes quick,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With song and jest his wearying labor cheers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst confident in skill he fearless drifts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By swamping islands and o'er staving rifts.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From rafts we glance to saw-mills—oft you meet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their pine-slab roofs and board-piles by some brook,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with the splashing wheel and watery sheet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Flinging its curtain o'er the dam, they look,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(When tired of gazing at the endless woods,)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though saw-mills, pleasant in their solitudes.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> +The Indian (Delaware) name for the Delaware River.</p></div> +<br /> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_EXHAUSTED_TOPIC" id="THE_EXHAUSTED_TOPIC"></a>THE EXHAUSTED TOPIC.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY CAROLINE C——.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>What shall I write about? A sensible question +enough for me to address to you, good reader, were +I a worn-out school-girl, with a mind quite like an +"exhausted receiver" on the one subject, frightful, +dismal, and hated at all times to <i>her</i>. But, thanks be +to Time, I am <i>no</i> school-girl—and it is rather a +foolish question, this same one I have proposed, +considering that for sixty long seconds my mind has +been fully determined as to <i>what</i> I will write about +this morning.</p> + +<p>I have been looking over a file of old magazines, +which are now scattered about me in most beautiful +confusion, for the sole purpose of discovering in the +steps of <i>how many</i> "illustrious predecessors" I am +to follow, when I expatiate on that, which, by the +last tale in the last new magazine, seems to be still a +marvelous object in creation, namely, "<i>The Coquette</i>."</p> + +<p>And oh the poems, and tales, and essays, by the +Mrs.'s and Misses—the Mr.'s and Esqr.'s, let alone +the Dr.'s and Rev.'s, who have not disdained to pour +forth their thoughts like water on this exhausted (?) +topic! I will spare you, through mere Christian +charity, dear reader, from listening to their enumeration.</p> + +<p>By this time, if you are any thing of a magazine or +newspaper reader, you must <i>necessarily</i> have arrived +at some conclusion as to this tribe of humans. Well, +what do you think of coquettes <i>in general</i>, my +friend—what do you think of those with whom you +have had to do with <i>in particular</i>? According to +Johnson, a coquette is "a gay, airy girl, who by +various <i>arts</i> endeavors to gain admirers." Natural +enough, all that, <i>I</i> should say.</p> + +<p>When women are blessed (?) by a kind Providence +with beauty, does it not follow rapidly on the heels +of the truth, that they are meant and made to be admired, +and loved, and wooed by the gender masculine? +And when the admiration and homage of +men's hearts are offered at the shrine of beauty—and +the favored fair one tastes the cup of adulation man +<i>forces</i> to her lips, say, ye wise ones! is there any +thing so very <i>unnatural</i> in the fact that her human +heart cries "more?" Why, even that poor, miserable +daughter of the horse-leech was not content with +saying "give!" once, it must needs be "give—<i>give</i>!"</p> + +<p>Now, in all fairness, I put the question to you—what +warrior, after a brilliant achievement in <i>one</i> +battle—after one glorious conquest over his foes, +was content ever after to dwell in a quiet obscurity, +and suffer his name to be at last almost forgotten by +men, because of his very inaction? Tell me, was +that shining light so often lit and re-lit on the Mountain +of Warning for the benefit of the sojourners in +the vallies of the world—I mean Napoleon Bonaparte? +Was Cortes? Was Alexander?</p> + +<p>What <i>author</i>, after writing <i>one</i> book that took the +reading world by storm, ever after that blessed day +laid down his pen and said, "I have done." Did any +of those glorious beings who, with their death-stiffened +fingers <i>can</i> write for us no more? Are the +writers of <i>our</i> day satisfied with <i>one</i> brilliant and +successful effort in the field of literary labor? Bear +witness, oh, Bulwer, and Dickens, and Cooper, and +James, to the absurdity of <i>such</i> an idea! Wait—I +would be truthful—even as I write there comes before +me a bright remembrance of <i>one</i> glorious bard, living, +voiceless <i>now</i>—our own well-beloved Halleck; but +even <i>he</i> may awake, and speak yet—and so make +way with <i>the</i> exception to my rule.</p> + +<p>And what does the warrior battle for? Tell it not +in this wise, wide-awake century it is all <i>for country +and the good of man</i>! We are a wise people, <span class="smcap">WE</span>! +Such humbugging is too ancient. Say out plainly it +is for glory, for distinction, for place in the higher +room, and we will honor you for your honest words! +And what does the author labor and strive for, through +dreary days and sleepless nights? Is it for the +enlightenment of mankind—the improvement of his +fellows? Who will say that <i>this</i> is not oftenest, when +indeed it is thought of at all, the <i>secondary</i> consideration? +Ay, yes! there are such things as poor +misguided scribblers dipping their pens in their life-blood, +wherewith to leave a mark on the pages of +time, "to be seen of men!" There <i>is</i> such a thing +as a "lord of creation," <i>pining</i> for distinction, and +braving every distress, and even death, for—Fame! +Yes, we have records of sons of Genius who have +<i>died</i> because men recognized not the light <i>they</i> set +before them. I mind me, and I "weep for Adonais! +he is dead."</p> + +<p>I tell you, among men it is rare to find one who, +after he has tasted the honey of applause and world-admiration, +but will taste, and continue to taste, until +he has cloyed himself, and almost (I do not <i>say</i> quite) +sickened the patient bystanders.</p> + +<p>Is there, then, any thing wonderful in the fact that +woman loves admiration? With such noble examples +before her, why should she not? I know it has +been hinted broadly that it is heartless, and selfish, +and sinful, in a woman, merely for her personal +gratification, to make wrecks of the hearts of men(!!) +and that coquetting is set down among masculines +in the catalogue of sins as one of the blackest dye. +But, if man, in his wonderful wisdom, can suffer +himself to be so fooled, pray whose fault or sin is it? +If he rests his happiness on the smiles of <i>one</i> woman, +which is a rarer thing than ye think, oh, maidens! +whom shall he blame, if the smile does not always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> +await him? Whose fault is it if he does not <i>continue</i> +to please, when the eyes of the fair one are awakened +to his numberless "short comings?" And some day +when a more favored one of nature draws near with +his homage, why should the old lover listen in amaze +to cold words and colder sentiments? Trust me, if +men would only apply to this subject of our consideration +one iota of the coolness and calmness of +unprejudiced thought which distinguishes many of +their other musings, they might some day come to a +just conclusion.</p> + +<p>But enough of this; I have given a <i>preface</i>—and I +know a case in point—more satisfactory than all <i>my</i> +arguments I think it will prove; and I imagine it will +clear me from all suspicion, or charge, if you should +prefer it against me, of entertaining wrong opinions +on this important subject.</p> + +<p>From a far longer time since than I can well remember, +till within two years past, the Cleveland +family were our next door neighbors. Florence, the +eldest daughter, was a very dear friend of mine, and +I would not make her the heroine of this story to-day, +were it not for the following fact. Two years ago the +whole family emigrated to Wisconsin; and now that +they are gone so very far "out of the world," I think +no blame should be attached to me for giving her +"experience" to the good public. Sure am I, that +buried as she is in the backwoods, she will never +know that <i>I</i> have seized upon her as a "subject" +whereabout to expatiate. But if you should chance +to meet Florence in your wanderings, reader, do +not, I pray you, wound her feelings, by touching on +this topic.</p> + +<p>Every body said Flory was a coquette—and adopting +as a settled point the sentiment that "what +every body says <i>must</i> be true," I suppose she was; +that is, she was "a gay, airy girl, who was fond of +admiration;" and I will not deny that she may have +exerted herself the least bit in the world to obtain it. +But I do repel most indignantly the idea that <i>she</i> was +artful and designing, or that she ever regularly <i>set a +trap</i> to ensnare any human heart.</p> + +<p>Florence, when she parted from us, was of middle +height, very fair, and her cheeks wore the bloom of +early roses; her hair was of a light, glossy brown—and, +oh, those beautiful ringlets! I can vouch for the +truth of it, <i>they</i> never emerged from curl-papers—(and +by the way, how refreshing and pleasant now-a-days +it is to see any thing <i>natural</i>, even a paltry +curl!) Then her eyes, "deeply, divinely blue," +sometimes filled with a sober, tranquil, <i>holy</i> light, +and again dancing, beaming, and running over with +joy and happiness.</p> + +<p>Though Flory was the admiration of all eyes, and +"the beaux" seemed really to have no appreciation +of the presence of we poor insignificants when she +was by, yet to not many of <i>us</i> did the "green-eyed +monster" ever whisper one bad, ungracious thought +of her.</p> + +<p>We all loved her—and a sadder set never waited +in our depôt the arrival of the eastern train, than +gathered there the day Mr. Cleveland and family +were to leave for a home in the "far West."</p> + +<p>There were some, indeed, who invariably honored +Florence with the title of "coquette!" and pursed +up their lips very sanctimoniously whenever they +heard of her new conquests; particularly may this +remark apply to old Widow Forbes, who rejoiced in +the possession of four grown-up daughters—"fixtures" +most decidedly they were in her household—for +these four above-mentioned, were not in any way +remarkable for their personal attractions; and two of +them had well-nigh passed the third stage of woman's +unmarried life! But by far the greater part of the +villagers rejoiced in the presence of Florence Cleveland +as they would in a sunbeam on a dull day; she +was always so cheerful, so generous and obliging.</p> + +<p>None of those sunny curls of hers were visible +the day Florence set out on her journey; perhaps +you think that was because ladies do not usually +travel with such appendages in view, and that they +were snugly packed away in the back part of her +traveling hat. But had Flory's head been uncovered +then, I fear me it would have borne terrible witness +of the desecrating hands which had been busy about +it; for the fairy-like ringlets which had so long adorned +the beautiful head, full beautiful enough without +<i>them</i>, were slumbering on the hearts of us, her +miserable, weeping cronies; and I know not how +many gentlemen's purses were freighted with like +treasure.</p> + +<p>What a silent, stupid company we were gathered +there that day. It was a bright morning—there was +not a cloud to be seen in all the sky; and Susy, the +old fortune-teller, said it was a day that augured +well for their future prosperity; but that did not help +<i>us</i> any. Every body seemed to think we were to +lose one of the choicest lights of our village—and so, +indeed, we were.</p> + +<p>At last the odious depôt-bell rung—soon after the +"fire-demon" heaved in sight, followed by its long +train of crowded cars. In ten minutes the leave-taking +was all over, our friends were seated—their +"worldly goods" were stowed away—another ring +of the bell, that never sounded half so remorselessly +before, and away they went, over the road—across +the bridge—past the burial-ground—and on—on—on!</p> + +<p>To my bosom I pressed a package Florence had +given to me that morning of her departure, which +she bade me not open till she was fairly gone. I +need not tell you how I hastened home when I had +seen her depart—how, with just one look at their +old garden, which ran back of my father's house, +through whose paths we had wandered so often +together—how with one thought of how lonely I was +and always should be, now that <i>she</i> was gone, I +hied away to my room, that I might be alone with +my sorrow. But every thing seemed determined to +speak out to me of <i>her</i>; there, by the window, was +<i>her</i> "old arm-chair;" she had given it to me as a +keepsake; and many, many a time had the broad, +leather-covered seat supported us both—so, of course, +the very sight of that gave me such a blue-fit that I +threw myself into its open "arms," and indulged in +the most luxurious fit of weeping, the length whereof +might be counted by hours, not by minutes. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> +when I had fairly "cried it out," (you know all +things must have an end,) I went to bed with the +most dreadful headache conceivable, and opened +with more of regret than curiosity, the last "testament" +of dear Flory.</p> + +<p>It was in the shape of a long, long letter, filling +many pages of paper; but I shall not indulge you, +reader, with a glance even, at all the contents—satisfy +yourself with these few extracts, and oblige +yours, &c.</p> + +<p>"Writing is not my <i>forte</i>, Carry, you know that +very well," the epistle began, "but I had for a long +time determined to explain myself to you; and when +father finally succeeded in convincing mother that +the West is <i>such</i> a wonderful country, and that it is +the best and only place for them to safely settle <i>our</i> +troop of boys, then I made up my mind to <i>write</i> you +what I had intended to speak. Don't think me vain, +but I'm going to be my own heroine in these pages; +I'm going to give you the key wherewith to unfold +parts of my life, which you, with others, may now +think quite unexplainable.</p> + +<p>"When I am gone, and the partial regret some will +feel at first, is worn away, and they begin with all +earnestness to give me what <i>they</i> think <i>my</i> 'due,' +and honor me once more with the flattering titles +they have given me before this, then do you, my +friend, take up the gauntlet in my defence. If I +should happen to die of those horrible 'fevers,' +into whose hands we are about to commit ourselves, +'Aunt Sally,' <i>may</i> say it is a just 'dispensation of +Providence' that has removed me; and that old +Juliet Baker <i>might</i> take it into her head to write my +veritable history, under the title of 'The Coquette,' +and so be published in one of the magazines as a +warning for all who shall come after me—an immortality +to which I assure you I do not aspire. Or Tom +Harding might be tempted to discourse more eloquently +than ever on my respective demerits—drawing +some of his sage conclusions therefrom. So, dear, +if such things <i>should</i> happen, remember to stand up +valiantly for 'woman's rights,' and <i>me</i>! As I have +mentioned Tom Harding's name, I may as well, in +these 'confessions,' have done with him as speedily +as possible. I know very well what all the gossips +said when it was rumored that I had 'cut him dead,' +after encouraging the poor fellow, who was really +'too good for me!' But, as it happened in <i>this</i> case, +they were all wrong—as doth unfortunately sometimes +happen even with gossipers. Tom, since time immemorial, +(you will bear me out in the truth of this statement,) +has been one of the most <i>active beaux</i> in our +village; attaching himself, with all his <i>canine</i> characteristics, +to every lady who was favored with the least +pretensions to beauty, and making himself vastly useful +in the way of getting up all sorts of 'parties of pleasure' +in summer, and in the winter also. It was very +needful, was it not, that we should be always on +good terms with <i>him</i>, which, as a body, we managed +very well to do. As he had been <i>in love with</i>, +and offered himself to at least a dozen girls of our +acquaintance, I don't yet know why he should have +thought that <i>I</i> would take up with him at last. Now +was it not presumption, Carry? To be sure, he came +to our house night after night, and sat often with us +in church on Sundays—and it <i>was</i> rumored we were +engaged; but that, I fancy, did not make the case a +clear one."</p> + +<p><i>Ladies</i> may be attentive and agreeable, even over +the verge of intimacy with one another, and yet not +be suspected of <i>designs matrimonial</i>; but boys and +girls, who have from early childhood grown up with +the most fraternal feelings, as soon as childhood has +passed, must be expected to give up what was a very +delightful kind of friendship, indeed; is that wise?</p> + +<p>"The fact is, I never for a moment thought of +marrying Tom Harding; but I <i>did</i> think him a great +deal better youth than he proved to be. When he +foolishly proposed <i>the</i> subject to me, I dismissed it +again quietly as might be, convincing him, as I hope, +that the thing was forever impossible. And I kept +his secret well. No one till to-day can say that I +was ever guilty of parading this offer, and its refusal, +before my friends; and I scarcely think <i>you</i> will +consider me as parading it <i>now</i>; or, indeed, of +entering on this recital merely to gratify a foolish +personal vanity. Tom, himself, by his ungentlemanly +conduct, exposed all that ever was exposed; and his +impudent, silly behavior toward me has had the +final result of making me heartily despise him; and I +sincerely hope no damsel that <i>I</i> love will ever accept +offers, which some dozens may yet have the honor, +or—which is it? be <i>doomed</i> to hear!</p> + +<p>"Harry Kirkland was, indeed, a fine fellow—at +least I thought so once, for I was engaged to him +within a time I well remember. Talented, too—was +he not? But, oh, what an unreasonable mortal he +was.</p> + +<p>"When I engaged myself to Harry, I did love him +truly, or what I <i>thought</i> was him, but you will not +wonder that my love cooled before such evidences +of tyranny, <i>incipient</i> it could hardly be called, as he +exhibited, truly in a petty manner, but giving me +good, overpowering evidence of what I might expect +when the <i>chains</i> of Hymen should be flung +around us.</p> + +<p>"<i>He</i> went to his Club, and the Lyceum, and became +a member of the Odd Fellows Society, so soon as +there was one organized in the village—indeed, on +all points acted his own pleasure, even as to the +number of cigars he would smoke per day. And I, +like a reasonable woman, thinking all this part and +parcel of his own business, never for a moment +<i>thought</i> of interfering. But no sooner had I, in a +kind of dumb way, (foolishly enough, I confess <i>now</i>,) +answered his pathetic appeals, by acknowledging +that I loved him, than he at once, without questioning +his right and title, proceeded to take the reins of +government into his own hands. And then it was +incessantly, 'Florence, why do you allow that cox-comb +to visit you?' or, 'why did you go to the party +last night when I was away?' or, 'how <i>can</i> you +endure that conceited fool?' or, 'do, dear, arrange +your hair in some other style—curls are so common!' +or, at another time, when I had adorned myself with +special thoughts of him, and his particular taste, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> +ungracious salutation would be, 'It is <i>so</i> strange you +will wear flounces—<i>I</i> cannot endure them, and they +are so unbecoming for you!'</p> + +<p>"Well, I <i>did</i> give James Thompson, 'the cox-comb,' +as Harry called him, leave to understand I +was not 'at home' to him; and I stayed away from +all places of amusement to which Harry <i>would not</i>, +or could not go, (which former I came at last to +know was most frequently the case.) And I did treat +Charles Wood more coolly than my conscience approved, +for nature gave to him a good, kind heart, +if she did not make him a genius. And I left off +flounces, which my tasty little 'dress-maker' thought +'<i>such</i> a pity;' and I braided my hair, which all the +time cried out against the stiff bands I put on the +curly locks; in short, for six months I made a fool +of myself, by giving way to all my exacting lover's +whims. It makes me shudder when I think of what +had been my fate had I married him—I should have +died a very martyr long before this day.</p> + +<p>"I knew that on most subjects Harry's opinion +was worth having—his judgment sound; so I resolved +to try what might be done on <i>this</i> point, which certainly +concerned our happiness so much. By degrees +I went back to my old habits, saying never a word +to him of the test I was intending to put to him. +Perhaps <i>you</i> would have proceeded differently—you +might have reasoned with him, and urged him +not to distress himself about affairs far too trifling +for him to interfere with—about which no woman +likes the interference, even of a favored lover.</p> + +<p>"But such a course was not the one for me—and +in the end, a person pursuing a far different method +of reasoning might, probably would, have arrived +at the same climax that I did. Wherever among +my old friends I chose to go, I went without consulting +the pleasure of his highness, who had led me +about as a child in leading-strings quite long enough. +What books I liked, I read; concerning my judgment +on this point, perhaps, (not altogether unwarrantably +either,) quite as good as his own. I dressed +in what fashion I pleased—and wore my hair in the +style nature intended. At one determined stroke +I broke the thread-like chains which, from their +very fineness, had been more galling to me than +links of iron. I could read by Harry's look of +astonishment what his thoughts were, as he saw +these changes in me—and it was with some anxiety, +I do confess, that I awaited the result; for all this +time I loved him well, though my attachment was +<i>not</i> so selfish in its nature as was his love toward me.</p> + +<p>"One day I sent Harry a note, with a purse which +I had knitted for him, and requested that he would +accompany me in the evening, when there was to +be a horseback-party on the lake-shore. In about +half an hour much was I astonished by the return of +the messenger, with an answer to my note, and my +<i>rejected gift</i>. He declined the ride also, saying that +he had a severe headache—(well might his head +ache when it contained a brain capable of suggesting +<i>such</i> a note.) After some few preliminaries, Harry +proceeded to tell me that my gifts were altogether +unacceptable so long as my heart continued not right +toward him; that I had grieved him beyond all power +of expression by the heartlessness I had exhibited +<i>in my disregard of all his wishes and opinions</i>; +this strange note ended by begging that I would not +join the riding-party that night; that he would visit +me in the evening, and receive from me then any +explanations I might be ready to make.</p> + +<p>"In ten minutes more the messenger was on his +way back to Harry Kirkland's office, with a neat +package, which contained the young man's notes, +miniature, gifts, &c., with an assurance, which I +wrote with a most steady hand, that my evening ride +would, doubtless, prove more agreeable than a <i>tête-tête</i> +with him, and that, as I had no explanations or +apologies to offer, he need not be under the inconvenience +of seeking me again at home, or elsewhere. +I will not speak of the manner in which I passed +that afternoon, after I had returned Harry's <i>second</i> +note, <i>un</i>answered, and <i>un</i>opened; nor what thoughts +were busy in my mind, nor what feelings were busy +in my heart. But I will tell you this, at tea-time, +when father came home, <i>he</i> did not reject his +daughter's kiss, or the purse either; and now it is +snugly resting in the bottom of his pocket, well-filled, +as I hope it ever will be.</p> + +<p>"That moonlight ride—you remember it; perhaps +you remember, also, that there was no gayer mortal +among you than a certain Florence Cleveland. She +might not have slept <i>quite</i> soundly that night, when +she was alone in her little chamber, but it was not +<i>very</i> long that Harry Kirkland's image disturbed her +dreams. Harry was proud as I; doubtless he thought +himself the abused one, (and <i>that</i>, you know, is +wonderfully efficacious in curing heart-wounds,) and +I can readily believe that many times since he has +blessed the day that saved him from <i>coquetting</i> +Florence Cleveland. But—you know already how +suddenly Harry moved to New York that autumn, +and also how you wondered we did not correspond.</p> + +<p>"And what of George Stephenson? Ha! ha! I +always laugh when I think of him—<i>do you</i>, dear? +What did <i>we</i> think of him, <i>mon ami</i>, till we discovered +one day, much to our amaze, that he was +engaged to us both.</p> + +<p>"Never shall I forget that tableau we presented—being +our own spectators—when, with your head +resting on my knee in the old summer-house, you, +with trembling lips, told me of that delightful youth! +and of your future prospects; and how, when you +approached the interesting climax, I joined in with +you and told <i>my</i> story, too; and how, instead of our +becoming sworn foes from that hour, two more +loving and light-hearted beings seldom took pen in +hand, than we, when we wrote that joint letter, and +saved George from the fate of bigamists! Well, +there was <i>never</i> a more captivating youth than he—at +least we must <i>say</i> so, to save ourselves from the +obloquy of falling in love with such a <i>scamp</i>! +Who'd have thought it? those very stories of his +early life, and sorrows which drew such earnest tears +from <i>my</i> eyes. I suppose you, too, have wept upon +his shoulder as he told them. Ah, me!</p> + +<p>"Then there was the poet, Earnest Ward. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span> +tolerated <i>him</i> because his father was a college friend +of my paternal, who wished us always to show him +kindness, and make the orphan feel himself not quite +so friendless. But you cannot believe that <i>I</i> loved +<i>him</i>. Poor fellow! he is dead now. He never +seemed destined to a long life to me; the fact is, he +did not possess <i>energy</i> enough to keep him alive. +And he was eternally railing against Fate and his +poverty, which no man who wishes to gain favor in +<i>my</i> eyes must indulge in. His talents <i>were not</i> of +that order which commands the ear of the public—and +yet he seemed to think so, and in that thought +centered all his hope. There was nothing practical +about Ernest. He belonged to that miserable class +of beings, (how many of them we see about us,) who +are aptly described as having lost <i>their way</i> in the +great roads of life, having early groped blindly past +the stations they were designed to fill. Ernest had a +good deal of fancy and ingenuity—more than should +have been lavished on newspaper enigmas, and +verses descriptive of the color of my hair and eyes; +he might have made a capital manufacturer, or +designer of toys. He was made, I am convinced, +for some such purpose, and might have excelled in +some such <i>art</i>; but least of all, you will acknowledge, +was Ernest Ward fitted to be <i>my</i> husband. And well +for us was it, that if he did not know it, <i>I did</i>.</p> + +<p>"And, last of all of whom I will speak, there was +Edward Graham; and thus I fancy I hear him described +by some (whom I <i>will</i> say I am not sorry to +have left behind me,) 'a fine fellow! but driven to +desperation and to sea by that worthless flirt, Florence +Cleveland!' Now I will give you an opportunity, +<i>ma chere</i>, to laugh in your sleeve, if you will, for +beyond the shadow of a doubt, I am engaged to this +same Edward Graham, who departed in such desperation; +and what's more, I mean to marry him, too.</p> + +<p>"And how shall I explain conduct that will appear +so strange as this to you? You know Ned Graham +<i>almost</i> as well as I do; and as we both have known +him from childhood, it would be idle in me to speak +of his fine, noble, generous character, and of his +<i>sensibleness</i>, by far a rarer component of the human +character than many people seem to imagine. Our +engagement was, I confess, an altogether unanticipated +thing to me, though there was always +a lingering thought in my mind that Ned approached +a <i>little</i> nearer my standard of manly perfection than +any suitor I ever had. You and I have often together +admired the outward man, so I will not now speak +of those great black eyes of his, which seem to pierce +you through and through, as though they <i>would</i> know +your secret thoughts, (which, as far as they regarded +him, <i>could</i> be only thoughts of admiration and respect.) +And that manly form, so sweet and noble, +that was never yet bent by the weight of a mean or +sordid thought—that <i>could not</i> stoop to any thing +low or ignoble. Now, when I tell you that Ned +has hired himself to a sea-captain, whom his father +has known from boyhood, for three years, that his +wages (excepting only a moiety) have been paid at +Ned's request into his father's hands to aid the old +man, who is now in difficulties, when I tell you this, +you will concur with me in thinking <i>my</i> Edward +Graham the most noble and generous youth in the +world.</p> + +<p>"Only a week before his departure <i>we</i> made our +arrangements; for before that time Ned had never +spoken to me of love—and I never heard of his +broaching the subject to any one else, did you? In +three years he is coming back again. By that time +<i>we</i> shall have become settled, and have learned to +love our new home. What farmers we shall be! +Then Ned will join us in Wisconsin—and who says +we shall not be a happy family there? And that +Flory Cleveland will not prove herself quite tractable +and human, although people have dared and +presumed to call her a 'desperate flirt?'</p> + +<p>"So, my dearest, I have given you a true history +of my <i>coquetting</i> (?) life, with the exception of those +tragedies you are acquainted with already. Frank +Blake died, it is true, but never for a moment have I +reproached myself with <i>his</i> death. He was 'found +drowned,' so the verdict of the coroner's jury ran; +but have none others been ever 'found drowned,' +than men who were in love? I am not jesting, or +speaking lightly now. Heaven knows the subject is +far too fearful to jest about! Could they who have +seemed to delight in calling me little better than a +murderess, but know what bitter, bitter hours I have +passed writhing under their 'scorpion tongues,' they +would, I think, be satisfied. I tell you again, my friend, +Frank never treated me more kindly, or considerately, +or <i>justly</i> than he did that day when I told him I <i>could +not</i> love him as he deserved to be loved, though I +must ever bear toward him the utmost respect and +the kindliest feelings. And when Tom Harding made +that incident a theme for newspaper gossip, I wonder +Heaven had not blasted the right hand that dared to +write such things!</p> + +<p>"You know how afterward I went to Frank's +home—to his widowed mother. She, too, turned in +horror from me when I told her who I was, and why +I had come so far from my home in search of her. +Go to her <i>now</i>, my friend, and she will tell you that +she attaches to me <i>no</i> blame. Even the agonized, +heart-broken mother believed me, when I told her +all that had transpired between her son and me. She +<i>knows</i>, as <i>you</i> know, and as <i>I</i> know, that I never +won the affections of her son intentionally, for the +purpose of adding one more name to my list of conquests.</p> + +<p>"And of that other, whose name I will not write—he +who died in the convict's cell—my friend, <i>had +I</i> aught to do with that man's crimes? The brutish +madness with which he heard my refusal of his suit—his +dreadful downward course afterward; oh, can +unreturned <i>love</i> be the instigator of such crimes? +Had he not been a reckless youth ever; disliked of +all the village boys, whose friendship, even his +wealth and good family could not buy for him? If +I would not wed a villain such as he, where rests +the blame? Oh, surely <i>not with me</i>! <i>I</i> did not +make that festering, sinful heart of his, nor did I +lure him on to hope that I would <i>ever</i> wed him. If +love is <i>heaven</i>, what were life with him!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I cannot write more—<i>non sum qualis eram</i>! +yet the sun shines brightly on me still as in my childhood, +and the future is <i>full</i> of hope. If I have cleared +myself of the imputation of the folly and heartlessness +some have laid to my charge, it is well; <i>I</i> cannot +think that my proceedings have been <i>very</i> dreadful, +or sinful; they did not frighten honest-hearted, noble +Ned Graham.</p> + +<p>"And after this, when you see a woman whose +conduct to you is quite unexplainable, and full of +mystery, listen, dear friend, and bid those around +you listen a little more earnestly, to the voice of +<i>human love and Christian charity</i>; and trust <i>me</i>, +the number of women <i>who have the power</i> to act +<i>long</i> in direct opposition to all the better impulses of +woman's nature, is <i>surprisingly small</i>.</p> + +<p>"If your trust continues in me still unshaken, as in +the days gone by, come ere long to Wisconsin, and +I will insure you a husband of the 'free soil,' who +shall bear as little resemblance to <i>our</i> faithless +George, as my Ned does—and a home in the wilderness, +this glorious wilderness.</p> + +<p>"God bless you, love—good bye!—--."</p> + +<p>"I have not yet obeyed the call of my friend to the +far west," <i>now</i> her happy home. Do you think it +advisable that I should place myself in the hands of +such a—; but first let me ask you,</p> + +<p><i>Do</i> you think Florence Cleveland was a coquette?</p> + +<p>And—<i>is</i> this <i>once</i> prolific topic <i>yet</i> exhausted?</p> + +<p>I cannot conclude this discourse, "my hearers," +without repeating to you a song, which appeared +some years ago in "Graham." It is by Miss Barrett. +Has it ever yet been "set to music?" if not, I would +advise some composer to neglect no longer so beautiful +an effusion. And when the <i>deed is done</i>, let +every lady learn the song, and every gentleman +stand by and listen to it humbly. Here it is.</p> + +<h4>THE LADY'S YES.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Yes!" I answered you last night—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"No'!" this morning, sir, I say;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Colors seen by candlelight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cannot look the same by day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the tabors played their best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dancers were not slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Love me" sounded like a jest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fit for "yes" or fit for "no."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus the sin is on us both;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was the dance a time to woo?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wooer light makes fickle troth—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scorn of <i>me</i> recoils on <i>you</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Learn to win a lady's faith</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Nobly, as the thing is high—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Bravely, as in fronting death,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>With a virtuous gravity.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lead her from the painted boards—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Point her to the starry skies—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Guard her by your truthful words,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Pure from courtship's flatteries</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By your truth she shall be true—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ever true, as wives of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her "yes" once said to you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall be yes for evermore.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_RECORD_OF_DECEMBER" id="THE_RECORD_OF_DECEMBER"></a>THE RECORD OF DECEMBER.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY HENRY MORFORD.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Write—with the finger of the angel-born,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Upon the tablet of the human soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That old December, wearied and outworn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Drags on his failing footsteps to the goal.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Write—that the Christmas bells ring on till morn<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Peace and eternal pardon to the whole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I, before I drop my farewell tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must lay December's closing record here.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Write—for I weary; Age with failing thought<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forgets the triumph of his younger days—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgets the changes that himself has wrought—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forgets the lip that tuned to woman's praise—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgets in summer how his fingers brought<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fresh flowers in olden time for manhood's ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forgets all pleasure save an old man's word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To think of bygone sorrows and record.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Write—ere he passes—even now they come<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With wailing harps and wreaths of withered flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bind his brows and bear him to his home<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Amid the multitude of buried hours—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment's respite ere his senses numb<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the death throe seals up his mental powers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He shall not die, e'en in his age and dearth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without a legacy of good to earth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His course has been with manhood, and his name<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Has changed with human years—we yet recall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How bounding onward at the first he came,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And trembled wearily unto his fall—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How in his noon of life his strength was flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Spurning the very hand that gave him all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How day by day and month by month he changed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till Time on old December is avenged.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The air he breathes is but ingratitude<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From each unto the other—from the air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto the Giver of Eternal Good,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And from man to the years unceasing care.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spirit to spirit on the moving flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And demon unto demon in his lair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jarring with discord, scarcely yet set free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the kind measure of God's harmony.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so he gave unto the sons of men<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Last winter, snow, and ice, and driving sleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the cold winds, each from his northern den,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Strewed wrecks of forest branches at our feet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old trees all naked shivered in the glen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And houseless wretches shivered in the street—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was the time when poor and cold mankind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should know the welcome of a generous mind.<br /></span> +</div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Few read the lesson—there was passing by<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of squalid poverty by gilded pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wealth from the needy turned away his eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rich doors to richer guests were opened wide—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pity sought out a fancy scene to sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And gave not burial to the poor who died—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside the gourmand with his food opprest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mothers hugged starving infants to the breast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, not for this came winter, not for this<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rolled out the storm clouds from the northern zone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was a hope that gay luxurious bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Would not be happy in itself alone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was a hope that wealth might stoop to kiss<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lips paler with cold sorrow than its own—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was a hope that severed things might blend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And man, the selfish, soften to the friend.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The old man was but young, but thankless hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They say are "sharper than the adder's tooth,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ere the Spring came, by inhuman arts<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The marble forehead was no longer smooth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cold blasts of scorn repaid him his deserts,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bitter forebodings grew too often sooth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At twenty years, they say, who knew him then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had grown sadder than old withered men.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Spring lay upon the garden—from his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Showered the blossoms and the springing buds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The songsters sang tales of a summer land,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a new music lived upon the floods:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the scene there waved a magic wand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And watched the spirit of the fields and woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laying in golden promise on the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beauties that mocked him in their very birth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The buds of spring grew withered in his grasp,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The thorns lay hid beneath the rose's leaf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaving a poison deeper than the asp,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Long as the memory of corroding grief.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rude hands tore off the petals, to unclasp<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Too soon the fullness of a lot so brief—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was ingratitude in bud and flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rude unkindness in man's thankless power.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And all the summer long the rays he gave,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To cheer the weary sons of sweat and toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flashed back with blistering brightness from the wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And burned like molten lava from the soil.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vainly oft the giver came to crave<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A shelter from the burning heat the while,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the bending vines the welcome fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yellow harvest seldom crowned his head.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They knew not, as he pressed the table seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That he alone had spread the groaning board,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They cared not that the master came to eat<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where one small blessing glittered from his hoard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They knew not, cared not, how the angel's feet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Have trodden in the steps of good restored—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The furrows deepened on the old man's brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sadly humankind had sped the plough.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Autumn grew brown upon the teeming zone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lo! here at last he should forget his pain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the mellow fruits around them thrown,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With garners brimful of the golden grain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men should look smiling to the giver's throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And gentle peace sit on the loaded wain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was a discord when the year began,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That jarred the wider as the circle ran.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wheat-sheaf grew into the curse of life,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And from the stalk the burning pain distilled—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The orchard mast with the dark bane was rife,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pouring out poison as the master willed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The purple wine-grape reddened into strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And in its shadow man by man was killed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poison, dark poison, rankled in the cup,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pressed to his lips foredoomed to drink it up.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So should the blessing of the fields and woods<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Be moulded into curses? think it not!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cold and unfeeling man's ingratitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who to the season gave back such a lot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To drink the cup gemmed with a poison flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And bitter with the felon's loathsome blot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh deeply on our bosoms rests the stain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That never years shall wash away again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wail of autumn winds was on the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That played with forest trunks as little things;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The demons of the storm, each from his lair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shot forth and hissed upon the tempest wings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rent from the old man's head the scanty hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sung on the north wind as the cordage sings:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little they spared him in their giant course,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The whirling winds that owed him all their force.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again 't is winter, to the sons of men<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Come forth the snow and wind and driving sleet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again the storm-cloud lowers o'er the glen.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Again the branches shiver at our feet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faint and uncovered, over moor and fen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The weary man has come his doom to meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The storms of winter beat upon his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The record of his failing time is read.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Chill to his heart strikes in the northern blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ending the season as the year began;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">December hastens to his final rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Friendless by the dark cruelty of man.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">E'en now, while to his death-couch he is prest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A wail rings round his head so pale and wan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And withered flowers are ready for his bier,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That mock the dying with his past career.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His course has been with manhood, and his end<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is fitting for a type of humankind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around whose heavy head the laggard friend<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The veil of useless pity comes to bind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dirge of his departure shall ascend<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From those who scarce recalled his life to mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tide of life above his grave rolls on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And few remember he is dead and gone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">December passes, in the opening sky<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the new year's first morning breaks a star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The record he has left us here shall lie<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beside us when his form is borne afar.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bending above his last farewell, I sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That he has left us, ingrate as we are,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And turning to the New Year, I behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A new-born spirit throned upon the old.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 700px;"> +<img src="images/illus385.jpg" width="700" height="458" +alt="OVERBOARD IN THE GULF" title="" /></div> +<h4>OVERBOARD IN THE GULF</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="OVERBOARD_IN_THE_GULF" id="OVERBOARD_IN_THE_GULF"></a>OVERBOARD IN THE GULF.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY CHARLES J. PETERSON, AUTHOR OF "CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR," ETC., ETC.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<h5>[SEE ENGRAVING.]</h5> + + +<p>"A man overboard!"</p> + +<p>I heard the cry distinctly as the dark waters whirled +me astern.</p> + +<p>"Who?—where?"</p> + +<p>"Heave over a coop!"</p> + +<p>"Can you see him?"</p> + +<p>"Clear away the quarter-boat!"</p> + +<p>These were the cries that followed each other in +rapid succession, accompanied with the hurried tread +of feet, which rose even over the sounds of the +whistling hurricane and of the roaring water in +which I was immersed.</p> + +<p>We had been out from Marseilles about three +days, and were now well up with the Straits. A +gale which had begun just after dawn had increased +with such violence that before the afternoon set in +we were lying-to under a storm stay-sail. Noticing +that the heel of the boom was chafing loose, I had +gone aloft to repair it, when a sudden lurch tore the +spar from its fastenings, and flung me into the air +like a ball shot from a twenty-four.</p> + +<p>At first I sunk plumb, as if tied to a shot; but in a +few seconds began to ascend. When I reached the +surface, however, it was to find myself whirling +from the vessel's side, with a confused noise of the +howling tempest and the bubbling waters in my ears: +yet over all rose the shouts of my messmates.</p> + +<p>I was so blinded by the water that I could not immediately +see. I spun around and around as in a +whirlpool, for I had been caught in the eddies under +the stern. I looked to windward, too, for the ship; +forgetting that a heavy vessel would make more +leeway than my light person. Just as I sunk in the +trough of the sea, however, I caught sight of the tall +spars pitching a short distance to leeward; and when +I rose on the next wave I took care to have my eyes +fixed in that direction. I could now behold the men +in the rigging on the look-out, and hear again distinctly +their eager and excited cries. They were all +gazing to leeward, and consequently could not see +me.</p> + +<p>"Whereaway is he?"</p> + +<p>"I can't see him—can you?"</p> + +<p>"There—he has just sunk in the trough—no! it +was not he."</p> + +<p>"Hillo!"</p> + +<p>"Hil-hil-loa!"</p> + +<p>While these cries were following each other, the +skipper himself came on deck, and springing on the +tafferel cast a rapid glance around the horizon. I +thought his eye had lighted on me, for, unlike the +rest, he turned to windward; but, after a hasty glance +in the right direction, he, too, looked off to leeward. +How my heart sunk within me! Was I to perish, +and within hearing too, in consequence of this mistake +of my messmates? I raised my voice and +shouted. I could still hear the answers.</p> + +<p>"Ahoy!—aho-o-y!"</p> + +<p>"There—that was his voice certainly—can't you +see him yet?"</p> + +<p>"Ahoy!—ahoy!—aho-o-y!" I repeated, straining +my lungs to the utmost.</p> + +<p>"Hillo!" replied the stentorian voice of the skipper, +the words struggling faintly against the wind.</p> + +<p>The ship was rapidly drifting down to leeward, +and I knew that if not soon discovered I was lost, so +I shouted again.</p> + +<p>"Aho-o-y!—A-hoy!—A-hoy!—Aho-o-y!"</p> + +<p>The last word was frantically prolonged, and I +watched its effect for a full minute with intense +anxiety. It was evident from the manner in which +my comrades on board glanced anew around the +horizon, as also from the shouts which they uttered +in reply, that my cry had reached them. I could not +indeed hear their hail, but saw their hands to their +mouths as when persons shout loudly. Alas! the +same fatal error of still looking in the wrong direction +prevailed among them: not an eye was turned +to windward. My heart died within me.</p> + +<p>"Oh, God!" I cried, "they do not hear me, and I +am lost. My mother—my poor, poor mother."</p> + +<p>I forgot to mention that, on my falling overboard, +the cook, who had been cleaning knives in the galley, +had mechanically flung the board he was using into +the sea. Luckily it floated near me, and catching it, +I placed it, end up, under my chin, and thus supported +my head above the water without difficulty. +But for this, perhaps, I should have been wearied out +already by the surges which would have broke over +me continually, but which I now generally rode. I +also had on my oilskin cap and coat: an equally fortunate +circumstance.</p> + +<p>After giving way, therefore, for a few minutes to +despondency, as I saw the ship drifting off, I rallied +myself, and, reflecting that hope never dies while +there is life, began to consider my situation more +calmly. The comparative buoyancy of my dress, +added to the board I had so fortunately obtained, +would enable me to keep afloat for an hour, or perhaps +for even a longer period, and in that time what +chances might not turn up! I knew the Gulf was +crowded with vessels. I had observed a French +frigate, lying-to, to windward, just before I fell overboard. +The direction in which I was drifting would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> +carry me near her, when I might be more fortunate +in attracting attention. I cheered my heart with this +reflection, and began to look out for the man-of-war.</p> + +<p>My first object, in this new frame of mind, was to +get rid of my boots, which were by this time full of +water, and began sensibly to drag me down. With +great difficulty I succeeded in pulling them off; for I +had to retain hold of my board with one hand while +I worked at the boot with the other. At last I was +rid of those dangerous encumbrances, and, floating +more lightly, had a better opportunity to look around. +Of course my vision of distant objects was cut off +every moment by my being carried down into the +trough of the sea. No one, who has not been in a +similar situation, can appreciate the awfulness with +which I gazed on the dark, glistening sides of the +immense billows, as I saw myself sinking away +from them, as if to the very bottom of the ocean. +With what horrid mockery the glassy waters seemed +to rise mountain high all around me. Suddenly, +when I was at the lowest, I would begin to ascend, +as if by magic, from that gloomy gulf, my velocity +increasing every instant, until at last I would shoot +upward above the crest of the wave, like an arrow +propelled from the abyss. A toss of the head, to +shake off the water, a long drawn breath, to recover +myself, a hasty glance around, and then I was whirled +downward again, half smothered in the wild abyss.</p> + +<p>I had been overboard half an hour before I caught +sight of the French frigate. When at last I beheld +her, I could scarcely restrain a cry of joy. She was +drifting rapidly toward me, and would pass within +hail. How beautiful she looked! Her symmetrical +hull, that floated buoyantly as some wild-fowl: her +tall spars, unrelieved by a single bit of canvas, except +the close-reefed maintop-sail under which she +was lying-to: these, penciled against the horizon, +formed together a picture of grace and beauty unsurpassed. +Now she would pitch head-foremost into +the sea; now slowly rise dripping from the deluge. +Here and there a look-out was visible dotting her +rigging. As she swung, pendulum-like, the wild and +whirling clouds that rapidly traversed the distant sky +seemed one moment to stand still, and then to speed +past her with accelerated velocity. In the midst of +peril as I was I still felt all the charm of this picture.</p> + +<p>Suddenly I reflected—what if I should miss the +frigate? There were other vessels in sight, but none +in my track, for by this time I could calculate, with +some approach to accuracy, the direction of my drift. +Again the thought of my mother came up to me. I +was her only son—her almost sole hope—the comfort +and darling of her old age. Perhaps even now +she was thinking of me. I seemed to see her silver +hair, and hear her mild voice once more. Then the +vision of that gray head bowed in grief arose. I beheld +her in the weeds of deep mourning, bent in body +and prostrated in mind. They had told her that her +child had been lost overboard months ago, and was +now a thousand fathom in the sea. I groaned audibly. +God knows, even in that awful hour, it was less of +myself than of my mother I thought!</p> + +<p>I was now rapidly approaching the frigate.</p> + +<p>"Hillo!—hil-lo!" I cried, waving my arm above +my head, as I rose on the crest of a wave.</p> + +<p>I had but an instant to watch the effect of my cry, +before I was submerged again. But there was time +enough to assure me that I had not been heard.</p> + +<p>I noticed, with terrible misgivings, that my voice +was much weaker than it had been half an hour before. +Was I so soon becoming exhausted? At this +rate, an hour more would probably extinguish life.</p> + +<p>This idea filled me with alarm, and as I gained the +crest of the next billow, I made a desperate exertion +to shout both louder and quicker.</p> + +<p>"Hillo!—hillo!—hillo-o-o!" I frantically cried.</p> + +<p>I was still prolonging the sound when the comb of +a wave went over me, and half blinded as well as +smothered, I was tumbled headlong down into the +trough of the sea, which I reached more dead than +alive. I was still so exhausted when I rose on the +next billow that I could not speak.</p> + +<p>With agony inexpressible I now saw myself nearly +abreast of the frigate. Another descent, another mad +whirl upward, and I found her shooting from me. I +was now almost delirious with despair,</p> + +<p>"Hillo!—ahoy!" I cried. "Oh! for the love of +God, hear me!"</p> + +<p>I fancied I saw a look-out turn toward me. I +knew he must have heard me. If I could have remained +on the top of that surge an instant longer his +eye would have fallen on me; but the insatiate gulf +demanded me, and seized in the embraces of the pitiless +waters, I was hurried downward to darkness and +death.</p> + +<p>When I next rose to the light of day, the man-of-war +was fast receding. I was so utterly drenched, +so breathless from being nearly smothered, that I +could not raise my voice above that of a child, and +hence failed to attract the attention of the look-out +whom I still saw gazing in search of me. May +Heaven grant that none who read these words may +ever experience feelings similar to mine at that moment! +In another instant I had recovered my voice, +but the frigate was now out of hearing.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, just as I was giving way to despair, I +saw in the distance a large ship driving before the +gale, under a reefed maintop-sail and storm stay-sail. +She was heading directly toward me. This afforded +a new gleam of hope. If I could but arrest her attention, +I thought I should be rescued. I forgot that it +would be first necessary to throw her into the wind, +and that the risk of her broaching-to in this manœuvre +would probably prevent her paying any attention +to my cries.</p> + +<p>On she came, racing like some mad courser, yet +riding the gigantic billows buoyantly as a bird. Now +half enveloped in the driving foam—now rolling her +vast yard-arms almost to the water—now showing +her keel as far back as the dripping fore-chains, she +presented a spectacle of the most terrible sublimity. +The scene around, too, added to the awful majesty of +the picture. Just as she rose on a colossal wave, in +the trough of which I was buried an immense distance +beneath her, a flash of lightning blazed across +her track, while, at the same instant, the clouds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span> +rolled away behind her, as if lifted like a curtain, +and the sun burst forth in all his glory. Never shall +I forget the sight! The after part of the gallant ship +was buried in the crest of the wave, which, beating +over her quarter, flew into the maintop itself. Her +fore part had outrun the billow, and hung for a second +suspended over the abyss. Then, like a falcon stooping +from its height, she swooped down into the gulf, +the wild waters roaring after her, like wolves in pursuit +of their prey.</p> + +<p>She was somewhat to leeward of me, but nevertheless +I shouted with all my might, again and again.</p> + +<p>It was in vain. Her crew clinging to the rigging, +were all engaged each in his own preservation, and +no more noticed the half-buried figure calling to them, +than they observed the sea-bird that, like an <i>avant +courier</i>, swept the billow before them. I shouted, I +shrieked, I waved my arm frantically over my head. +But all to no purpose. I heard the fierce bubbling of +the waters as the mighty ship tore through them close +at hand; I caught a glimpse of the pale and terrified +faces of her crew, gleaming out in the angry light of +the setting sun: and then the vision passed, a Titanic +wave upheaved between us, and I was alone.</p> + +<p>Alone on the illimitable ocean! Alone while night +was drawing on! Alone with no chance of escape +remaining! Far, far to leeward, just visible occasionally +over the distant surges, I saw my own vessel; +but, except this, the horizon was now without a +speck.</p> + +<p>I burst into tears. The tension of my nerves had +been unnatural; they now gave way: and, as I saw +nothing but death before me, I wept like a child. +Yet still it was the thought of my mother that affected +me, not any consideration of self. My whole past +life rushed in review before me. I saw myself at +my mother's knee looking and wondering as she +taught me to pray. I was a boy going to school, +now chasing a butterfly, now watching the angler +from the village bridge, but ever loitering on my way. +I saw my little sister die, and after her, one by one, +in that season of terrible epidemic, my four brothers. +I followed my father to the grave, the last victim of +that pestilence: I wept with my surviving parent: I +promised always to stay by her: I was her all in all. +And then, with the flight of years, came other pictures. +I was older and more adventurous, but, I +fear, not wiser nor better. A strange longing for the +sea had seized me. I had secretly joined a ship sailing +to the Mediterranean, and was now on my return. +But, alas! I was never to see that happy +home again. The avenging bolt of God had overtaken +me. No mother would ever weep above my +ashes, no kind hand would deck the sod with flowers. +My doom was to be tossed to and fro, midway down +the depths of ocean, until the trumpet of the arch-angel +should sound.</p> + +<p>The night began to close in. Darker and darker +the shades of evening fell around the waste of waters, +and the wind, as it went by, seemed moaning my +requiem. Occasionally the lightning threw a ghastly +radiance across the water. I was cold, weary, and +half stupefied. My senses began to desert me. No +longer able to buffet against fate as I had done, I +took in each moment larger draughts of the briny +element. In fact I was drowning. Things actual +and things visionary—the present and the past—began +to commingle in my brain in a wild phantasmagoria. +Faces of childhood, the sweet faces of my +dead brothers and sisters, looked at me from the sky +above; while hideous ones, the countenances seen +in fever-dreams, grinned out from the spray around. +Confused noises, too, were in my ears. There was +music as if from celestial spheres; then notes as if +demons laughed in the gale. Gradually all things, +seen or heard, became more and more indistinct; a +dead blank swum before me, leaving only the sensation +of blackness: and then followed utter forgetfulness, +the stupor of the dead—or rather that trance between +life and death, when the body is exhausted +but the vital spark not yet fled—that one dread pause +between this world and the next.</p> + +<p>I have no recollection of any thing further, until I +was partially roused from my insensibility by a hand +being laid on me. The next instant I was dragged +violently through the water, and thrown on my chest +across some sharp substance, which I concluded was +the gunwale of a boat. I fell with such force as to +eject from me, as from a force-pump, the water I had +swallowed. The excessive pain roused me to more +complete consciousness. I languidly opened my eyes. +I thought I recognized familiar faces: the doubt was +settled immediately by a well known voice.</p> + +<p>"Easy there, Jack—poor fellow! he is almost +gone—now, my hearties!"</p> + +<p>The words were spoken in the kind tone of the +mate. I knew now that I had been picked up by our +ship's boat. She was lying head-on to the waves, +to prevent her being swamped while she took me up. +Obeying the directions of the mate, the men with a +second effort lifted me completely out of the water, +and laid me in the stern-sheets of the boat.</p> + +<p>"How do you feel?" asked the mate. "God help +us, we were looking for you in the wrong direction, +till, all at once, I remembered you ought to be to +windward, and so at last made you out, a mere speck +on the horizon. We had a hard pull to reach you +too! At first I thought we should be swamped. But +here you are safe. And now, lads, give way lustily."</p> + +<p>The crew, at these words, put double strength into +their oars, and away we sped toward the ship. What +a sensation of comfort and security came over me +as I felt the planks under me, and heard the waters, +which, cheated of their prey, followed roaring in our +wake.</p> + +<p>I looked up toward the mate, who, steering with +one hand, was covering me with his jacket with the +other. He was doing it, too, as tenderly as a mother +wraps her babe. Oh! how full my heart was. I +tried to raise myself on my elbow and speak.</p> + +<p>"Nay! shipmate," he said, placing his hand on +my shoulder gently, as if to press me down, "not a +word. You need rest: you were three hours in the +water."</p> + +<p>In truth, this little exertion had made me dizzy. I +heard his words as in a dream, and sunk back, while<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> +all things seemed to whirl around me. I closed my +eyes, and presently, in a whisper, the mate said—</p> + +<p>"He sleeps. I don't think he could have stood it +five minutes longer. Who would have told his +mother?"</p> + +<p>From this time until I woke in my berth, I lay in +a state of profound insensibility. They have since +told me that on reaching the ship they thought me +gone; but that by chafing my limbs, and employing +stringent restoratives they recovered me. I soon +after sunk into a refreshing sleep, and when I woke +in the morning was perfectly well, though weak.</p> + +<p>It was quite dark, it appears, when we reached the +ship, so that if my discovery had come a few minutes +later, it is exceedingly doubtful whether or not I +could have been saved.</p> + +<p>Years have passed since then, and I have rehearsed +my deliverance a hundred times, yet I always shudder +to recall those terrible hours when <span class="smcap">Overboard +in the Gulf</span>.</p> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MY_NATIVE_ISLE" id="MY_NATIVE_ISLE"></a>MY NATIVE ISLE.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY MRS. MARY G. HORSFORD.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My native isle! my native isle!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forever round thy sunny steep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The low waves curl with sparkling foam<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And solemn murmurs deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While o'er the surging waters blue<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The ceaseless breezes throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the grand old woods awake<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An everlasting song.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sordid strife and petty cares<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That crowd the city's street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rush, the race, the storm of Life<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Upon thee never meet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But quiet and contented hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their daily tasks fulfill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And meet with simple hope and trust<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The coming good or ill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The spireless church stands plain and brown<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The winding road beside;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The green graves rise in silence near,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With moss-grown tablets wide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And early on the Sabbath morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Along the flowery sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unfettered souls, with humble prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Go up to worship God.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And dearer far than sculptured fane<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is that gray church to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For in its shade my mother sleeps,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beneath the willow-tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And often when my heart is raised,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By sermon and by song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her friendly smile appears to me<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the seraphic throng.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sunset glow, the moon-lit stream<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Part of my being are;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fairy flowers that bloom and die,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The skies so clear and far.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stars that circle Night's dark brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The winds and waters free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each with a lesson all its own<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are monitors to me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The systems in their endless march<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Eternal truth proclaim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flowers God's love from day to day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In gentlest accents name;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The skies for burdened hearts and faint<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A code of Faith prepare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What tempest ever left the heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Without a blue spot there?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My native isle! my native isle!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In sunnier climes I've strayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But better love thy pebbled beach<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And lonely forest glade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where low winds stir with fragrant breath<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The purple violet's head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the star-grass in the early spring<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Peeps from the sear leaf's bed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I would no more of tears and strife<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Might on thee ever meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when against the tide of years<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This heart has ceased to beat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the green weeping willows bend<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I fain would go to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where waters lave, and winds may sweep<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Above my peaceful breast.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SONNET" id="SONNET"></a>SONNET.</h2> + +<h3>SUGGESTED BY THE GREAT MOVEMENTS IN EUROPE.</h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To marshal you, oh army of the Poor!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spirits of the Past have back returned—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They who once toiled for you, though crushed and spurned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Toiled, that while Truth and Freedom evermore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might guard the olive of the lowliest door:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, the Great human Type, for whom men yearned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And longed in prophecy, for you, who mourned:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they, the martyrs, red at every pore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blood-sown Truth of all these mighty dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye have ingarnered, and the fruit appears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nursed unto giant growth to the full days—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, Lebanon is shaken—Isles outspread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the seas are stirred—they who sowed in tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In gladness now the harvest pæan raise.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ROCHESTERS_RETURN" id="ROCHESTERS_RETURN"></a>ROCHESTER'S RETURN.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> + +<h3>OR THE KING OUTWITTED.</h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY JOSEPH A. NUNES.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4> + +<p>"We shall see," gentlemen, said King Charles, as +he strode with a hasty step across the apartment, +"whether my lord of Rochester's presence is as +essential to the court and to the amusement of the +king, as his vanity induces him to suppose."</p> + +<p>"The expression was a thoughtless one," observed +the young Count de Grammont, who was present, +"and doubtless not intended for your majesty's ears."</p> + +<p>"Yet it was made, De Grammont," replied the +king, "and, by the soul of St. Paul! he shall be responsible +for it. Rochester presumes too much on +our clemency, which he has so often experienced, +but which he shall have no reason to slight again."</p> + +<p>"Be merciful, my liege, for the sake of his wit," +said the Duke of Buckingham, with an ill-concealed +smile at the king's petulance.</p> + +<p>"Better he had none, George," replied the king, +"for he knows not how to use it. Odds-fish! he as +essential to Charles as Charles to him! We have +more wits at court, my lords, than Rochester. +There's yourself, Buckingham, and De Grammont, +there, and Killegrew, Sedly, and a dozen others who +can make a pigmy of this Goliah!"</p> + +<p>"But your majesty will limit the period of his disgrace?" +asked De Grammont, who was sincerely +friendly toward the obnoxious earl.</p> + +<p>"We will put this limit to it, and none other," +replied Charles. "When Rochester's wit is seductive +enough to induce his king, personally, to wait +upon him three several times, or to command his +presence at court, then he may return, and not before; +but come, gentleman, we have other things to attend +to this morning without wasting time upon an +ingrate."</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> + +<p>The wittiest man at the wittiest court in Europe—that +of Charles the Second of England—was undoubtedly +John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester; and innumerable +are the anecdotes that have been related +of him in connection with his friend and sovereign, +Charles. Rochester's wit, however, sometimes resulted +in inconvenience to himself, and was occasionally +the means of having him banished from the court. +This circumstance generally occurred at least once +a year, and sometimes oftener, as in seeking amusement +for himself and friends, he held nothing sacred. +Persons and things alike shared his satire and his +wit, and even majesty was not always exempt from +the shafts he lavished so freely on all sides.</p> + +<p>The dialogue detailed in the last chapter was the +result of one of those indiscretions. He had presented +Charles to the court in so very ridiculous a +light, that the monarch became highly incensed, and +banished him from his presence. Rochester, at the +time, happened to be engaged in an intrigue with one +of the maids of honor to the Duchess of York, which +made this interruption to his avocations the more +unpleasant than it otherwise would have been. He +bore it, however, with his usual humor, and left the +court, declaring that his disgrace could not be of long +duration, as he was quite as indispensable to Charles +as Charles was necessary to him, and that within two +months he would be recalled.</p> + +<p>This inconsiderate boast had, as we have seen, +been as inconsiderately repeated to the king, and resulted +in the monarch's declaration that Rochester +should not return to court until his wit had induced +him, Charles, either to wait upon him three several +times, or to command his presence.</p> + +<p>The Count de Grammont took an early opportunity +of communicating this resolution to his friend, and +though he was himself sanguine in his hopes, and +fertile in his invention, he was not a little surprised +at the indifferent, not to say facetious, manner of its +reception by Rochester.</p> + +<p>"I accept his majesty's challenge," exclaimed the +wit, laughing; "and by Miss Hobart's wrinkles, and +the fair Temple's smiles, I swear, I am now disposed +to say that within a single moon our sacred, +sapient king shall command the presence of his most +melancholy subject; ay, and wait upon him, too."</p> + +<p>"Be not too confident, <i>mon chere ami</i>" said De +Grammont, "for this time, for a wonder, our Charles +is serious, and he must work deeply and sharply +who outwits him."</p> + +<p>"But he shall be outwitted, O, most unbelieving +of infidels!" cried Rochester, "if thou wilt only +prove true to me."</p> + +<p>"Thou hast me as sure as thy blade," replied the +count.</p> + +<p>"Then within a month," said the earl, "the smiles +of Rochester shall once more illuminate the court; +and those who sigh in sadness now shall confess that +the sun shone not during his absence. Do you but +second my projects, and obey my behests, and Charles +shall admit that he is no match for Rochester."</p> + +<p>"But whither go you now to banishment?" asked +De Grammont, as Rochester rose to leave him.</p> + +<p>"You shall hear from me anon," replied the earl; +"I go to make an actress of my lady's maid, and to +study snares for the king."</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> + +<p>Rochester left London for a day or two to conceal +the traces of his whereabouts; but disguising himself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> +completely, and assuming the habit of a simple +citizen, he soon returned, and selected an ostensible +residence, where he intended, for the time, to appear +in the character he had adopted.</p> + +<p>Chance, in this vagary, had given to Rochester, as +a host, a gentleman and a soldier, who had once been +an equal and a companion.</p> + +<p>A cavalier officer, and one of the most devoted to +his king, Colonel Boynton, had fought in almost +every battle against the troops of the parliament, and +distinguished himself sufficiently in several to attract +the royal notice, and to elicit the commendation of +his king. With the loss of the royal cause, Colonel +Boynton retired, wounded both in person and in fortune, +to private life, where, in the society of his +wife and infant daughter, he strove to forget the +downfall of the unfortunate though guilty Charles, +and the ruin of his family.</p> + +<p>The triumph of the parliamentary cause still further +affected Boynton's fortunes; yet, when some years +after he knew that the sons of his royal master were +fugitives in a foreign land, and in pecuniary distress, +he did not hesitate to impoverish himself in order to +minister to their necessities; trusting to Providence +and his own exertions for his immediate wants, and +to the re-establishment of the monarchy and the royal +gratitude for his future fortune.</p> + +<p>Colonel Boynton had lived to see the son of the +First Charles ascend the throne; but his just expectations, +with regard to his own fortune, had not been +realized. Too proud to present himself to the royal +notice to claim the reward of his services, and the +return of his advances, when he thought that gratitude +required he should be sought out, he languished, +with his daughter, who had now grown up to be a +beautiful maiden, neglected and unnoticed in a condition +not many degrees removed from absolute +want; struggling for the means of existence, and +cherishing each hour increased feelings of bitterness +against the king and the court.</p> + +<p>It was with Colonel Boynton that Rochester now +took up his abode, nor was it long before he recognized +the heroic soldier of former times; and wild, +reckless and dissipated as Rochester was, he could +not help deeply sympathizing with the condition of +Boynton, and determining to assist in having justice +done to him. But from the Colonel himself he met +with an impediment he had not expected; for when, +in his assumed character, (Rochester did not disclose +himself,) he suggested the king's ignorance of +his existence and urged him to present himself to the +monarch's notice, the old soldier unhesitatingly and +indignantly refused, alleging proudly, that it was not +for him personally to quicken the king's memory, +adding, that if his services could be so easily forgotten, +he was satisfied they should forever remain +in oblivion.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding this unexpected obstinacy the +earl resolved to serve the veteran and his motherless +child, and he conceived a plot at the same time, by +which he purposed making the colonel's history subservient +to his design of outwitting the Merry +Monarch.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4> + +<p>A fortnight had hardly elapsed since the retirement +of Rochester from court, when the reputation +of a German doctor—said to be a wonderful astrologist—began +to be generally noised about. He had +located himself, on his arrival, in an obscure corner +of the city of London, and his practice was at first +confined to valets, waiting-maids, and such like persons; +but so astounding and veracious had been his +disclosures to these, that his fame rapidly reached +the upper circles, and aroused the curiosity of the +lords and ladies of the court. No sooner had he obtained +this run of custom than he became a made +man, with every prospect of a speedy fortune before +him; for the displays of his art, with which he had +petrified his more humble patrons, carried no less +astonishment amongst the more fashionable ones, +who at first affected to disbelieve in it, and who +originally sought only to while away the tedium of +an idle hour by laughing at the grossness of his impositions. +But he had overwhelmed them with consternation +by his knowledge, and his information of +the intrigues with which they were all more or less +connected; he covered them with confusion for themselves, +at the same time that they could not withhold +their admiration of his skill. He was quickly esteemed +a wonderful man, to whom all hidden things were +open, and who could decipher the pages of the past +and future as readily as he could read the events +which were transpiring around him.</p> + +<p>Now to pretend that any supernatural powers had +been displayed by the learned astrologer, Doctor +Herman Von Lieber, (for that was the name under +which this tenth wonder suffered himself to be known,) +would, perhaps, be going too far; though it was certain +that he possessed a knowledge of persons, and +of the history of individuals who sought him, that +was really startling; and if we consider that the +development of personal matters of scandal, which +we thought confined to our own breasts, is more +apt to astound us than effects which are positively +inexplicable and beyond the reach of human ken, +we will not be surprised at the celebrity which our +astrologer suddenly acquired.</p> + +<p>All the court was in commotion at his disclosures, +and the royal curiosity had been excited.</p> + +<p>Late one afternoon the Chevalier de Grammont +proposed to the king the idea of disguising themselves +and paying a visit to the astrologer, who had created +so great a sensation; and the monarch, who was +anxious that the time until evening—when he, with +the chevalier, had a new adventure to inspire them—should +pass rapidly away, consented readily to the +suggestion.</p> + +<p>At the residence of the astrologer they found all +the arrangements of the most singular character. +They were met at the door by a couple of Ethiopeans, +fantastically dressed, who conducted them, +without question, through a suit of dim-looking +apartments to one which would have been quite +dark, had its gloom not been relieved by a few +small antique lamps, whose light barely sufficed +to disclose the necromantic arrangements of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> +the room and the untranslatable hieroglyphics +around.</p> + +<p>After bidding them be seated, one of the blacks +approached a strange-looking table, and rang a +small silver bell, then lighting another lamp, which +in burning dispersed an aroma through the room, +he, with his companion, left our adventurers to +themselves.</p> + +<p>"Odds-fish, De Grammont," exclaimed the king, +as the door closed, "the sorcerer knows enough of +human nature to commence his tricks by astonishing +the outward senses, thereby rendering the conquest +of the intellectual man the more simple."</p> + +<p>"This looks necromancy, certainly;" replied De +Grammont, "but let us see further before we confess +ourselves bewitched, even by so great an adept."</p> + +<p>At this moment a door at the further end of the +apartment opened, and a tall, stately, venerable +looking man entered. His dress was almost grotesque, +but there was a certain dignity about it +which redeemed it from being entirely so. It was +surmounted by a magnificent robe trimmed with +sables and decorated with a variety of unknown +orders. Upon his head he wore a richly wrought +velvet cap, from beneath which his long silvery hair +escaped and reached quite down to his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Men seek me," said the astrologer, (for it was +him) "but for two purposes: either to have the past +rehearsed to them, or to lift the veil of time and unravel +the mysteries of the future. For which of +these do you come?"</p> + +<p>"Most learned doctor," said Charles, smiling at +his companion, "we come for both purposes; but +more especially are we here to test that wisdom, the +reputation of which has reached the four corners of +the earth and filled the most profound with wonder."</p> + +<p>"You sneer, my son," observed the doctor, gravely, +"but nevertheless your wishes shall be gratified, +for even a skeptic may be made a believer. Shall I +expound the past to you?"</p> + +<p>"First enlighten my incredulous companion as to +his fate," replied Charles, "and then I will judge +how far you can speak of mine."</p> + +<p>"Give me the hour of your birth," said the doctor, +turning to De Grammont, "and I will consult the +stars in reference to your fortune."</p> + +<p>De Grammont did as he was desired, and the +astrologer left the apartment. In a few moments he +returned.</p> + +<p>"You are not what you seem!" he said, seating +himself, and addressing De Grammont.</p> + +<p>"Pray heaven you prove me no worse," replied +De Grammont, laughing; "I am a thriving merchant, +though I would fain be a lord or a duke."</p> + +<p>"The merchandise you deal in," said the astrologer, +"is to be found in the mart of fashion, where +frailty, unrebuked, boldly lifts its head by the side +of innocence, making the latter undistinguishable +Thou hast naught to do with those wares that make +a nation's commerce."</p> + +<p>De Grammont laughed as he asked him of his +parentage and past fortune.</p> + +<p>"You are nobly derived," replied the astrologer: +"you have been the companion of kings."</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut!" exclaimed Charles, "thy art discloses +naught. Thou wilt surely make me an emperor if +my friend is already the companion of kings."</p> + +<p>After a few more questions, which were as +shrewdly answered by the adept, it became the +disguised monarch's turn to learn his fate.</p> + +<p>"Yours has been a checkered life," the doctor +said, when he had, as before, consulted the stars. +"The planets show that you have been beset by as +many and as great vicissitudes even as the monarch +now seated upon England's throne, and that thou +hast profited as little by them."</p> + +<p>Charles exchanged a smile with De Grammont, as +he said—</p> + +<p>"I thought you had a throne reserved for me, +though I fear me 'tis in the moon it must be fixed. +Prove but your words, however, and thou shalt be +my chief favorite."</p> + +<p>"That," replied the astrologer, "is too precarious +a place for me. They say that Rochester is banished +from King Charles's court, and what hope could I +have of pleasing if he could be dispensed with? +Nevertheless, I'll prove my words."</p> + +<p>"Tell me, then, of the present," said Charles.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you of a war, and a concluded treaty of +peace, that the world knows not yet of."</p> + +<p>"With what nation, most sapient sir?" asked the +monarch, laughing.</p> + +<p>"With a woman!" replied the doctor. "There +is one, who this morning was styled a countess, and, +as such, waged war against you; the preliminaries +of peace have been signed, and she is now the +Duchess of Cleveland, for which concession she has +consented to abjure the society of St. Albans' +nephew, Jermyn, and to meddle no more with his +Majesty's passion for the pretty Stewart!"</p> + +<p>"Thou dealest with the devil!" exclaimed the +monarch, startled into an awkward admission.</p> + +<p>"<i>I deal with the stars</i>," replied the doctor, gravely, +"<i>and they are unerring guides</i>."</p> + +<p>"Let them speak of the future, then, and perchance +I may think so."</p> + +<p>"There is a bird a monarch seeks to cage, though +the trembler knows him not. This night he hies to +her bower in a strange habit, and hopes to win her +thence; but let him take heed that more eyes look +not on him than the young bird's; she may escape, +and he be unmasked."</p> + +<p>"Odds my life! my friend, I think thou knowest +me," cried Charles, laughing, as he drew a purse +from his belt.</p> + +<p>"The stars proclaim thee England's king," replied +the astrologer, as he bent his knee to the monarch.</p> + +<p>Charles satisfied himself by asking a few more +questions, then threw the doctor his purse, and, bidding +him come to the palace to receive another, he +departed.</p> + +<p>The doctor reseated himself, and taking off his +cap and venerable wig he disclosed the now easily +recognized features of the Earl of Rochester.</p> + +<p>Rochester indulged in a hearty fit of laughter, as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span> +muttered to himself,—"Already you have been outwitted +once, friend Charles, thanks to De Grammont's +aid, and shall be thrice, or Rochester will +confess himself a fool, and unworthy to be recalled."</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER V.</h4> + +<p>When Rochester casually stopped, an hour after +the king's visit, at the humble residence of Colonel +Boynton, he was surprised to find much confusion +there. Two rough-looking strangers seemed to +have taken possession of the apartment usually +occupied by the veteran. The unfortunate old man +stood passive, cold, and immoveable, while his +pretty daughter Margaret hung round his neck, +weeping bitterly, and pleading alternately with him +and with the strangers, who—the instruments of a +flinty-hearted creditor—seemed quite unmoved by +her touching sorrow.</p> + +<p>"What is this, my good friend?" asked Rochester, +taking the colonel by the hand.</p> + +<p>"'Tis nothing," he replied, with a quivering lip, +as he turned his gaze upon his daughter; "I have +been deficient in punctuality to an impatient creditor, +and he thinks the discipline of a prison may +quicken my memory and resources."</p> + +<p>"Out upon him, the hard-hearted knave!" exclaimed +Rochester, "he should have his ears slit to +teach him better manners."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, speak to them!" cried Margaret, pointing +to the officers; "they refuse to let me bear my +poor father company."</p> + +<p>Rochester took the commitment from one of the +men, and glancing at the amount of the debt, proceeded +at once to liquidate it from the king's +purse.</p> + +<p>"Hold, sir!" said Boynton, interposing. "I thank +you from my soul for your intentions, but I cannot +consent to receive charity from mortal man."</p> + +<p>"I had no thought of charity, my excellent friend," +said Rochester; "'tis only to exchange places with +your creditor that I intend, and shall, at your earliest +convenience, expect payment at your hands.—Think," +he added in a lower tone, "of this fair girl, +and leave not her youth and inexperience exposed +to the temptations and corruptions by which she +would be surrounded in your absence."</p> + +<p>This argument was too powerful to be resisted. +The gallant old colonel shook his friend's offered +hand, as he suffered him to pay the debt, and dismiss +the myrmidons of the law.</p> + +<p>"I say it is no obligation," Rochester observed, in +reply to the veteran's reiterated acknowledgments; +"fortune has smiles in store for you yet, nor will +they be withheld much longer. I must leave you +now, though," he said, smiling at a passing idea, +"for I have this night to superintend the planetary +influences, in order to prevent the prognostications of +the stars from failing."</p> + +<p>The colonel looked after him as he departed, but +without comprehending a word of his astrological +remarks.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER VI.</h4> + +<p>In a house remote from the one in which King +Charles experienced his last adventure with the pretended +astrologer, he sat again, disguised in the undress +uniform of a naval officer, with his arm +encircling the neat waist of a remarkably pretty +girl.</p> + +<p>She affected to allow this liberty reluctantly, yet +there was that in her large black eyes and mischief-loving +countenance which contradicted the attempted +coyness she at first evinced.</p> + +<p>"So, they call thee Margaret?" said the king, as +he leaned his face against her curls.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Master Stuart."</p> + +<p>"And thou art poor, Margaret?"</p> + +<p>"Alas! yes," she replied, "my father was once a +royalist officer, and rich; but the civil wars and his +sacrifices for his king left him penniless and friendless."</p> + +<p>"It has been the fate of many besides him," the +monarch observed. "Those same wars were, at +one time, the ruin of my own family. But thou, +Margaret, shalt be poor no longer. Thou shalt leave +this home of penury with me, and I will make thee +rich."</p> + +<p>"Nay, sir," she said, as he attempted to kiss her, +"be not so tender with your kindness. I fear already +thy sympathy and its motive."</p> + +<p>"Fear nothing from me, pretty one," said Charles, +clasping her closely to him.</p> + +<p>"Why are we here alone?" she asked, seeming +to realize, and be startled at the idea, for the first +time; "where is the friend who introduced you—where +is Master Granby?"</p> + +<p>"He will be here anon, pretty Margaret," replied +the king, "his own affairs have called him hence for +a time. Heed him not, though, my sweet trembler, +my Peri of perfection, my Houri of Paradise! thou +art safe with me, and with me thou shalt hie away +to regions where love will smile upon thee, and +gold will pour in perpetual showers in thy lap."</p> + +<p>The monarch became so inexpressibly tender that +the maiden, in her own defence, was compelled to +scream. After a moment's lapse an approaching step +upon the stairs warned the precipitate lover to defer +the prosecution of his suit to a more auspicious occasion. +He hastened to the door, but, to his astonishment, +found it fastened, and on trying the window, +that, too, had been externally cared for.</p> + +<p>"De Grammont has betrayed me!" he exclaimed, +as he drew a concealed pistol from his belt and prepared +to confront the coming danger.</p> + +<p>His apprehensions, were, however, groundless, +for the only person who entered the room was a tall, +athletic looking old woman, in her night dress, +wearing a remarkably heavy pair of shoes. She +placed her candle upon the table and walked deliberately +up to where the young girl was sitting. +Seeing her she started back in astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Are you here, Margaret?" she exclaimed; "beshrew +me, I thought thee asleep two good hours ago, +instead of throwing thy company away upon a young +man, and a stranger. Away with you, mistress, to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> +your bed! You are unworthy to be called your +father's daughter."</p> + +<p>"Nay, good dame, be not so hard with pretty Margaret," +said Charles, as he saw the young girl leaving +the room with her handkerchief to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Out upon thee, sirrah, for a knave!" retorted the +old woman; "I'll see directly who thou art, sir +jack-a-napes. To thy chamber, Miss, and thank +Heaven for thy father's misfortune, which prevented +his being here this night."</p> + +<p>When the girl had gone, she took up the light, and +approaching the king, scrutinized him closely from +head to foot.</p> + +<p>"Well, mother," he said, as he suffered her to proceed +with the examination, "find you aught here to +fear?"</p> + +<p>She was gazing at the moment at his face, and she +started back as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Much, much to fear!" she replied, "for I see +here the features of a king! When we find the wolf +in the sheepfold we may slay him, but who dare approach +the 'lion!'</p> + +<p>The king was filled with amazement at being recognised; +but without suffering his surprise to be +evident, he endeavored to ridicule the assertion.</p> + +<p>"True, dame," he remarked, "they call me the +king of good fellows; but as for a lion, the comparison +is somewhat strained; it would be more apt +with a longer-eared animal, for suffering myself to +be trapped thus sillily."</p> + +<p>The old woman seized his hand, and after pointing +to the royal signet, dropped it.</p> + +<p>"Charles Stuart, King of England, thou canst not +deceive me!"</p> + +<p>"Faith," said the king, laughing, "methinks this +is another astrologer in petticoats!"</p> + +<p>"And is it to his king," exclaimed the old woman, +reproachfully, "that the unfortunate Colonel Boynton +is indebted for a base attempt upon his daughter's +honor, at the very moment when he himself is the +tenant of a prison for having, by his loyalty, impoverished +himself! Is this the reward for the blood +he has shed, and the honorable wounds he has received +in fighting your battles, and for hastening to offer you +his last penny in a foreign land, even when his own +family was persecuted and destitute at home!"</p> + +<p>"Colonel Boynton!" cried Charles, as the old +woman concluded; "surely not the brave Boynton +who served so nobly at Edge Hill, Naseby, and Worcester, +and who came to relieve his royal master's +wants when he was a wanderer and an outcast +among strangers? This cannot be his child, nor can +he be living. They told me years since, when I +caused inquiry to be made for him, that he was +dead."</p> + +<p>"He knew not that his king had ever sought for +him," the old woman said; "he thought his services +and his sacrifices in the past had been willfully forgotten, +and his proud spirit scorned to thrust unpleasant +recollections upon you."</p> + +<p>"Poor Boynton! poor Boynton!" exclaimed +Charles, "this has, indeed, been ingratitude to one +of the most deserving and faithful of my subjects. +Said you, my good woman, that he is now in a prison, +and for debt?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, my good lord."</p> + +<p>"There, there!" said Charles, hastily handing her +a weighty purse, "see that he is relieved at once—this +night, if it be possible—and bid him in the morning +wait upon his king, whose greatest regret is that +he has not met with him sooner."</p> + +<p>"Will your majesty <i>write</i> your request for him +to come to the palace? he may be somewhat skeptical +of your royal solicitude."</p> + +<p>"Assuredly," replied the king, as he took up a pen +from the table and drew a sheet of paper toward +him; "and do you also bear him company."</p> + +<p>"Add, then, if your majesty pleases, that you desire +the <i>bearer</i> also to appear."</p> + +<p>The king looked at her an instant, then did as she +suggested.</p> + +<p>"And now, dame," said he, "relieve me from my +durance, and allow me to depart."</p> + +<p>She hastily unfastened the door, and the king +passed out. "Be sure," said he, as he lingered a +moment at the threshold, "that you bring my pretty +Margaret with you; her fortunes, too, must be advanced +at court."</p> + +<p>The old woman, after carefully fastening the door, +threw herself into a chair, and gave vent to a hearty +burst of laughter.</p> + +<p>"There, Nancy, you can come down," exclaimed +the familiar voice of Rochester, as the figure of the +quondam Margaret appeared again upon the stairs. +"Thou art a good girl, and I will make thee a +capital actress yet. Old Rowley has again been +outwitted!"</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER VII.</h4> + +<p>The next morning three strangers—two old men +and a young girl—were admitted to the palace of +Whitehall, on showing the king's order to that effect, +but only one of the men was immediately conducted +to the king's presence.</p> + +<p>The Count de Grammont, (who had made his peace +for his seeming desertion of the previous evening,) +Lord Arlington, and Sir Charles Sedly, were with +the king when Colonel Boynton was announced.</p> + +<p>The old man knelt at the monarch's feet, and +taking his hand, kissed it fervently.</p> + +<p>"Rise, my gallant old friend, rise!" said Charles, +assisting him as he spoke; "it gives us joy to see +one so faithful, and so long neglected, once more +near our person. Our greatest grief is that so tried +a servant, and so brave an officer as Colonel Boynton +should have been in adversity and we not know even +of his existence; but you shall be cared for, my old +friend, and the future shall prove to you that Charles +knows how to be grateful to those who have served +him when he most needed services."</p> + +<p>"Your majesty is over bountiful to one who +wronged you by supposing you capable of injustice. +For this I crave your royal pardon, and also for +another and more heinous offence."</p> + +<p>"Thou hast it," replied the king, "even if the +offence be treason against ourself."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is the offence of having imposed upon my +sovereign," exclaimed a voice that made the king +start, while Rochester, ridding himself of his disguise, +knelt before him.</p> + +<p>"By my life, it is Rochester!" cried the king, +starting back from the prostrate earl, while every +one present, except De Grammont, was filled with +amazement at the sudden transformation of Colonel +Boynton.</p> + +<p>Charles was at first disposed to laugh, but recollecting +his outraged dignity, he restrained himself, +and addressed his banished courtier in terms of considerable +severity.</p> + +<p>"This presumption, my Lord Rochester," said he, +"ill becomes you; nor can the insult to your king +be easily atoned for."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, my liege—" Rochester commenced.</p> + +<p>"By what authority," said the king, interrupting +him, "have you ventured to intrude yourself upon +our presence, contrary to our express commands?"</p> + +<p>"Simply by this, my gracious liege," replied the +earl, handing the paper he had received the previous +evening, and pointing to the word <i>bearer</i>.</p> + +<p>"That, sir, was given to another, and a worthier +person than the Earl of Rochester."</p> + +<p>"I might, your majesty," said Rochester, lowering +his voice, and approaching nearer to the king, "defend +myself from the insinuation, but I am prevented +by a powerful reason, for, when we find the +wolf in the sheepfold, we may slay him, but who +dare approach the lion."</p> + +<p>Charles was astonished at hearing the old woman's +words repeated, but the fear of his own exposure +somewhat mollified his anger.</p> + +<p>"So, then, thou wert thyself in masquerade?" he +said; "and with whom hast thou dealt to put this +cheat upon me."</p> + +<p>"I deal with the stars," replied the earl, assuming +as nearly as possible the tone of the astrologer, "and +they are unerring guides."</p> + +<p>"Odd-fish, my lord," exclaimed Charles, now +laughing heartily, "and were you the necromancer, +too?"</p> + +<p>"And Colonel Boynton, too, my liege; and all for +the purpose of inducing your majesty to keep your +royal word, which said, 'When Rochester's wit is +seductive enough to induce his king, personally, to +wait upon him three several times, or to command +his presence at court, then he may return.'"</p> + +<p>"I think, my lords, I have been fairly caught," +said the king, smiling, and speaking to those around +him, "and to keep my word inviolate, must permit +Rochester's return."</p> + +<p>"To prove that I am not ungrateful for your +majesty's goodness," observed the earl, "I am prepared +to produce the objects of your solicitude—Colonel +Boynton and his fair daughter—they wait +your royal pleasure."</p> + +<p>On the introduction of the venerable colonel and +the pretty Margaret, the king whispered to Rochester, +"Surely, my lord, this is not the girl I saw last +night?"</p> + +<p>"No, your majesty," replied the earl, "she was +a pupil of my own."</p> + +<p>Charles, in a few words, satisfied Colonel Boynton +that the neglect of his faithful services had been +owing entirely to misapprehension. He gave him at +once a position which secured him against future +reverses; nor was it long before his interesting +daughter found a husband worthy of her choice.</p> + +<p>Rochester's Protean exploits afforded amusement to +the court for some time. Charles bore the raillery he +heard around him philosophically, and good humoredly +admitted that he had been completely outwitted.</p> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LOVE_THY_MOTHER_LITTLE_ONE" id="LOVE_THY_MOTHER_LITTLE_ONE"></a>LOVE THY MOTHER, LITTLE ONE.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY RICHARD COE, JR.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love thy mother, little one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love her tenderly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clasp thy little arms around her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a holy tie hath bound her—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bound her close to thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love thy mother, little one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love her tenderly!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love thy mother, little one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love her earnestly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gaze into her eyes, and see there—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All that thou couldst hope to be there—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Warmest love for thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love thy mother, little one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love her earnestly!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love thy mother, little one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love her fervently;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By thy couch she kneeleth nightly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, with hands enclaspéd tightly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Prayeth, love, for thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love thy mother, little one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love her fervently!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love thy mother, little one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love her tenderly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clasp thy little arms around her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a holy tie hath bound her—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bound her close to thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love thy mother, little one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love her tenderly!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_EARLY_CALLED" id="THE_EARLY_CALLED"></a>THE EARLY CALLED.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span> + +<h3>A SKETCH.</h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY MRS. FRANCES B. M. BROTHERSON.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And were not these high words to flow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From woman's breaking heart?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through all that night of bitterest wo<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She bore her lofty part;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, oh! with such a glazing eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With such a curdling cheek—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love, love! of mortal agony<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou—only thou shouldst speak. <span class="smcap">Mrs. Hemans.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As their hearts—their way was one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cannot be divided. <span class="smcap">Joanna Baillie.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>A child of seven summers reclined upon a couch. +Suffering and disease had so enfeebled his naturally +fragile frame, that his thin hand could scarcely sustain +a bunch of roses, which his young sister Lillias +had culled for him, from his own rose-tree; the tree +that it had been his joy and pride to attend to, when +in health. He hard marked, delighted, the first green +leaf that in the spring-time burst from its wintry repose, +and very joyously he clapped his little hands +when a streak of crimson peered out from the first +bud. He dreamed not, amid his happiness, that the +Angel of Death should steal around him before its +bright hue faded, nor that others should bud and blossom—to +wither upon his grave. Even thus it was.</p> + +<p>Willie M—— was a child of unusual feeling and +sensibility, his young face often shadowing forth +strange, sad feelings—feelings that seldom exist, save +in the heart of maturer years. I have seen him gaze +upward to the bright blue sky with delight, as though +his childish ken could pierce the clouds, and commune +with the intelligences of Heaven; and a flower—a +murmuring rill—a boundless flow of water—silvery +stars—and gentle winds—failed not to arouse +enthusiastic emotions in his young heart, at which +many marveled. "None knew him but to love him," +and in his walks with "dear papa, sweet mamma, +and darling Lillias," many an eye followed him with +blessings. "Ah," said an aged one, whom he had +cheered with sunny smiles and artless conversation, +"few will be the years of Willie M——; he is one +of God's angels lent to earth!" and her tears fell at +the prophetic thought that even she would live to +see his winsome wee face hid beneath the coffin's lid.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A group of young children stood around his bed, +gazing with fearful wonder on the change that had +been wrought in their loved playmate. He had begged +of his mamma to send for them, that he might +see them once more; and his large, spiritual eye had +looked its welcome on each of that little band. Once +he had hunted with them the early violet in the glade +and dingle; once the echoes of his voice rang merrily +out as they bounded over the greensward in +chase of the bright, illusive butterfly—and his heart +grew sad as he felt that he should be with them no +more. A little hand was laid caressingly upon his +head—it was Gary Lincoln, and as he turned around +to look upon her he saw that her eyes were full of +tears. "Why do you cry, Gary?" said he. "Because +mamma says that you are going away to +Heaven," she replied, "and I cannot bear to think of +it—don't go, Willie, don't go!" and the tears +streamed down her young face like rain. It was her +first sorrow.</p> + +<p>Willie spoke not, but a grieved, yet tender expression +rested on his countenance, and his mamma, +taking a hand of each within her own, told her that +if she were good, if they all were good children, they +should go to Willie—although he might not stay with +them. She told them of the glorious home to which +he was hastening—how happy he would be—never +to suffer more—of the white robe—the starry crown +and the tiny golden harp that should be his—and how +he would be their guardian angel, through day and +hush of night, and how joyfully he would welcome +each one to his happy home.</p> + +<p>That mother's heart was bursting, and yet her absorbing +love for her child nerved her to this, and as +she told of that clime where "the soul wears its +mantle of glory," the little sufferer's eye grew so +intensely bright that it seemed unearthly. Visions +of Heaven seemed opened to his view, and with a +face radiant with delight he clasped his hands, and +said, "Dear mamma, let me go now." "We must +wait, my child, till God sends his angels for you." +"Yes," he murmured, "till the angels come," and +sunk exhausted into a slumber. Slowly and quietly +the children departed—and when next they looked +upon him he was shrouded for the grave. In a few +moments he awoke, and as he missed the little faces +that had been around him, a sad look rested for a moment +upon his face—but in an instant, as his eye +rested on his young sister, he smiled feebly, and exclaimed—"<i>They</i> +are all gone—yet my sweet Lillias +is with me still."</p> + +<p>That night the angels kept vigil around his couch, +and ere morn arose upon the earth the unsullied +spirit was wafted to its native Heaven. Never—never +can <i>that</i> night of Death be effaced from the +tablets of memory—marked as it was by such holy,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span> +heavenly heroism on the part of that fond and devoted +mother. Burning tears were on the father's cheek, +and the young Lillias had sobbed herself into a +feverish slumber, but until life was over <i>the mother</i> +sat by the side of her child, breathing sweet, low +whispers of the Better Land, so soon to be his home. +She faltered not, and although her heart seemed consuming +itself, she would still trace, with an eye of +faith, new rays of comfort for the dying one. She +could not bear to think that his childish heart should +shrink from the grave—nor think of it—invested as +it is so often—with dread and gloom. Thus she sustained +him to the very portals of Heaven, until he +needed earthly consolation no more, until the sheltering +arms of Him received him, who hath said—"Suffer +little children to come unto me, and forbid +them not, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven." +As peacefully as a child sinks to rest on a mother's +bosom, sunk he into Death's embrace.</p> + +<p>The agony of the hour, when it is said of a beloved +one, "he is dead," has never—nor can it be +justly portrayed. Then it is that Hope plumes her +wing and soars afar—then it is the even, the clear +eye of Faith seems dimmed. When the truth burst +upon the mother's heart that her child was no more—when +she felt that her grief had now no power to +afflict the childish heart that had idolized her—then +did the pent up torrents of agony rush forth, crushing +every barrier, and threatening to overwhelm her +soul in their mighty depth. Yet was she comforted—the +glorious imaginings that she had so faithfully +and forcibly portrayed to the dying one had fastened +upon her soul—and when the first wild burst of grief +was over, she turned from the coffined face to the +upper world, as though she would say, "not here—but +there."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Once more a childish group gathered around Willie +M——. His eye smiled no welcome, his hand returned +no pressure, but as he lay enshrouded in the +garments of the grave, methought he was even more +lovely than when his face was glowing with life. A +smile still wreathed the parted lips, as though the +happy spirit had returned to the tenement of clay, +breathing of the blessedness of its glorious home. +Each imprinted a kiss on the placid brow, and as the +icy chill of death met their lips, so full of life and +warmth, the reality of their loss was felt by all. +Gary Lincoln lingered until she placed within those +little hands a cluster of white rose-buds—"Flowers, +pale flowers"—they were love's last gift.</p> + +<p>Now came the hopeless anguish of the last look—the +suspension of almost life, as the dear remains are +lowered to their resting-place—and, worse than all, +the hollow, maddening sound of the falling earth upon +the coffin, sealing the doom of the bereaved, making +complete their misery. They laid him to rest amid +the bloom and shade of Mount Auburn, and his grave +is a shrine around which those who loved him come, +bringing ever with them the offering of gentle +thoughts and pleasant memories of him who sleeps +below. Little hands deck it with garlands, and sweet +Cary Lincoln has placed a tuft of early violets above +the sacred spot—for, said she, "Willie loved violets +so well."</p> + +<p>For months after his death, during the "long bright +summer hours," a child was seen almost daily to +visit his grave, lingering when all had gone. It was +Lillias—and I thought if the departed spirit were +hovering near, how often it would echo those words, +"<i>They</i> are all gone, yet <i>thou</i>, my sweet Lillias, art +with me still."</p> + +<p>One year had elapsed, and a funeral train wound +again through Mount Auburn, pausing at the grave +of Willie. Lillias was no more. She ceased not to +mourn for her brother, and during her last illness she +spoke of little, save that she should find him in +heaven. Once more that angel-mother sat by a +dying child, breathing words of holy hope and trust, +and her eye grew bright, and her heart was warm, +as she spoke of a joyful reunion in heaven.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," said the child, "we will keep a place +for you and dear papa, and will you come soon?"</p> + +<p>Years have since passed, but often at the holy twilight +hour those gentle children are with me still; +and when my rapt soul pierces the azure vault, I +seem to see Willie in angel robes, and listen, entranced, +to the tones of spirit-melody from his tiny +golden harp—a form as radiant as his own is ever +near him, and I fancy, as I mark the delighted look +that ever greets a seraph strain from the beloved lips, +that I hear in sweet tones, "<i>thou, my sweet Lilias, +art with me still</i>."</p> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_CHRISTIAN_HEROS_EPITAPH" id="THE_CHRISTIAN_HEROS_EPITAPH"></a>THE CHRISTIAN HERO'S EPITAPH.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Say, doth the sculptor's ready tool engrave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A <i>mournful</i> stanza o'er a <i>conqueror's</i> grave?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or bid the willow bend, or cypress twine?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or doleful tokens to his fame combine?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then trace no saddening sentence o'er the place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where rests the victor in a heavenward race;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meeter the laurel and the trumpet-strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For one who fought a fadeless crown to gain!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bring the memorials of a warrior true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The "sword," the "helmet," and the "breast-plate" too;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Write on the marble that by <i>these</i> he won,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bid the gazer do as he hath done!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Write of his faith; how humble, yet how bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Diffusing round a clear and heavenly light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Write of his zeal; how quenchlessly it burned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How many a wanderer to the skies it turned!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, mourner, when thou comest with a tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love's costless tribute to remembrance dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bend there thy trembling knee upon the sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lift thy homage to the conqueror's God!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_LADY_OF_FERNHEATH" id="THE_LADY_OF_FERNHEATH"></a>THE LADY OF FERNHEATH.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY MARY SPENCER PEASE.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<h4>CHAPTER I.</h4> + +<h5>ISOLETH.</h5> + +<p>How shall I describe her? Who ever described +the sun, or one of the glorious stars, or the white, +witching moon; or who, even the least and simplest +of the exquisitely, perfectly fashioned wild-flowers, +that grow upon the humblest road-side? If these +are indescribable, how much more so, in its highest +perfection, is the most beautiful, most perfect of all +God's beautiful, perfect creations—woman? Who +ever depicted her one half as lovely and loving as +she is? Who ever, amid all the wild, rapturous +praise that has been so profusely lavished upon her, +said one half that is her due for her truth and gentleness +and beauty, her untiring devotion, her unwearying +patience, her ever unselfish forgetfulness of self, +her—,but what has been so many times vainly attempted, +<i>I</i> cannot accomplish. How, then, shall I +describe thee, beautiful Isoleth? Loveliest, lovingest, +glowing, glorious Lady Isoleth! Bright Lady Isoleth!—wild +as a hawk, and beautiful as Love. Thy +every motion was grace, thine every look was truth. +Bewitching little Isoleth! Her form was as lithe and +flexible as a willow bough, and light and graceful as +a young fawn's. Her queenly little head sat most +proudly upon the daintiest, softest, whitest neck +and bosom you ever saw. Two deep wells of light +and love were her eyes, revealing every feeling of +her beautiful soul. When she was sad, they looked +out, half shut, through their long shining lashes, +dewy, dark and tender; and when her mood grew +merry, they danced in very joy. None yet agreed +on their color. One would have sworn they were +the softest, warmest brown—he saw them only when +they were looking love, and he was—but of him +anon. Another would have told you they were pure, +clear blue—but he was the Lady Isoleth's confessor, +with her when her thoughts dwelt upon things holy. +By turns were they violet and gray, and all imaginable +colors, in fact, except, indeed, green, or any +other such unrighteous shade that eyes sometimes +take upon themselves. Then her little, ripe, tempting +mouth—ah! was it not just the mouth one loves +to kiss? small, dimpled, with soft, rose-red lips; and +tremulous ever—trembling with the love and gladness +that filled her young heart. Most beautiful was +the Lady Isoleth of Fernheath.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER II.</h4> + +<h5>THE BIRTH-DAY.</h5> + +<p>"My lady!" exclaimed a bustling, good-natured +little old body, entering the room, which Wilhelm +Gottfried, Baron of Arnhiem—the Lady Isoleth's +uncle and guardian—ever pleased himself with calling +the Lady Isoleth's menagerie, because, forsooth, the +little lady delighted herself with feeding and taming +countless birds that had been brought from all the +known quarters of the globe. "My lady," spoke +she, "do you know that this is your ladyship's birth-day, +that you this day have arrived at an age which +behooves you to put away childish things, and take +upon yourself the cares that belong—"</p> + +<p>"You wise, dear little nurse! don't put on so +much of the awful; don't talk of care, you make +me shiver at the bare idea.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Where the bee sucks, there lurk I:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the cowslip's bell I lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There I couch when owls do cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the bat's back do I fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">After summer merrily,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Merrily, merrily!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And thus merrily sung the little airy Ariel, dancing +around the room, scarce touching the floor as she sung.</p> + +<p>"Bless her light, little, happy heart! What a sin +that love must come, and with love, the self-loving, +proud husband, that will bend that bright will to his +own; and then old age, and care, sure enough, and +wrinkles—and then that light, fairy-bounding step +will be slow and leaden, and that—alas! alas! that +such perfect beauty—!"</p> + +<p>"What is that you are muttering about, nursey +dear? You must not let me see one sad look to-day, +for am I not this day sixteen—bright, merry sixteen!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear lady, sixteen to-day—sixteen to-day;" +and the little dame, recovered from her momentary +sadness, gave her lady a mysterious, quizzical +look, as she once more repeated, "sixteen +to-day!"</p> + +<p>"Well, dear nurse, what would you have me do, +or what shall I leave off from doing, now that I have +grown so exceedingly old?" asked Isoleth, smiling +that precious smile of hers—ten thousand dimples +danced around it—ten thousand loves nestled in each +dimple.</p> + +<p>"Sixteen to-day!" replied the queer little old +body, with what she meant for a very significant +look. "Your guardian, the noble Baron of Arnhiem, +comes this day—"</p> + +<p>"As he does every year to see me, dear nurse, +staying several weeks, sometimes months, with me."</p> + +<p>"He comes not alone this year, my sweet lady," +added the little woman, looking still more significantly.</p> + +<p>"I suppose we shall have my dear prim old maiden +aunt of Hansfeldt, with her snuff and lap-dogs, or is +it my dear, sweet, beautiful cousins Blumine and +Alida? Tell me, nursey, if they are coming. You +shake your head. I guess, then, my proud uncle +and aunt of Allwrath, and my aristocratic cousins, +their haughty sons and daughters?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span></p> + +<p>"None of them, sweet lady—that is, just yet."</p> + +<p>"My beautiful, loving-cousin, Alice of Bernstorf, +who has been living these six years alone and lonely +in her castle with only her younger son and daughters. +Is she or any of hers coming here again? And when +will my cousins of Bernstorf return from those +hideous wars? I have not seen them for so many +years I should not know them."</p> + +<p>"Now, dear lady, you are approaching nearer the +fire, as the children say in the play."</p> + +<p>"You dear, queer little old nurse, don't look so +mystical and mystified, my circle of acquaintance, +by reason of my father's will, is not so very extensive +but that the roll might soon be gone through +with. Come, unfold thy important, mysterious +budget—who is it?"</p> + +<p>"Who should it be, dear lady, but your noble +cousin, Ferdinand, Prince of Bernstorf! My lady, +there is a clause in your father's will, that you were +not to know until your sixteenth birth-day, revealing +a compact between your noble father and your +Cousin Ferdinand, the reigning Duke of Bernstorf, +that gave you as bride to your cousin, Prince Ferdinand +Of Bernstorf. There, now, my lady, 'tis out. +The secret has half-choked me these twelve years."</p> + +<p>"Very kind and considerate in my father; but his +child does not choose to become the bride of any +one just yet, least of all of one old enough to be her +grandfather."</p> + +<p>"Old!" exclaimed the dame, throwing back her +hands in amazement, "Old! why, my dear lady, he +is a mere boy; he will be but twenty-eight—"</p> + +<p>"Twenty-eight! and I sixteen! why they would +have me marry my grandfather." And the little +lady threw back her head, and with it its world of +soft brown curls, and laughed in very glee.</p> + +<p>"He will be but twenty-eight, two—no, three days +after this coming Christmas. But, dear lady, do +leave these screaming, noisy jack-daws and mackdaws, +and come and let me dress you in the beautiful +new court-dress your guardian sent you this +morning."</p> + +<p>"You naughty nurse! to abuse my beautiful birds. +I have only one jack-daw, and these are my pretty +West Indian macaws, <i>not</i> mackdaws, wise nursey. +And those are my bright-eyed canaries, and that is—but +you will not remember their names, although I +have told them to you so often."</p> + +<p>"I see some are blue, and some bright red, and I +know that little Jenny, who helps you take care of +them, loves them as well as you do. But will you +not come now and try on your splendid dress? I +would have you look your best and prettiest when +your cousin comes."</p> + +<p>"I know I shall not like him, and if I do not, my +guardian will not force me to marry him."</p> + +<p>"But your father's will—"</p> + +<p>"I will not think of that now, nor will I dress, +dear nursey. I will go ride my pony, and gather +some of those wild-flowers my guardian loves so +well." And away flew the bright, happy little +maiden; she herself, of all the glad, sweet wild-flowers +that grew among the shades of Fernheath, +the gladdest, sweetest, merriest and wildest; and +the one of all the rest her guardian uncle loved +the best.</p> + +<p>Little Dame Hildreth, while she flew about preparing +for the reception of Baron Arnhiem and the +prince, could not help sadly bemoaning the strange +perversity of her young lady, in preferring birds and +wild-flowers and ponies to court-dresses and husbands.</p> + +<p>The Lady Isoleth soon forgot that she had arrived +at the advanced age of sixteen, and that she had to +put away childish things, and all about her father's +will, and the awful prince. She rode her pony +through the wood down to the sea; then ran a race +with him upon the beach—the pony playfully +allowing his mistress to win. She climbed the highest +rocks in search of wild-flowers, and wove the sweet +flowers into garlands; at length, recollecting how +long she had been gone from home, she mounted her +pony and galloped on toward the castle, her head +wreathed with holly, and her arms full of flowers. +As she entered the avenue there stood her impatient +nurse awaiting her.</p> + +<p>"My dear, darling young lady, what an age you +have been away. We have all been watching—"</p> + +<p>"Has he come?"</p> + +<p>"Who, the prince?"</p> + +<p>"My dear uncle—has he come?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dearest lady. They both came, Prince +Ferdinand and your guardian, soon after you left, +and have been here for three long mortal hours +waiting for you very anxiously. The prince looks +very noble and handsome, and is dressed most magnificently. +You must not be disappointed though, +dearest lady, for he is somewhat changed."</p> + +<p>"Changed! How changed, dear nurse? I have +not seen him these six or seven years, ever since, +you remember the time, he and my cousin duke, his +father, with so many others, went to fight those horrid +Turks."</p> + +<p>"He looks older, much older than he did—that, +though, must be—yes, it must be on account—"</p> + +<p>"Older! why you simple, queer little nurse, he +<i>is</i> older. Why should he not look—I expect to see +him look half as old as Methuselah at least. How +shockingly old one must feel if they live to be twenty-eight."</p> + +<p>"Yes, he <i>does</i> seem older than I expected to see +him—though, to be sure, he has been, for the last +seven years engaged in the wars; yes, that must be +it. Nothing makes one grow old so fast as fighting. +But, dear lady, come, now, and dress, there's a +darling. You will have just about time enough before +dinner. But where is your bonnet?"</p> + +<p>"Up in the branch of a tree, nursey dear. It will +make some bird a delightful nest next spring. I lost +it getting this curious white flower. Look at it. It +grew in an almost inaccessible spot upon the cliff by +the sea."</p> + +<p>"You are a dear little kid clambering among those +ugly rocks. Let me take some of your flowers, +your bundle is nearly as big as yourself. The saints +preserve us! if there are not your uncle guardian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span> +and the prince! And you in such a tattered plight. +For the love of Heaven, dear lady, come in here +among these bushes until—"</p> + +<p>But the little dame had to finish her speech to the +winds, for the impulsive Isoleth had sprung from her +pony, and was clasped in her guardian uncle's embrace +before her nurse was half through beseeching +her to hide.</p> + +<p>"Why, my dear child, have you turned gipsy? +You are as ragged as one, and are as brown as a +berry. But I can see through your long, thick curls +that the last year has improved you most wonderfully. +Let me introduce you to your cousin, Ferdinand +of Bernstorf."</p> + +<p>Isoleth looked up and beheld—gracious me! He +was every day as old as her guardian, and positively +had gray hairs. She was sure she saw white hairs +among his black curls. She could give him only +one glance, for his dark, handsome eyes were fastened +searchingly upon her. Her eyes fell beneath his admiring +gaze, and fell upon her torn muslin dress—the +rocks and briars had paid no respect to it—rather <i>had</i> +paid their best respects to it; and, without vouchsafing +a word in reply to her uncle or handsome +cousin, she sprung, light as a fawn, into her saddle, +and was out of sight in the twinkling of an eye.</p> + +<p>"What say you, Cousin of Bernstorf, to such a +bride as that for the proposed alliance—a wild one, +is it not?"</p> + +<p>"I like her exceedingly. By the holy mass! but +she is the most beautiful creature I ever saw. We +will take her to court, she will bewitch us all, old +and young. By my faith, but she is—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, she <i>is</i>," replied the baron, smiling at +Ferdinand's earnestness. I thought she would surprise +you. I cannot conceive of any thing one-half +so beautiful as she."</p> + +<p>"Beautiful! you surprise me! Bless my soul! she is +radiant with beauty, and she is the greatest surprise +I ever had in my life. We will electrify the whole +court with surprise and delight at her wondrous +grace and beauty, and—"</p> + +<p>"All in good time, noble cousin. You recollect +her father's will—that she should remain at Fernheath, +neither going from here, nor receiving much +company, save her own kinsfolk, until after her +marriage with your noble—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I have not forgotten the will. 'So was +it nominated in the bond.' It delights me most exceedingly +that she is so marvelously beautiful. St. +Jerome! but I feel already that I love her as dearly +as though she were my own—"</p> + +<p>"Good gracious, cousin! You always had a spice +of enthusiasm that is delightful and refreshing to me." +And the baron laughed right heartily because he was +delighted—and the laugh seemed to refresh him. +"After all," continued he, as soon as the corners of +his mouth had come within speaking distance of each +other, "after all, she is but an untrained country-girl; +she—"</p> + +<p>"Nature, and her own beautiful soul, have given +her all the training she needs. Her wild, unconstrained +life, has developed her as no court or city +life could. That I can see, seeing her as little as I +have."</p> + +<p>"You think just as I do, dear cousin. My brother's +will was a wise one, that kept her thus from the +deadening conventionalities of a court life."</p> + +<p>"By my soul! how exceedingly lovely she is. +She surpasses all my expectations. I recollect her +as a little fairy thing of eight or ten. I have not seen +her until now—"</p> + +<p>"Since just before this last war, full seven years +ago."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>If Ferdinand of Bernstorf thought the little tattered +gypsey Isoleth so inconceivably lovely, his eyes +were half blinded with the radiant beauty of the +young Countess of Fernheath, as she entered the +dining-hall, clad in the shining court-robe her guardian +had sent her. Her cousin's dark eyes were +fastened upon her with a look of passionate admiration, +that caused the bright blood to burn on her face +and bosom. Nor did those handsome black eyes +scarce leave her during the whole long dinner. As +soon as she could release herself she hastened to her +only confidante, Dame Hildreth.</p> + +<p>She found the little dame kneeling upon the floor, +busily engaged in unpacking boxes, while the floor +was literally alive with silks, and satins, and laces, +and woman's finery.</p> + +<p>"See here, my lady—and here—and there! Look +what your uncle guardian of Arnheim has provided +for your approaching nuptials! And, dear lady, do +but look here;" and the eager, proud little dame +opened a casket of beautiful pearls—necklace, girdle, +coronet, brooch and armlets. This noble present +comes from the father of your betrothed. It is to be +followed by a still more beautiful set of diamonds."</p> + +<p>"These pearls may deck my burial instead of my +bridal, for I never will live to wed with <i>him</i> below."</p> + +<p>"Why, my sweetest lady!" exclaimed nurse Hildreth, +glancing up in surprise at her young mistress's +flushed and excited face. "For the love of +Heaven, do not talk in that way! What objection +can you possibly have to such a noble, handsome, +princely prince? He is the oldest son and heir to—"</p> + +<p>"Oldest, indeed! He is old enough to be my +father's father."</p> + +<p>"Mercy on us! Lady Isoleth, you talk wild. I +will wager my life he is only twenty-eight, three +days after this coming Christmas. He has been in +the wars, you know—and war is no gentle nurse. +Exposure in the wars has caused him to appear +somewhat older than he is. You know, dearest lady, +that war—"</p> + +<p>"But he is gray—"</p> + +<p>"Exposure in the wars—"</p> + +<p>"And wrinkled—"</p> + +<p>"Exposure in the wars—"</p> + +<p>"But there is that about him I never could love, +were he as young as—I never can love him—I +hate him, and I will not wed him."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear, dear, dearest young lady, what +<i>will</i> you do?" The thought never entering her head +that the Lady Isoleth could do any thing but submit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span> +to the will of others; for woman in those times was +sought and given in marriage without often consulting +her own inclination.</p> + +<p>What will I do, dear nurse? Why I will fall on +my knees at the feet of my beloved guardian and +plead with him. He never refused me any thing; +and I know he will grant—"</p> + +<p>"But your father's will, dearest lady—"</p> + +<p>"Shall be put aside, where his daughter's happiness +is at stake."</p> + +<p>"Would it may be as you wish, sweetest lady. +But I fear. Still he is a right noble prince, and will +make a right noble husband."</p> + +<p>"<i>Not</i> for me."</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER III.</h4> + +<h5>THE SURPRISE.</h5> + +<p>In the saddest of sad moods the Lady Isoleth betook +herself to her favorite retreat among the rocks, +and there within her own little vine-covered bower, +was—not a bird, nor a squirrel, nor her tame deer—but +a man! young and wondrously handsome; with +a broad, pale, noble brow, and a host of jet-black +curls shading it. There was something in his clear, +dark eye, so still and serene as it gazed beyond this +world, and something in the expression of his fine, +manly face, so tender, so almost sad, that made her +forget to be afraid of him. She approached him +gently, and asked him in a soft voice,</p> + +<p>"What are thy meditations, beautiful stranger?"</p> + +<p>"I was dreaming of thee!" uttered he, awaking +from his reverie, and fixing his dark, earnest eyes +full upon the glowing form before him. His glance, +so full of passion, so full of tenderness, so fervent, +went to her heart and woke it up—that precious little +heart that had been sleeping for sixteen long years.</p> + +<p>"Of me! How can that be?" asked Isoleth, with +a deep blush. "Dost thou know me? Dost thou—'</p> + +<p>"One like thee, most beautiful being!"</p> + +<p>"One like me—just like me? How strange! What +is her name?"</p> + +<p>"Whatever is thy name, loveliest, most lovely +lady, is hers."</p> + +<p>"My name is Isoleth," replied she, with a low +voice, and a deep blush.</p> + +<p>"Art thou the Lady Isoleth of Fernheath? <i>Art</i> +thou? Stupid! that I did not see sooner that thou art! +Yes, thou art! And I am happy, most happy, most inconceivably +happy that thou art! Ah!" continued he, +in a tone of the most rapturous delight, "that my dream +and my bride should prove to be one and the same. I +am most inexpressibly joyful!"—and the large tears +fell from his eyes like summer rain—"most unutterably—and +thou, wilt thou love me, and be mine, my +glorious, sweetest, loveliest cousin—my most, most +beautiful bride!"</p> + +<p>"Thy cousin! thy bride! Alas! alas! thy cousin +I may be, but thy bride—! They are going to marry +me up there at the castle to an old, ugly, cross prince; +he is there now, and you cannot know how much I +hate him. I will die—"</p> + +<p>"The devil they are! Forgive me, sweetest, +most beautiful cousin, it is a foolish way we learn +of speaking in camps. But, loveliest, do not talk of +dying, let the old and the ugly die, but thou—First +tell me who this ugly, old, cross prince is, they shall +not marry you to any such."</p> + +<p>"Why he is not so very ugly—and I do not exactly +know that he is cross; but then he is old, very old—yes, +very old and very disagreeable—and I never +can love him."</p> + +<p>"Nor shalt thou—his name, most beautiful?"</p> + +<p>"Ferdinand, Prince of Bernstorf."</p> + +<p>"Ferdinand, prince of ten thousand devils! I +beseech of thee to forgive me once again, sweetest +cousin; but thou dost petrify me. Ferdinand, Prince +of —— Ah! it must be—yes, yes, it must be so."</p> + +<p>"What must be? Thou speakest in riddles, +stranger cousin."</p> + +<p>"And thou lovest him not, nor dost thou wish to +wed him?" asked the stranger, an almost provoking +smile just curling his handsome mouth.</p> + +<p>"No, no, never—never!"</p> + +<p>"Nor shalt thou ever!" exclaimed he, his manner +changing to one of serious earnestness. Nor shalt +thou ever, dearest, most beautiful—for <i>I</i> will prevent +it, I—"</p> + +<p>"Thou? Alas! alas! I have been betrothed to +him ever since I was an infant. How could my dear +father—"</p> + +<p>"Dearest cousin, trust to me—wilt thou not? +And, dearest, sweetest cousin, love me, and be my +beautiful wife. Nay, shake not thy loveliest head. +Have I been too hasty in urging my love? I have +known thee, and loved thee, for so many years; +thou hast, thy beautiful spirit has ever, night and +day, been near me, the light of my life; but I have +frightened thee by my impetuosity—and thou canst +never love me? But, no, thy beautiful eyes look +tenderly upon me; and thou wouldst not let me hold +this little soft, warm hand, and imprison it within +mine, if thou didst hate me. I do not lightly ask that +precious boon, thy love. Believe me, it is as I say," +continued he, earnestly bending upon her his deep, +dark, eloquent eyes—eyes that made her little heart +thrill to its very core. "It is as I tell thee, thou hast +been my dream by day and by night. See here," and +he drew from his bosom a small miniature, and +handed it to her—the exact image of—herself. "And +now I will tell thee what I never before told +mortal being. Just three years ago, after a fatiguing +day's fight, I lay in my tent, awake; and thou didst +come to me, just as thou now dost appear—a vision +of light and purity and glorious loveliness. Whether +it was a dream or not, or a trance, I know not; but +never since has that radiant vision left me. Thou +didst lay thy little soft, white hand upon my fevered +brow, and I heard most distinctly, as thy sweet face +bent over me, these words: 'Do not love other than +me, for I alone, on earth, am destined for thee.' +From my earliest boyhood have I loved to use the +pencil; and on the next morning I tried, and succeeded +in conveying to this bit of ivory the image +of that most, most beautiful vision; and I have worn +it upon my heart ever since, where I would the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span> +loved, deeply, dearly loved and beautiful original +might ever be. From then till now have I worn +next to my heart that semblance of my nightly, daily +dream; but never until now have I been blessed in +seeing my dream, living, breathing before me."</p> + +<p>How that young heart throbbed and bounded, +almost suffocating its loving, lovely owner with the +intensity of its joyous emotion, as the earnest tones +of that low, passionate voice fell, word by word, +into its inmost centre, as the glance of those deeply, +deeply loving eyes awoke it to life and love. Her +hand lay within his, and by little he drew her more +and more closely and warmly to his heart, and by +little her head gradually sunk upon his manly breast, +her eyes looked up tenderly and trustingly into his +and drank in his passionate gaze, as though it were +her life. Time flew by them unheeded, each pouring +out joy and life into the heart of the other. +Their very being melting and mingling each into the +other, until each felt that their two lives were one. +Nor did he sully those pure, exquisite lips, with one +earthly kiss. His soul kissed hers, and her own +vibrated to his in trembling unison.</p> + +<p>Such moments of intense soul-rapture do not often +occur to many of us on earth, for perfect love seeks +perfect fulfillment; and in the perfect fulfillment of +love is too often the satiety that deadens its finest, +most spiritual impulses.</p> + +<p>The castle gong sounded, booming heavily through +the trees. Isoleth started to her feet like a frightened doe.</p> + +<p>"I must go," exclaimed she, "my guardian—"</p> + +<p>"Stay one moment, sweetest, I have something to +tell thee, that thou must hear."</p> + +<p>"I have staid too long already," interrupted she, +hastily, "my guardian will be sending out for me—it +is already growing dark. Fare thee well;" and she +gave him a farewell with her soft, brown eyes that +never left his heart—so full of unconscious love +was it.</p> + +<p>"You will meet me here again to-morrow morning? +Promise me at least so much, dearest beloved."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," and with another glance from her soft, +bright eyes, she glided out of his sight.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER IV.</h4> + +<h5>SUSPENSE.</h5> + +<p>"I am glad to see thee safely at home, my dear +child. Where hast thou been? Thou knowest I +hate to have thee rambling about the castle-grounds +after night-fall. I have already sent out to seek +thee, and was on the point of going in search of thee +myself. But, dear child, if walking at any time will +bring thee home with such a radiant, glowing color, +I shall not quarrel with the cause or hour. Thou +art looking as bright and as happy and beautiful as I +hope always to see thee look."</p> + +<p>"I was afraid, dear uncle," replied Isoleth, blushing +still more deeply, and casting her conscious, love-full +eyes to the ground, "I was afraid thou wouldst +begin to be uneasy about me, and I hastened—I have +no one, dearest uncle, when thou art away, to take +such good care of me. I go wandering about among +my favorite haunts at my own good will and pleasure, +night or day, as it happens."</p> + +<p>"The time is coming, eh! sweet Isoleth, when +thou wilt have to consult another will save thine +own," said the baron, patting her fondly on her soft, +white neck.</p> + +<p>Ferdinand laughed, and looked very impressed +and impressive, and gazed her out of countenance +with assured, admiring eyes, as he answered for her,</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, we are waiting only for the goodly +company that are to witness the approaching nuptials. +Is it not so, fairest lady?"</p> + +<p>"The hideous being!" thought Isoleth, without +vouchsafing an audible reply. "Is this the one with +whom I am to spend my days—but no, it shall +not be."</p> + +<p>She did the honors of the supper-table with a +suffocating throat, with a proud rebellious heart, full +of love for one she felt she ought not to love, and full +of hate for another that she knew she ought to love. +She was absent in spite of herself, and did all manner +of queer things that people do, who, for a time, take +leave of absence of themselves—answering yes, for +no—and no, for yes—attempting to bite a piece out +of her little porcelain cup-plate, instead of the cook's +snowy cake; pouring her guardian's cup up with +cream instead of coffee, and sweetening it with salt +instead of sugar. Many other little pleasantries of +like nature did she perform, very much to the amusement +of her guardian and the hated Ferdinand. The +latter made himself exceeding merry at her expense, +at the same time showing her every attention and +gallantry that he, finished courtier, could devise. +Isoleth felt at length completely worried and tired to +death, as though she could not for one moment +longer, endure the torture of her heart's conflicting +emotion.</p> + +<p>"You look pale and tired, my beloved child," +said her guardian, tenderly taking her little cold, +white hand within his. All your beautiful color is +gone. I fear that after all your walk, or the excitement, +has been too much for you. You had best +retire for the night. Shall I ring for Dame Hildreth, +or some of your maidens?"</p> + +<p>"No, dear uncle, with your permission, I will +seek those I wish," answered Isoleth, only too glad +to escape from the hated presence into the calm +stillness of her own room.</p> + +<p>She found the good little dame awaiting her; and +to her compassionate ear she poured forth the sorrow +and joy of her young heart. The kind-hearted little +woman sympathized cordially with her precious +foster-child, wishing over and over again that some +benevolent fairy would change the beautiful stranger +cousin with the hateful old Prince Ferdinand—she +had to acknowledge that he did <i>look</i> old—until after +the happy wedding was over. "And then how +blank and black the prince would look, and how +astonished we all would be to find you had married +the handsome young man instead of the grumpy +old one."</p> + +<p>"Now leave me, good nurse, I would be alone. +I will entreat my dear uncle on the morrow to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span> +release me from this dreaded alliance. He never +yet refused a request of mine."</p> + +<p>Isoleth quieted herself in the belief that her beloved +guardian would certainly grant her petition as +soon as she made it known to him. In child-like +confidence, therefore, she sunk to her happy sleep, +with a pair of dark, loving eyes hovering over her +and mingling with her dreams. And never eyes +gazed on more gentle sleep or lovely sleeper.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER V.</h4> + +<h5>THE APPEAL.</h5> + +<p>With a buoyant step and a sparkling eye the Lady +Isoleth sought her guardian early the next morning. +He was deeply immersed in papers and parchments, +while huge, formidable-looking books were piled +high around him. He nevertheless welcomed his +sweet niece with a sudden clearing off of his thought-lined +brow, and a fond, affectionate smile.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, dearest uncle, if I have disturbed +thy studies; but I would see thee alone, and I feared +this might be the only opportunity, as the carriages +containing our kinsfolk are even now expected; so +nurse Hildreth informed me."</p> + +<p>"What would my pet bird have that she seeks her +uncle thus early?"</p> + +<p>"A boon that you must grant, dearest uncle, for +upon it depends my heart's happiness now and +forever."</p> + +<p>"Name it, my darling Isy—what wouldst thou +have, little enthusiast?"</p> + +<p>"Release from one I never can love. Oh! my +dearest uncle," continued she, fondly twining her +soft, white arms around his neck, and lovingly kissing +his time-worn brow, "do, for Heaven's sweet love, +tell me at once that I need not wed him, for I never +can love him—never, never!"</p> + +<p>"Bless her little heart, what is the child raving +about? Whom dost thou mean, dear baby, by <i>him</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Who should I mean, dearest uncle, but my cousin, +this Prince Ferdinand. I <i>need</i> not be his wife. I—"</p> + +<p>"Thy cousin, Prince Ferdinand!"</p> + +<p>"I hate him—I abhor him—I utterly detest him! +I never can love him! I never will be his wife! I +never—"</p> + +<p>"Hold, hold! not so fast; why thou romantic little +recluse! thou hast lived alone too much by half. +Thy little head is brim full of fancies. Thy tongue +is running wild. Thou <i>hatest</i> him! Why what +wouldst thou have better? Is he not all a woman +could desire? Is he not young and—"</p> + +<p>"Young!"</p> + +<p>"And handsome, and—"</p> + +<p>"Handsome!"</p> + +<p>"And is he not a prince? And is he not heir to a +powerful, wealthy ducal throne? And will he not +take thee to court—the gay, beautiful court; and +wilt thou not reign there a queen—a queen of beauty +and joy and light—and ere long queen of the +throne?"</p> + +<p>"All that does not dazzle me, dearest uncle—for +what are thrones and splendor where love is not? +Oh! dear, dearest uncle, do not press this hated +match upon me. Do not doom me to eternal sorrow. +Do not—"</p> + +<p>"Hoity, toity! Why thou dost talk just as they +do in those silly romances. I wager thy head is full +of them. Thou hast had bad teachers, child, to +permit thee to fill thy poor little brain with such +trash instead of useful knowledge. Or is it," said +he, fixing his gray eyes searchingly upon her, "or is +it that thou hast met some sighing Adonis in the +woods? Ha! thou dost blush—have a care, child. +There, thou needest not tremble, I will not seek to +know thy secret, if secret thou hast. This much, +however, know for a certainty, that Prince Ferdinand +is destined to be thy—"</p> + +<p>"Dearest uncle!" exclaimed the little lady, her +beautiful eyes filling with tears, "thou shalt know +all—all I have to tell, if thou wilt but deliver me +from this—"</p> + +<p>"Have done with this folly, Lady Isoleth," and +his cold gray eyes sternly regarded her. "It was +thy dead father's will that thou shouldst marry thy +cousin, Prince Ferdinand of Bernstorf; and thy +father's will must and shall be obeyed."</p> + +<p>"'Folly!' 'Lady Isoleth!' 'must and shall!' He +never before now spoke one unkind word to me." +And the weeping Isoleth went with a breaking heart +and shut herself in her own room, alone, and locking +herself in, she gave unrestrained vent to her passionate +grief.</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER VI.</h4> + +<h5>THE LAST APPEAL.</h5> + +<p>"I will seek <i>him</i>—yes, <i>he</i> will not refuse my +prayer. I will tell him I hate him. He will be only +too glad to release me when he knows the depth of +hatred I bear him. I will go this moment, for soon +will all my gay cousins be here, and then will be the +horrid betrothal ceremony—but I will not think of +that—"</p> + +<p>"Ha! my shy, beautiful cousin, Lady Isoleth!" +Ferdinand was in the library, amusing himself with +books and prints. "See here, beautiful cousin, I +have found a book of rare merit, and beautifully +illuminated. I suppose, though," continued he with +a quizzical look, "that all the books here and their +manifold contents are familiar to thy bright eyes—is +it not so?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly <i>all</i>," replied Isoleth, smiling in spite +of her sorrow, as she glanced at the endless rows of +huge leather-bound tomes, that had not even had the +cobwebs dusted from them for a century at least.</p> + +<p>"Wilt thou not deign to look over this precious +book with me, most beauteous lady? Thy sharp +wit may help my slow faculties to comprehend its +quaint poetry, and thy glorious eyes will love its +finely executed prints."</p> + +<p>"I came not to disturb thy meditations," replied +she, shrinking from his approaching steps. I came +to crave a boon from thee."</p> + +<p>"It is granted thee, fairest lady, even before thou +dost utter it. But what is it, the most beautiful, most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span> +lovely of her beautiful, lovely sex would ask? Be it +even unto the half of my kingdom—"</p> + +<p>"It is not the half of thy kingdom, but the whole +of it, together with thy kingdom's lord, that I would +be freed from."</p> + +<p>"Thou art pleased to be facetious, most charming +Lady Isoleth. Pray explain thyself, that my dull +understanding may comprehend thy meaning."</p> + +<p>"Ferdinand, Prince of Bernstorf—"</p> + +<p>"Yes—"</p> + +<p>"Is one that I never, never can love—one that I +had rather should see me in the grave ere he shall call +me wife."</p> + +<p>"Ha! well, loveliest cousin, that is plain, and easy +to be understood even by the slowest comprehension. +Thou hatest him, dost thou?"</p> + +<p>"Most cordially."</p> + +<p>"My son thanks thee, fair cousin—and I also, in +his name."</p> + +<p>"Thy son!"</p> + +<p>"Ay, and here he is to thank thee himself. How +now, scapegrace! Thou art tardy in paying thy respects +to this beautiful, noble lady. Thou shouldst +have been here days ago. Even now thy fair cousin +was on the point of refusing thee. I tell thee, lad, +thou'lt never find a fairer. Courting was not done +in this slipshod way when I was a boy."</p> + +<p>All this while Isoleth was gazing in mute astonishment +upon—yes, she was not mistaken—he was the +very one—the very most beautiful being to whom +she had given, only the night before, her precious +little heart. And those dark, earnest eyes were +passionately regarding her, drinking in rapturously +her glowing beauty, until her eyes, abashed, sought +the floor, unable to bear the light of those intensely +loving ones.</p> + +<p>"Then thou'rt the <i>Duke</i> of Bernstorf, my father's +cousin?" suddenly asked she, of Ferdinand the elder.</p> + +<p>"Who else, fairest cousin? Ha! thou didst then +think—" a sudden light seemed to break through the +chambers of his brain. "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed he, +"Thou thoughtest that <i>I</i> was the one. I could not +wish a fairer, more beautiful bride than thou; but—ha! +ha! ha! I have one goodly wife already, who is +to be here this very day; and, between you and I, +one is more than I can manage, although she is one +of the best of her perfect, bewitching sex. Still—So, +that was the reason thou wert so shy of me, +sweet flower." And the father, Ferdinand, threw +himself back in his chair, and gave way to the most +uncontrollable bursts of laughter; while Ferdinand, +the son, had taken the soft, lily-white hand of his +lovely betrothed, and was talking to her in words +from his heart's heart.</p> + +<p>"I should have told thee all this last evening if +thou couldst have waited but one instant longer. I +was to have accompanied my father and thy guardian +here; but I dreaded so much to see my affianced +bride—not dreaming until last evening that my beloved +and betrothed were one and the same—that my +beautiful dream was a more beautiful reality. If I +had come and found the young Countess of Fernheath +one that I could not have loved, I should certainly +have moved earth and heaven but that I would +have had the contract, made by our goodly sires, +annulled—or I would have drowned or shot myself. +Don't shudder, sweetest, I shall do neither now, +unless I am shot by the lightning of your bright eyes, +and drowned in the bliss—but, dearest, I love you +too dearly to speak nonsense to thee—even love +nonsense. Strange, was it not, darling, that I should +not have recognized you? It has been many a long +year since I saw you a little rosy, romping, fairy +thing of only a few bright summers. We have had +troublous times since then; war and bloodshed that +would—"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, most beautiful cousin, my long +laughter hath been rude; but, indeed, thy mistake +was most droll. There, sweet cousin, I have done! +Thy blushes, however, are exceedingly becoming +thy fair face. So thou and my goodly son hast met +before—is it not so? And he is not the laggard in +love I unjustly deemed him. And now I suppose the +best thing for me to do is to take myself off to another +world, and resign my kingdom and crown in +this for one in the—however, we will arrange all +that after the wedding. Let us, meantime, enjoy the +present. Ah! here comes thy good uncle with a +cloudy brow; something has gone wrong with him—we +must have no gloom to-day. And here also comes +thundering down the avenue all the goodly old +carriages containing our expected kinsfolk."</p> + +<p>And here also comes,</p> + + +<h4>CHAPTER THE LAST,</h4> + +<p>Which I know will delight you, dearest reader, as it +containeth the wedding; but most especially will it +delight you because it <i>is</i> the last. The wedding was +of course a splendid one, and better still, a joyous +one. Little Dame Hildreth would let no one but herself +fasten so much as a bridal ornament on her +beautiful young foster-child. It would be hard saying +which moved fastest on the important day, her hands +or her tongue.</p> + +<p>"Just to think!" exclaimed she, as she clasped +those same pearls, that had once been cast aside in +scorn, upon her darling—and pure and lovely they +shone among her soft, brown curls, and on her snow-white +arms and neck, and around her lithe and +slender waist—"to think that I could have mistaken +Ferdinand, the reigning Duke of Bernstorf, for Ferdinand, +the Prince. Really, though, my lady, to +look at them, one does not see much difference in +their appearance—they are both so handsome and +grand-looking. Oh, yes! <i>you</i> see a vast odds in +their looks—that's natural! These old eyes, I suppose, +are growing dim—but they are bright enough +to see that thou art the dearest, loveliest, most +beautiful bride that ever the sun shone upon."</p> + +<h5>"<i>Sic transit gloria mundi.</i>"</h5> +<br /> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_CITY_OF_MEXICO" id="THE_CITY_OF_MEXICO"></a>THE CITY OF MEXICO.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span> + +<h3>WRITTEN WHILE THE WAR WAS PENDING.</h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY M. E. THROPP.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pride of the South, thy glittering spires<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Point to the arching sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While tower and palace proudly rear<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their stately forms on high;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy spacious squares spread far and wide<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Along the valley green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bright above thy hundred fanes<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An hundred crosses gleam.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bland, spring-like breezes, brilliant skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Birds of gay song and plume,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cool sparkling founts, wide shaded walks,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Trees, of eternal bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright glowing flowers, as fresh and pure<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As infant's rosy mouth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rare, tempting fruits—all—all are thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sweet City of the South.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Around thee lime and citron bowers<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In peaceful beauty rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While orange groves stretch far away<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To blue Tezcuco's breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond thee giant bulwarks stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Cordillera's mountain line,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lift along thine azure sky<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their silver crests sublime.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah! thou hast beauty, Southern Queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And thou hadst wealth and power;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But wealth and beauty proved to thee<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"A darkly glorious dower."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Iberia on her rocky heights<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beheld thee from afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rolled o'er all thy subject clime<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lurid tide of war.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On thee the mighty torrent burst,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And with resistless sway<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bore from thy desperate, struggling sons<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their gods, their kings away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then followed weary, weary years,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Such as the conquered know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When brave hearts bleed and faint ones break<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beneath their weight of wo.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Iberia's brood with iron sway<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Kept down thy fallen ones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bonds and stripes were freely doled<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To thy degraded sons;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then spear and lance were left to rust<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Along thy bannered walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine eagle drooped and strangers dwelt<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In "Montezuma's halls."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oppression's long dark night of pain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At length wore slowly on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, radiant 'mid receding gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hope heralded the dawn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Day broke, and Freedom's glorious sun<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Uprose o'er thine and thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While thy clear bells with silvery chime<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Proclaimed a country <span class="smcap">FREE</span>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And mingling with their heavenly tones<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Glad triumphs swelled the breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that bright sun dispelled the gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of rolling centuries.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A flood of golden light streamed down<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er valley mount and plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy joyous eagle plumed his wing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And soared aloft again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thy sons rejoiced o'er rights restored,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The joy of other years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gentler woman's truthful heart<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wept silent grateful tears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou—bathed in thy new-born light—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou ancient island-gem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! to thy proud fond children's hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou wert an Eden then.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But thy stern oracles the while<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Spoke ever deep and slow—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Dark hours are yet reserved for thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ill-fated Mexico!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And after years proved all too soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Proved to thy bitter pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy soil's vast wealth, thy sons' best blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had flowed, and flowed in vain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How hast thou mourned the civil broils<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That shook thy peaceful homes?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How hast thou mourned the broken faith<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of thy degenerate sons?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The faith thrice broken that incurred<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Columbia's vengeful sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till red o'er many a battle-plain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy blood like water poured.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again the stranger's echoing tread<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sounds from thy ancient halls—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again the flag of other lands<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Waves o'er thy captured walls.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy peerless beauty, storied lore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy buried heroes' fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wealth, power—ah, what are they to thee<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With thy dishonored name!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The foe that first beheld thy towers<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beyond the lake's green shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they who fondly reared thee up,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lordly ones of yore—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They did not dream a change like this<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Could on thy pride be hurled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who erst amid thy mountains reigned<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Queen of the new-found world.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="GAME-BIRDS_OF_AMERICA_NO_XI" id="GAME-BIRDS_OF_AMERICA_NO_XI"></a>GAME-BIRDS OF AMERICA.—NO. XI.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 351px;"> +<img src="images/illus435.jpg" width="351" height="500" +alt="THE RUFFED GROUSE OR PHEASANT" title="" /></div> +<h4>THE RUFFED GROUSE OR PHEASANT.</h4> +<br /> + +<p>In the Eastern States the true partridge is known +by the name of quail, the appellation of partridge being +there given to what in Pennsylvania is called +the pheasant, and which in the Ornithologies bears +the name of the Ruffed Grouse, (<i>Tetrao Umbellus.</i> +<span class="smcap">Wilson</span>.) It inhabits a very extensive range of +country, being found at Hudson's Bay, in Kentucky +and Indiana, Oregon and the Floridas. Its +favorite places of resort are high mountains covered +with the balsam, pine, hemlock and other evergreens, +and as we descend from such heights to the lower +country they become more rare; and in the Carolinas, +Georgia and Florida they are very scarce. The +manners of the pheasant are solitary, they are seldom +found in coveys of more than four or five together, +and more usually in pairs, or singly. They +are often shot in the mornings in the roads over the +mountains bounding the Susquehanna; where they +come for gravel. On foggy mornings very considerable +numbers may be seen in these situations, moving +along with great stateliness, their broad fan-like +tail expanded to its fullest extent. The <i>drumming</i> +of the pheasant, a sound compared by Wilson to that +produced by striking two full blown ox bladders together, +but much louder; the strokes at first slow and +distinct, but gradually increasing in rapidity till they +run into each other, resembling the rumbling sound +of very distant thunder dying away gradually on the +ear. This drumming is the call of the male bird to +his mate, and may be heard in a calm day nearly half +a mile. Wilson thus describes the manner in which +this singular noise is produced. The bird, standing +on an old prostrate log, generally in a retired and +sheltered situation, lowers his wings, erects his expanded +tail, contracts his throat, elevates two tufts +of feathers on the neck, and inflates his whole body +something in the manner of the turkey-cock, strutting +and wheeling about with great stateliness. After a +few manœuvres of this kind he begins to strike with +his stiffened wings in short and quick strokes, which +become more and more rapid until they run into each +other, as has been already described. This is most +common in the morning and evening, though Wilson +states that he has heard them drumming at all hours<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span> +of the day. By means of this the pheasant leads the +gunner to the place of his retreat, though to those +unacquainted with the sound there is great deception +in the supposed distance, it generally appearing to +be much nearer than it really is. Audubon mentions +having often called them within shot by imitating the +sound. This he accomplished by beating a large inflated +bullock's bladder with a stick, keeping up as +much as possible the same time as that in which the +bird beats. At the sound produced by the bladder +and the stick, the male grouse, inflamed with jealousy, +has flown directly toward him, when, being prepared +beforehand, he has easily shot it. When flushed, the +pheasant flies with great vigor through the woods, +beyond the reach of view, springing up at first within +a few yards, with a loud whirring noise. Noticing +this peculiarity of flight, Mr. Audubon states that +when this bird rises from the ground at a time when +pursued by an enemy, or tracked by a dog, it produces +a loud whirring sound resembling that of the +whole tribe, excepting the black-cock of Europe, +which has less of it than any other species. The +whirring sound is never heard when the grouse rises +of its own accord, for the purpose of removing from +one place to another; nor, in similar circumstances, +is it commonly produced by our little partridge. "In +fact," he continues, "I do not believe that it is emitted +by any species of grouse, unless when surprised +and forced to rise. I have often been lying on the +ground in the woods or the fields, for hours at a time, +for the express purpose of observing the movements +and habits of different birds, and have frequently seen +a partridge or a grouse rise on wing within a few +yards of the spot where I lay, unobserved by them, +as gently and softly as any other bird, and without +producing any whirring sound. Nor even when this +grouse ascends to the top of a tree does it make any +greater noise than other birds of the same size +would do."</p> + +<p>With a good dog, pheasants are easily found, and +what is singular, they will look down upon him from +the branches of a tree, where they sit, apparently +stupefied, not attempting to fly, but allowing themselves +to be shot one by one until all are killed. +Should one of those on the higher branches, however, +be shot first, the sight of his fall will cause an +immediate flight. A figure 4 trap is used with success +in taking them, especially when deep snow lies +on the ground. They were formerly numerous in +the immediate vicinity of Philadelphia, but the advances +of the agriculturist have led them to retreat +to the interior, and but a very few can be now found +within several miles. The pheasant is in the best +order in September and October, but in mid-winter +those who shoot them should be careful to draw them +as soon as possible, as the buds of laurel on which at +that season they sometimes feed, if left in the stomach +of the dead bird, diffuse their poisonous qualities +over its whole body, and render it dangerous +food.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus440.jpg" width="500" height="386" +alt="AMERICAN PARTRIDGE, OR QUAIL" title="" /></div> +<h4>AMERICAN PARTRIDGE, OR QUAIL. (<i>Perdrix Virginianus.</i> <span class="smcap">Wilson.</span>)]</h4> +<br /> + +<p>This well known bird, though not very migratory +in its habits, has extended its colonies from New +England to Mexico. The spot where they have +been raised, if they can at all support life, is their +home; and there they will remain until the whole flock +is destroyed by sportsmen. This fact sufficiently +disproves the asserted identity of our partridge with +the quail of the European continent, which is a bird +of passage, leaving Europe for Asia at the approach +of winter, and returning in very great numbers in the +spring. Partridges assemble in small families, varying +according to circumstances from three to thirty; +and, except in the breeding season, they all live together +in a happy and mutual alliance. The quails +on the other hand are pugnacious to a proverb—"as +quarrelsome as quails in a cage."</p> + +<p>The partridges are nearly full grown by the beginning +of September, and associated in the usual coveys +of from twenty to thirty afford considerable sport to +the gunner. The notes of the males at this time are +frequent, clear and loud, and they may by skillful +imitation of the call be deceived and induced<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span> +approach. Their food consists of grain seed, insects +and berries of various kinds. The buckwheat fields +suffer severely from their depredations in September +and October, affording them at that time abundant +food and secure shelter. At night they roost in the +middle of a field, on high ground, sitting round in a +circle with their heads outward. In this position +they place themselves at the commencement of a fall +of snow, when their mutual warmth is the better +able to resist the effects of frost, and each forms a +guard for the whole against the approach of danger. +They are not afraid of snow, for they sometimes fly to +a drift for safety; it being only when a coating of frozen +sleet resists their efforts to leave it that they experience +bad effects from it. The loud whirring sound +of their flight when flushed is well known. Its steady, +horizontal flight renders it an easy prey to the sportsman, +especially when he is assisted by a sagacious +dog. The flesh of the partridge is peculiarly white, +tender and delicate, in this respect unequaled by any +other American game.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/illus445.jpg" width="500" height="435" +alt="THE AMERICAN ROBIN" title="" /></div> +<h4>THE AMERICAN ROBIN. (<i>Turdus Migratorius.</i>)]</h4> +<br /> + +<p>This well known bird, and universal favorite, can +require but a very few words at our hands. His unassuming +familiarity of manners has caused him to +be immortalized in the Songs for the Nursery, and +others of Mother Goose's collections for the little +ones. His nest is preserved from the rude hands of +boyhood by a sort of instinctive veneration for his +well known and long established character, and +his cheerful, zealous singing not unfrequently causes +the older sportsman to take down the armed gun +from his shoulder, and suffer the assiduous songster +to enjoy his liberty and life.</p> + +<p>The robin is particularly fond of gum-berries, and +it is only necessary for the sportsman to take his +stand near one of these trees when it is covered with +fruit, and load and fire his gun. One flock after another +will come to it without intermission during the +whole day.</p> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TO_A_ROSE-BUD" id="TO_A_ROSE-BUD"></a>TO A ROSE-BUD.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thy leaves are not unfolded yet to the sweet light of love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy bosom now is blushing like the sunset clouds above;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy beauteous form is perfect, thy hopes are fair and bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy dreams are sweet while sleeping in the gentle breeze of night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though I know a dew-drop tear hath in thy bosom been,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas only sent to nourish thee, and make thee pure within:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No canker-worm corrodes thy rest, and life is life to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as the past has ever been so may the future be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May all thy dreams be realized, thy hopes be not in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy life pass calm and sweetly on without a sigh of pain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when thy leaves shall droop and fall, as droop and fall they must,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy lovely form will then lie low, to mingle with the dust;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to thy long last resting-place soft winds shall be thy bier,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the fragrance of thy loving heart will ever linger near;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To me thy memory will come back when I am lone and sad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thoughts of thy pure, gentle life shall make my spirit glad.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! lovely rose-bud, well I know that both of us must die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when death comes, may I, like you, leave earth without a sigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May I, like you, when youth shall fade, still yield the sweet perfume,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The incense of a worthy heart, which age can not consume:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Farewell, farewell, sweet rose-bud, were I but as pure as thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My soul would be contented, my spirit would be free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each wish would then be gratified, each longing have a home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And joy and peace would fill my heart wherever I might roam.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="right">Y. S.</p> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ERIN_WAKING" id="ERIN_WAKING"></a>ERIN WAKING.</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER.</h4 +> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Light streams through a rift in the cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That hangs over green Innisfail—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While voices of millions are shouting aloud<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The satraps of Tyranny quail:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The collar of Shame hath been worn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through ages of folly and wo—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too long hath thy neck, O Hibernia! borne<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The yoke of a merciless foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose creatures, while Perfidy sharpened the dart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like vultures have crimsoned their beaks in thy heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Hot winds from the waste of Despair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On thy blood-bedewed shamrock have breathed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the leaves, growing verdant in Liberty's air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Again round her brow shall be wreathed:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And chisel of Art on the stone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall name of that martyr engrave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who prayed for a sepulchre, noteless and lone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While foot of one heart-broken slave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Polluted the green of that beautiful shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By steel-harnessed champions trodden of yore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Gone forth hath the gathering word,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And under Hesperian skies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fond exiles the call of their mother have heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And homeward are turning their eyes:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They send o'er the murmuring brine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In answer a shout of applause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And drops, that give warmth to their bosoms, like wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are ready to shed in a cause<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That cannot march on with a faltering stride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Truth wears a buckler, and God is a guide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Land of the valiant! at last<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The brow of thy future is bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In return for a shadowed and comfortless past<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is dawning an era of light:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Lion of Britain in vain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is baring his teeth for the fray—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy children have sworn that dishonoring stain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall be wiped from thy forehead away:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bones of thy martyrs have stirred in the tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glimmers the starlight of Hope through the gloom.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Invaders thy valor have rued—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To deeds that will aye be admired<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bear witness, Clontarf! where the Dane was subdued,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Bryan, the dauntless, expired:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy sons on the scaffold have died,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The block hath been soaked with their gore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And long ago banished thy splendor and pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But idle it seems to deplore—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unbending resolve to blot out thy disgrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In hearts of the brave, to regret should give place.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The Genius of Erin from earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Uprising, hath broken the bowl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose tide to a black-crested viper gave birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That long dimmed the light of her soul;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And millions of high-hearted men<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who thus can wild passion restrain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though driven for refuge to cavern and den,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will arm for the conflict again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, venturing all on the hazardous cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prove victors, though worn and outnumbered, at last.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Thou isle, on the breast of the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like an emerald gracefully set,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though feet shod with iron have trampled on thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A brightness belongs to thee yet:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In bondage thy magical lyre<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath thrilled a wide world with its strains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thine eloquent sons have awakened a fire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That fast is dissolving thy chains:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Saxon is watching the issue in fear—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He knows that thy day of redemption draws near.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="LINES" id="LINES"></a>LINES</h2> + +<h3>TO A SKETCH OF J. BAYARD TAYLOR, IN HIS ALPINE COSTUME.</h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY GEO. W. DEWEY.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<h5>[SEE ENGRAVING.]</h5> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The inspiration of thy smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou minstrel of the wayside song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet lingers on thy face the while<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I see thee climb the Alps along;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if thy harp's unwearied lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sustained thee on thy rugged way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There dwells within thy poet-eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The spirit of the ancient bards—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A soul in which no shadow lies—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A glance forever heavenwards;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As though the thoughts thy dreams unfurled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung, star-like, o'er a watching world.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Methinks the bard who saw at night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amid the glacier's snow and ice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A youth ascend the spectral height,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unfurling there "the strange device,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did, with a prophet's pen, foreshow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy form upon those mounts of snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when the mists have valeward rolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Below thy pathway, hard and long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stern Death shall find thee, pale and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon the highest <i>peak</i> of <span class="smcap">Song</span>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still grasping, with a frozen hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The banner of <i>that</i> <span class="smcap">Alpine Land</span>!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 469px;"> +<img src="images/illus453.jpg" width="469" height="700" +alt="Yours ever, J. Bayard Taylor" title="" /></div> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="GAUTAMAS_SONG_OF_REST" id="GAUTAMAS_SONG_OF_REST"></a>GAUTAMA'S SONG OF REST.</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>[The Hindoo philosopher Gautama, now worshiped under the name of Buddha, lived in the fifth century before Christ. +He taught the unity of God and Nature, or rather, that the physical and spiritual worlds are merely different conditions +of an eternal Being. In the spiritual state, this Being exists in perfect and blissful rest, whose emanations and over-flowings +enter the visible world, first in the lowest forms of nature, but rising through gradual and progressive changes +till they reach man, who returns after death to the original rest and beatitude.]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How long, oh! all-pervading Soul of Earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere Thy last toils on this worn being close,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And trembling with its sudden glory-birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Its wings are folded in the lost repose?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thy doom, resistless, on its travel lies<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through weary wastes of labor and of pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the soul falters, as its Paradise<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In far-off mirage fades and flies again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From that pure realm of silence and of joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The quickening glories of Thy slumber shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kindling to birth the lifeless world's alloy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till its dead bosom bears a seed divine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through meaner forms the spirit slowly rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which now to meet its near elysium burns;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through toilsome ages, circling towards repose,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sphere of Being on its axle turns!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Filled with the conscious essence that shall grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through many-changed existence, up to Man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sighing airs of scented Ceylon blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And desert whirlwinds whelm the caravan.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On the blue bosom of th' eternal deep<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It moves forever in the heaving tide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, throned on giant Himalaya's steep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It hurls the crashing avalanche down his side!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wing of fire strives upward to the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bursting in thunder rock-bound hills apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the deep globe itself complains to bear<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The earthquake beatings of its mighty heart!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Even when the waves are wearied out with toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And in their caverns swoon the winds away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thousand germs break through the yielding soil,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And bees and blossoms charm the drowsy day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In stillest calms, when Nature's self doth seem<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sick for the far-off rest, the work goes on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In deep old forests, like a silent dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sparry caves, that never knew the dawn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From step to step, through long and weary time,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The struggling atoms rise in Nature's plan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till dust instinctive reaches mind sublime—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till lowliest being finds its bloom in Man!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here, on the borders of that Realm of Peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The gathered burdens of existence rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like a sea whose surges never cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Heaves with its care the weary human breast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! bright effulgence of th' Eternal Power,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Break the worn band, and wide thy portals roll!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With silent glory flood the solemn hour<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When star-eyed slumber welcomes back the soul!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then shall the spirit sink in rapture down,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like some rich blossom drunk with noontide's beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or the wild bliss of music, sent to crown<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wakening moment of a midnight dream.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through all the luminous seas of ether there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Stirs not a trembling wave, to break the rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But fragrance, and the silent sense of prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Charm the eternal slumber of the Blest!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MY_FATHERS_GRAVE" id="MY_FATHERS_GRAVE"></a>MY FATHER'S GRAVE.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY S. D. ANDERSON.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is a sweet and shady spot<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beneath the aged trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where perfumed wild flowers lowly bend<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unto the passing breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And joyous song-birds warble there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rich music to the sunny air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a golden-tinted beam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fails on the spot like childhood's dream.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The moss-clad church is standing there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The stream goes laughing by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sending its gurgling music out<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Along a summer sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rose has found a dwelling here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside the coffin and the bier;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And here the lily rears its head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within this <i>Eden</i> of the dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sunlight glances on the scene<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With many a sombre hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Caught from the cypress near the stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or from the funeral yew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, spirit-like, above each stone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is heard the night-wind's whispered tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if the spirit lingered there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enchanted with a scene so fair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wild bee revels 'mid the flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That climb the ruined wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, gently drooping, shroud the tomb<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With Nature's fairest pall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dirge-like sings the trickling rill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At evening's hour when all is still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst echo answers back again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In mimic notes the plaintive strain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But moonlight gilds the scene anew,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now all is hushed and calm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The very winds seem sunk to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'erladen with their balm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stars, pale watchers of the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look brightly out on such a sight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst from the hill the bird's low wail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is wafted on the evening gale.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Be mine the lot, when life's dull day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Has drawn unto a close,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dreams of Love, and hopes of Fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Have sunk to calm repose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By all forgot, to rest my head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unmarked beside the silent dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hushed by the murmurs of the wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That moans around my <span class="smcap">Father's Grave</span>.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="VOICES_FROM_THE_SPIRIT_LAND" id="VOICES_FROM_THE_SPIRIT_LAND"></a>VOICES FROM THE SPIRIT LAND.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span> + +<h3>WORDS BY JOHN S. ADAMS.</h3> + +<h4>COMPOSED AND ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO FORTE</h4> + +<h3>BY VALENTINE DISTER.</h3> + +<h5><span class="smcap">Presented by George Willig, No. 171 Chestnut Street.—Copyright Secured according to Law.</span></h5> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 557px;"> +<img src="images/music1.jpg" width="557" height="700" +alt="music 1" title="" /></div> +<br /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the silence of the midnight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the cares of day are o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In my soul I hear the voices<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the loved ones gone before;<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 525px;"> +<img src="images/music2.jpg" width="525" height="700" +alt="music 2" title="" /></div> +<br /> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the words of comfort whisp'ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell they'll watch on ev'ry hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I love, I love to list to<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Voices from the spirit land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I love, I love to list to<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Voices from the spirit land.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + +<h4>2.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In my wanderings, oft there cometh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sudden stillness to my soul;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When around, above, within it<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rapturous joys unnumber'd roll;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though around me all is tumult,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Noise and strife on every hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet within my soul I list to<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Voices from the spirit land.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + +<h4>3.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Loved ones that have gone before me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whisper words of peace and joy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those that long since have departed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell me their divine employ<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is to watch and guard my footsteps:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, it is an angel band!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my soul is cheered in hearing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Voices from the spirit land.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="GEMS_FROM_LATE_READINGS" id="GEMS_FROM_LATE_READINGS"></a>GEMS FROM LATE READINGS.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>BY THE AUTHOR OF KATE WALSINGHAM.</h4> +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>Oh, there is many a spot in this every-day world of ours +as bright and beautiful as those of which we dream, or go +miles away to visit and admire; but we must seek for them +in the right spirit, ere the dimness will pass away from eyes +blinded by the love of foreign novelties. Our own land, +ay, even our own city—the crowded mart of commerce, and +the vast haunt of poverty and crime, is rich in many a quiet +nook, which, although it might arrest the attention if depicted +on the gemmed page of the picturesque annual by +some summer tourist, it is considered plebeian to notice as +we pass them in our daily walks.</p> + +<p>We have sat beneath the vines and blue skies of Italy, +and heard from her moonlight balconies such strains as +made us hold our breath to listen that we might not lose a +note ere the perfumed breeze bore it lingeringly away: +and in after years, in those English balconies we have described, +wept, beneath the same moon, tears that had more +of joy than grief in them, at some rude and simple strain +which, sung by loved lips, made the charm of our careless +and happy childhood. We have stood awe-stricken before +the walls of the Colosseum, at Rome, and dreamt of it for +evermore! But we have likewise paused opposite the Colosseum +in the Regent's Park, investing it in the dim +twilight with a thousand beauties that made it an object of +interest. We can well remember lingering in the neighborhood, +before the mimic church, or convent, as we had +been taught to call it, of St. Catharine, with the moonshine +gleaming through its arches, and the flickering lights appearing +here and there in the diamond-paned windows, +watching eagerly for the appearance of those white-robed +nuns with which our childish fancy had peopled that quiet +place—wondering that they never came. And amid all +the architectural glory of foreign churches and cathedrals, +since visited, have failed again to realize that simple love +of, and faith in the beautiful, which then invested every +scene with its peculiar charm. Where the mind makes its +own picturesque, it never yet failed to find materials, and +is often gifted with a strange power to charm others into +seeing with its own loving eyes! So the poet immortalizes +the humble home of his boyhood, and in after years men +make pilgrimages to the time-worn stile, the</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Rustic bridge—the willow tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bathing its tresses in the quiet brook;<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>which his genius has redeemed from obscurity, and rendered +hallowed spots for evermore.</p> + + +<h4>BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! tell me not of lofty fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of glory's deathless name;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bosom love leaves desolate<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Has naught to do with fame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Vainly philosophy would soar—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Love's height it may not reach;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart soon learns a sweeter lore<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than ever sage could teach.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The cup may bear a poisoned draught,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The altar may be cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet the chalice will be quaffed—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The shrine sought as of old.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Man's sterner nature turns away<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To seek ambition's goal;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wealth's glittering gifts, and pleasure's ray,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May charm his weary soul;—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But woman knows one only dream—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That broken—all is o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For on life's dark and sluggish stream<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hope's sunbeam rests no more.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + +<h4>BY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON.</h4> + +<p>How strange it is to those who are in some sense new +to the world, to see the way in which time plasters over +wounds which we should have imagined that nothing +could have healed: wounds which we should have expected +to see bleed afresh at the sight of the inflictor, as it +was said of old that those of the murdered did at the approach +of the murderer. Sometimes we almost feel as if +nothing was real in that singular existence called <i>the world</i>. +Like the performers, who laugh and talk behind the scenes +after the close of some dreadful tragedy; we see around +us men who have ruined the fortunes and destroyed the +happiness of others, women who have betrayed and been +betrayed, whose existence has been perhaps devoted to +misery and to infamy by the first step they have taken in +the path of guilt, and whose hearts, if they did not break +grew hard; we see the victims and the destroyers, those +who have loved and those who have hated, those who have +injured and those who have been injured, mix together in +the common thoroughfares of life, meet even in social intimacy, +with offered hands and ready smiles; not because +"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy;" +not because "To those who forgive, shall much be forgiven;" +but because what is genuine and true, what is +deep and what is strong, takes no root in that worn-out +soil on which we tread, thrives not in that withering air +which we breathe in that fictitious region which we live in, +and which we so emphatically and so presumptuously call +<i>the world</i>.</p> +<br /> + +<h4>BY MRS. LUELLA J. CASE.</h4> + +<h4>CHARITY.</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Speak kindly, oh! speak soothingly,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To him whose hopes are crossed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose blessed trust in human love,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was early, sadly lost;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For wearily—how wearily!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Drags life, if love depart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! let the balm of gentle words<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fall on the smitten heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Go gladly, with true sympathy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where want's pale victims pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bid life's sweetest smiles again<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Along their pathway shine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, heavily doth poverty<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Man's nobler instincts bind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet sever not that chain, to cast<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sadder on the mind.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<br /> + +<h4>BY G. P. R. JAMES.</h4> + +<p>He was a fool, and not a philosopher, who said that +uncertainty was the just condition of man's mind. In +trust, in confidence, in firm conviction, and in faith, is only +to be found repose and peace. Assurance is what man's +heart and understanding both require, and the very +fact of the mind not being capable of obtaining certainty +upon many points, is a proof of weakness, not of +strength.</p> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="EDITORS_TABLE" id="EDITORS_TABLE"></a>EDITOR'S TABLE.</h2> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Close of the Year.</span>—The year is closing on us—and +the change suggests reflections, which, if rather melancholy, +may nevertheless be profitable. We acknowledge +that the divisions of time are rather arbitrary—and +therefore may vary, as they do vary, in different parts of +the world. But whenever we arrive at one of these important +epochs, whatever that may be, and wherever it +constitutes a point in the popular calendar, we have passed +one period of our life, and have so much the less to spend.</p> + +<p>If we <i>feel</i> the rapidity of time's march in our ordinary +festivity, and regret the approaching dissolution of the +pleasant assembly, by how much the more do we feel if +we pause to think that we are approaching the time when +all our associations in life must cease, and we be remembered—not +known—and that remembrance day by day +growing less and less distinct, as new objects occupy the +public eye, or new associations are taken up by those we +leave. Nor would we "jump the life to come," by neglecting +to make our approximation to that an occasion for +such a solicitude as would lead to a preparation.</p> + +<p>But we would not have all those reflections gloomy. +We would not cloud the close of the year, nor the evening +of life with moroseness, as if all were vanity that we had +enjoyed, and all were vexation of spirit that was left. +Such a use of the season would be a poor return for all the +good things which Providence has wrought in our behalf. +We know at this season of the year that the mountain +summits are covered with snow, and in some places the +drooping sides are whitened with the treasures of the +clouds, but even these things, chilling as they may appear, +are good in their season, and the beauteous covering of the +hill-tops may glisten with the reflected rays of the sun, and +seem to enjoy the visiter that has descended upon them. +All the trees that yield their leaves to the season have for +weeks been bare, ready to receive the weight of snow +which might fall upon them, and teaching man that preparation +is necessary to meet the evils of life and sustain its +burthens. Here and there a few evergreens retain their +foliage, and appear doubly beautiful amid the waste that is +around them.</p> + +<p>But it is not alone for their beauty that these objects are +worthy of consideration—they teach also. They are full +of instruction. Every leaf that glistens with winter's frost, +or is crushed dry and rustling beneath our feet, has its lesson—it +is well that all do not retain their position—they +would be less monitory, less worthy our thought. Nature, +in her use of foliage, acts upon the plan which the sybil of +old adopted—she writes her lessons upon the leaves—and +yet so arranges the truths they should convey, that they +become more and more apparent, more and more valuable, +as the hand of destructive time diminishes their number.</p> + +<p>Elsewhere we have given reflections upon those events +by which kingdoms and empires have been shaken in the +year now coming to a close. Let us come nearer the heart, +and speak of some of those changes by which human affections +and individual attachments have been disturbed. Not, +however, to quote the instance exactly—that would be to +drag up into life the hidden sorrow, and expose to observation +the grief which is sanctified for the recesses of the +heart, whither in moments of leisure the wounded retire +and sit and brood in profitable reflection over the affliction +which Providence has allowed. We dare not drag up to +day and its exposure each grief that lies buried deep in the +grave of the mourner's heart. How truly beautiful, however, +is the reflection that the stone of the sepulchre may +be rolled away, and that in appropriate seasons the afflicted +one makes a retreat from the business and the pleasures of +life, and "goeth unto the grave to weep there." Sanctified—as +beautiful—be the sorrow that hath not its exponent +in the public assembly, that hath no signal by which +its existence is to be denoted—no condition of countenance +by which its extent is to be measured. Perhaps the <i>sufferer</i> +had not yet obtained permission to call the object hers—and +thus is deprived of the privilege of admitted mourning—how +deep is <i>that</i> grief—it has known only the hope of life +which takes with it all of the sunlight that <i>makes</i> the rainbow; +without one drop of the storm from which that bow +is reflected. Perhaps the young <span class="smcap">WIFE</span> sits solitary in the +chamber which affection has blessed, and pines amid the +thousand emblems of the taste or customs of the dead—perhaps +her grief is her inspiration, and she gives to story +or to song the promptings of her sorrow, which the world +supposes is the gift of joyous inspiration.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the <i>mother</i> is pausing in the midst of renewed +anguish for the departure of her gifted, her only child, and +sits enumerating all his perfections, the greatest of which, +and that which sanctified all other virtues, and hid the very +shadowings of error, was his deep, constant love for her. +Oh, how the maternal heart, smitten by the heaviest of +griefs, bathes itself in the fountain of filial love; and when, +at last, the over-wrought frame yields to the undermining +sorrow, the mourner comforts herself with the reflection of +the afflicted monarch of Israel, "I shall go unto him, he +shall not come again unto me." These reflections, with +all of blighted hopes which parent, lover, friend and +patriot have indulged, the falling leaves of autumn suggest; +but the evergreen tells us of the survival of affections, of +friends, of beauty, and, perhaps, of attainments, and teaches +us that while we bend, and may bend in bitter anguish—anguish +long indulged beneath the rod of affliction—it is +good for us also to kiss the rod—for it has the power of +budding anew in the hand of Him who wields it; and the +same might which made it the instrument of His afflictive +dealings can make it also the means of after joy and peace.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, upon the leaves that we examine, the sybil, +with rearward glance, has recorded some event for joyous +reflection. Have we not been made participants of high +gratifications—domestic, social, public associations of instructive +and pleasant operation? Have not new affections +warmed the heart, or old ones sent out new tendrils to +cling with a stronger hold upon us? Perhaps we have had +the acquisition of wealth without the augmentation of desires, +so that we can make ourselves happy by judicious +distribution. Perhaps, above all, and over all, we are +better, by the passage of the year, better by newly acquired, +and especially newly exercised virtues—virtues that +bless others, and, through them, bless ourselves. If so, +surely we have grounds for pleasant reflections on the +close of the year, and may hope that we have not lived in +vain.</p> + +<p>The virtues of the human heart are like the water-springs +of the earth, their worth is measured by what overflows; +nay, as an accumulation even of the purest water must +become stagnant, profitless and offensive without an outlet, +so what we call the virtues of man become useless and +even injurious, unless they extend to others, by overflowing +the fountain breast. Virtue is communicable; and those +who associate with the good, find an influx of affection and +piety, as the woman of faith was cured by touching the +hems of the garment, that covered the source and example<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span> +of all health and goodness. If we have sought to acquire +good for ourselves, and to do good to others during the +present year, reflections upon its approaching close need +not be painful; it should be to us a source of high gratification, +that, enjoying as we have enjoyed, and mourning as +we have mourned, we are nearer the union of the good +who have gone before us, and further from the ills that +follow upon our footsteps; and as we close our year, or +close our life, may we throw back from joyous, grateful +hearts, a smile of virtuous pleasure, which shall enrich +the stern clouds that have passed us with the bow of promise +of pleasures that are to come. C.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Graham's Magazine for 1849.</span>—The new volume of +Graham's Magazine, to be commenced with the January +number, will, beyond all doubt, be the most elegant +volume that has ever been issued of this most popular of +all the American monthlies. The ample experience and +liberal expenditure of money by the publishers, the ability +of its host of contributors, the editorial tact which will be +brought into service, and the genius and skill of the artists +engaged to embellish it, must more than sustain the high +position it has heretofore held in public estimation. The +magazine literature of this country is destined to a warmer +appreciation in the public regard, as it becomes purged +from the sickly sentimentality which degrades public taste, +and when the first minds in the nation are found devoting +solid thought to adorn and elevate it. A few years since, +the highest aim of contemporary competition seemed to be +to fill a given number of pages with the silly effusions of +a class of writers whose feeble powers and false taste were +gradually undermining public regard, and bringing this +branch of national literature into contempt and disgrace, +but the higher aims of the publishers of the now leading +periodicals, evinced in the engagement of the brightest intellect +of the country, have raised American periodicals +to a scale second to none in the world.</p> + +<p>Blackwood and Frazer, in England, and The Knickerbocker +and "Graham's Magazine," in America, now stand +side by side, and by paying liberally for talent, command +the very highest. It may be doubted, however, whether +in this country the <i>force</i> of periodical writing has not been +in some degree impaired, by a diversion of the public eye +and taste in the smaller class of magazines with feeble +aims, to engravings and pictures, many of which are but +the refuse of the English Annuals, and the efforts of second +rate artists in this country; and also how far those magazines +which are marked by ability, and which, as magazines +of <span class="smcap">Art</span> as well as of <span class="smcap">Literature</span>, embracing in their +object and scope, the improvement of a very laudable +branch of art—that of engraving—as well as the adornment +of the work, should be drawn aside into a competition +in the <i>number</i> of their engravings, instead of the +<i>worth</i> which should mark each one of them. It appears to +us that this degrading of magazines into picture-books for +children, by impoverishing the literary department to swell +the number of wretched engravings in a department of +art, so called, must impair the value and shorten the existence +of any periodical thus conducted.</p> + +<p>For ourselves, we have marked out a course in regard +to the mere illustrations of this periodical, from which we +shall not be diverted. We shall continue to furnish to our +readers the most finished and elegant specimens of the American +engraver's skill, keeping at the same time in view the +value aside from the mere <i>ornament</i> of the engraving, thus +catching the public desire in the portrait of a person who +may have some claim upon posterity, even though the face +may not be the most beautiful; and in sketches of such +scenes as deserve to live in the pages of this magazine, +either from their own great beauty, from their grandeur, +or from association which gives them value to the American +eye and mind.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class="smcap">The Female Poets of America.</span>—Messrs. Lindsay & +Blakiston have presented to the public a delightful volume +prepared by Caroline May. It embraces biographical +sketches, and extracts from the productions of many of our +own native female writers, and serves to render us familiar +with those whose sweet strains have often charmed our +hearts. The style of execution of the volume in question, +corresponds with the excellent character of its contents, +and the authoress, publishers and printers have executed +their respective parts with great skill and effect.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Burns, as a Poet and as a Man.</span>—The admirers of the +gifted Scottish bard, will find an interesting and well +executed review of his character as a Poet and a Man, +in a volume, prepared by S. Tyler, Esq., of the Maryland +bar, and just issued by Baker and Schriver, of New York. +We are indebted for a copy to Messrs. Lindsay & Blakiston, +of this city, who are ever skillful in catering for the intellectual +taste of their literary friends.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><img src="images/hand.jpg" alt="hand" /> We lay our present number before our readers +with feelings of pride and pleasure, confident of the admission, +on their part, that a richer or more varied treat +has never been presented in the pages of any magazine. +Our contributors have supplied us with admirable articles—our +artists have acquitted themselves with great ability—our +printers have acted well their part—and now, we +trust, our patrons will complete our gratification, by being +as much pleased with the number before them as we are +in making the offering.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><img src="images/hand.jpg" alt="hand" /> We thank our editorial brethren throughout the +country for the favorable manner in which they continue +to notice our Magazine. They do us but justice when +they say that all our efforts will be put in exercise to keep +our Magazine in the enviable position we have so long +occupied. Always in advance of every contemporary, we +shall show in the new volume upon which we are entering, +what enterprise, zeal and energy can accomplish in the +elevation of the standard of literature and the arts.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Kate Walsingham.</span>—This is another of Miss Pickering's +delightful novels, just issued from the press of <span class="smcap">T. B. +Peterson</span>. The story is an interesting one, and the book +abounds with brilliant and sparkling beauties.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class="smcap">Lays and Ballads</span>, <i>by T. B. Read</i>.—A volume from +the pen of Mr. Read, one of the most accomplished of our +contributors, has just been published by Mr. Appleton. +The lateness of the hour at which a copy reached us prevents +us from noticing it at present as we desire to do. +We shall therefore make it the subject of a paragraph in +a future number.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p><span class="smcap">J. Bayard Taylor</span>, Esq.—A life-like portrait of our +friend and co-laborer, <span class="smcap">J. B. Taylor</span>, graces this number +of the Magazine. We know our readers—our fair ones +especially—will admire him; and we would remark, <i>en +passant</i>, for their information, that well-looking as he unquestionably +is, his merits in this particular are fully +equaled by his good qualities of head and heart.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span></p> +<br /> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="REVIEW_OF_NEW_BOOKS" id="REVIEW_OF_NEW_BOOKS"></a>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Principles of Political Economy, with some of their Applications +to Social Philosophy. By John Stuart Mill. +Boston: Little & Brown. 2 vols. 8vo.</i></p></div> + +<p>Mr. Mill is almost the model man of science of his age. To +habits of deep and thorough investigation, and rigid, penetrating, +exhaustive thought—pursuing a principle through +all the details of its application, and never stopping halfway +to pause or digress—he adds a calm but strong sympathy +with the philanthropic movements of the age; and +the tendency of all his writings is to advance the cause +of truth, justice and benevolence. But he is a reformer in +a peculiar sense, not practically understood by many who +bear the name. A comprehensive and patient thinker, and +discussing every question bearing on the interest, happiness +and elevation of mankind with a conscientious as +well as rigid logic, he indulges in no vituperation, uses +none of the weapons of passion and malice, and irresistibly +conveys the impression to the most prejudiced mind that it is +truth he is seeking, not the gratification of vanity or antipathy. +The consequence is that he is the only radical thinker +in England who is read by all parties, and who influences +all parties. With more industry, mental vigor and scientific +precision than Mackintosh, he has a great deal of that beneficence +of spirit, that judicial comprehension, and that strict +impartiality of understanding, which enabled Mackintosh to +reach minds separated from his by the walls of sect and faction. +Mill is one of those rare men who make no distinction +between moral and logical honesty; who would as much +disdain to utter a sophism as to tell a lie; and who can discuss +questions which array the passions of a nation on different +sides, without adopting any of the opposite bigotries +with which they are usually connected. As a matter of +course the prejudiced and the bigoted themselves, in those +hours of calmness when they really desire to know the truth +and reason of the things they are quarreling about, go to a +man like him with perfect confidence. Thus Mill, a philosophical +English radical, is ever treated with that respect +which clings to a profound and conscientious thinker, even +by the most violent of his Tory opponents. One of the late +numbers of Blackwood's Magazine—a periodical accustomed +to blackguard the men it cannot answer, and in +which Mackintosh himself was ever treated with coarse +invective or affected contempt—has a long article on Mill's +present work on political economy, admitting its claim to +be considered one of the greatest works of the century, +even though it takes strong ground against many of the +cherished absurdities of the Tory political creed.</p> + +<p>The reputation of Mr. Mill was sufficiently established +before his political economy was published. As the writer, +over the signature of A., of several articles in the Westminster +Review, such as those on Coleridge, Bentham, +and the Privileged Classes, and the author of the profoundest +and most complete treatise on Logic ever written, +he needed no introduction to the public. "The Principles +of Political Economy" is a book bearing on every page +the decisive marks of his strong and accurate mind. It is +a work after the model of Smith's Wealth of Nations, in +which principles are always associated with their applications, +and economical questions considered in their relations +to social philosophy, and the general well-being of +man. As, since the time of Adam Smith, political economy +and social philosophy have both made a perceptible advance, +Mr. Mill's work purports to supply the deficiency +of a complete system of political economy, including all +the latest discoveries, and combining a strict scientific exposition +of the abstract principles of the subject with their +practical applications. The result is that he has produced the +most complete and satisfactory work of the kind at present +in existence, and, on the whole, the most important contribution +to political economy since the time of Adam +Smith.</p> + +<p>We, of course, have no space to refer at any length to +his treatment of the different branches of his subject; but +the book has one characteristic which we hope will have +the effect to make it generally read. The style is so clear, +vigorous, simple and lucid, and the illustrations so apt +and copious, that the work can be readily understood by +those readers who are commonly repelled by the dry and +abstract character of other treatises on the science. The +author intended that his book should be popular as well as +profound, and has exerted his full strength of mind in +simplifying the more abstruse principles of his subject; +and we trust that his labor will not have been spent in +vain. Every legislator, merchant, manufacturer, and +agriculturist, every man who is in any way connected +with the creation or distribution of wealth, should read +this book.</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>An Oration Delivered Before the Society of Phi Beta Kappa, +at Cambridge, August 24, 1848. By Horace Bushnell. +Cambridge: George Nichols.</i></p></div> + +<p>Dr. Bushnell has within a year or two taken a prominent +position among New England divines, and promises +to rank high among the influencing minds of the day. +To deep and scholarly culture, he unites a strong, independent, +and singularly keen and ingenious intellect, and +a beautiful and bountiful spirit of cheerfulness and charity. +The present oration is a fine poem, expressing rather a +mood of mind than a system of philosophy, but grouping +together with fine art many facts of consciousness, and +applying them to the phenomena of life. Every thing, in +fact, is surveyed in the light of two ideas, Work and Play, +and though the application is sometimes more fanciful than +reasonable, the result is a series of beautiful representations, +original in conception and finely felicitous in expression. +There is room for considerable difference of opinion +in the oration, but none will be inclined to doubt the +author's ability or keenness. As a specimen of the style +we extract a passage relating to war, which he calls +an imposing and plausible counterfeit of play, or inspiration.</p> + +<p>"Since," he says, "we cannot stay content in the dull +uninspired world of economy and work, we are as ready +to see a hero as he is to be one. Nay, we must have our +heroes, as I just said, and we are ready to harness ourselves, +by the million, to any man who will let us fight +him out the name. Thus we find out occasions for war—wrongs +to be redressed, revenges to be taken, such as we +may feign inspiration and play the great heart under. We +collect armies, and dress up leaders in gold and high colors, +meaning by the brave look, to inspire some notion of a +hero beforehand. Then we set the men in phalanxes and +squadrons, where the personality itself is taken away, and +a vast impersonal person called an army, a magnanimous +and brave monster, is all that remains. The masses of +fierce color, the glitter of the steel, the dancing plumes, the +waving flags, the deep throb of the music lifting every foot—under +these the living acres of men, possessed by the +one thought of playing brave to-day, are rolled on to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span> +battle. Thunder, fire, dust, blood, groans—what of these?—nobody +thinks of these, for nobody dares to think till the +day is over, and then the world rejoices to behold a new +batch of heroes."</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Three Sisters and Three Fortunes; or Rose, Blanche and +Violet. By G. H. Lewes. New York: Harper & Brothers.</i></p></div> + +<p>Mr. Lewes is an author very little known in this country. +This is the first work of his which has been reprinted. +But in England he has considerable reputation among the +higher class of readers and men of taste for his brilliant +powers of mind and extensive acquirements. His Biographical +History of Philosophy we have never seen, but +we have observed allusions to it in other publications, +exalting it to a very high rank among thoughtful books. +For some time, if we are not mistaken, he was the chief +literary critic of the Westminster Review, and many of +his articles were marked by strong and deep thinking, a +little injured by vagaries of expression. In a novel by +such a writer we should naturally expect more than a +mere love story, more than a narrative of incidents and +representation of passions; and he has not disappointed expectation. +Indeed one can easily see that the book is +based on a philosophical system, and that more is meant +than directly meets the eye. The characters and events +all illustrate some problems in metaphysics and ethics, and +refer more to the understanding than the imagination. +The story does not lack interest, nor the personages character, +but both are o'erinformed with meditation. Fine +as the novel undoubtedly is, the author has not given it the +requisite artistical finish to produce an harmonious impression. +Speculation on matters connected with literature, +art and politics, essays on the passions and the will, +appear in their naked character amid romantic incidents +and imaginative representation. The author, in short, +ought to have made his book altogether didactic or altogether +dramatic, to fulfill the requisitions of either department. +Had he fused all his abstract thought and practical +speculation in the alembic of the imagination, and accordingly +represented all in the concrete form of character +and events, the result would have been a much better +novel.</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Euthanasy; or Happy Talk Toward the End of Life. By +William Mountford, Author of Martyria, &c., &c. Boston: +Crosby & Nichols. 1 vol. 12mo.</i></p></div> + +<p>The author of this volume is one of the most profoundly +meditative writers living. We are not aware that his +productions have had an extended circulation out of New +England, where they are very popular, and if they have +not, we hardly know of a better service we could do our +readers than to advise them to seek his companionship. +Martyria and the present work are two books which no +one can read without being benefitted—without having a +deeper sense of the "dread soul within him," and without +feeling a warmer love of his race. "Euthanasy" is one +of those volumes which win their way into the heart with +a soft unconscious persuasiveness, and abide there when +they have once found an entrance. The author's spirit is +rich, sweet, thoughtful, tender—seeking the beautiful and +the good by a spontaneous instinct, and discerning them +often, with the subtilty of purity in things which seem +valueless to the common eye—and while it soars into the +highest regions of spiritual contemplation, can still survey +practical life with a wisdom and sagacity which almost +seem incompatible with its loftiness. The truth is that +the author possesses one of the rarest things ever seen +in this world—a truly spiritual mind, in which there is +established no divorce between the practical and the +spiritual, the common and the ideal. Spirituality with him +is a life—no hearsay or imagination, but an experience. +He consequently spiritualizes the human and humanizes +the spiritual.</p> + +<p>The work, in addition to its own stores of original +thought, has many a golden sentence and rhyme from +the meditative poets of Germany and England, which +lend it increased richness and beauty.</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Ellen Middleton; a Tale. By Lady Georgiana Fullerton, +Author of Grantly Manor. New York: D. Appleton +& Co. 1 vol. 12mo.</i></p></div> + +<p>Grantly Manor is a novel of high and peculiar excellence, +and has had a great run. Its readers threw themselves +upon the present work as soon as it was published, +their expectations whetted by the memory of the last. +The result has been comparative disappointment. The +truth is Ellen Middleton preceded Grantly Manor, and is +altogether a less pleasing production. Considered, however, +as the first work of the author, it is rich in promise and +by no means insignificant in performance. The characters +are strongly drawn and well discriminated, and the +passions with which it deals are of that potent kind which +test a novelist's strength and daring. The difficulty with +the book is not its lack of power, but its lack of homely +interest. The characters and incidents are too much made +up in the author's mind—enclosed, as it were, in a peculiar +domain, and colored by one peculiar experience of life—to +give that satisfaction which results from a delineation +of actual life, or from vivid and beautiful ideal creations. +There is too much agony, and anguish, and hyperbolical +emotion, and splitting of the heart, and such like rioting +in spiritual misery and ruin. The elegance, eloquence +and sweetness of the author's style, and the high moral +and religious character of her mind, appear, however, in +Ellen Middleton as in Grantly Manor, and with the advantage +of as good a story would produce as agreeable an +impression.</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>History of Mary, Queen of Scotts. By Jacob Abbott. With +Engravings. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. +16mo.</i></p></div> + +<p>This is one of a series of popular histories which Mr. +Abbott is preparing for his countrymen. The tone and +object will considerably differ from the common historical +works in circulation. Mr. Abbott considers that +the situation and principles of American readers require +views of historical events different from those they would +obtain from foreigners. The present work is devoted to +one of the most romantic and thrilling stories in historical +literature—the Life of Mary, Queen of Scotts. It is +elegantly and truthfully written, and the mechanical execution +of the volume is exceedingly beautiful.</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Macaulay's History of England.</i></p></div> + +<p>The Harpers have received from the author, in sheets, +the first and second volumes of "The History of England, +from the Accession of James II., by T. B. Macaulay." +For these they pay one hundred guineas a volume. The +work itself will doubtless create as great a stir as any book +published within the last twenty years. Every body is +curious especially to discover the style which Macaulay has +adopted—that of his Essays being too brisk, brilliant and +epigrammatic for an historian. It will probably be something +like that of the Preface to the "Lays of Ancient +Rome," or that of his latest article on Lord Chatham.</p> +<br /><br /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol XXXIII, No. 6, +December 1848, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE *** + +***** This file should be named 32369-h.htm or 32369-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/6/32369/ + +Produced by David T. 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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. 6, December 1848 + +Author: Various + +Editor: George R. Graham + Robert T. Conrad + +Release Date: May 14, 2010 [EBook #32369] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE *** + + + + +Produced by David T. Jones, Juliet Sutherland and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + + + + + + +[Illustration: A. B. Ross, THE DEBUT +Engraved expressly for Graham's Magazine] + + +GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE. + +VOL. XXXIII. PHILADELPHIA, DECEMBER, 1848. NO. 6. + + + + +MILDRED WARD. + +OR THE DEBUT. + +BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER. + +[SEE ENGRAVING.] + + +CHAPTER I. + +Archibald Dundass was a rich Jamaica planter, whose estates were +situated in one of the most delightful regions in that garden of the +West India isles. His wife, an English lady, of great personal +attractions and highly connected, died when Helen, their only child, +had just entered her thirteenth year, an age when, perhaps, a mother's +counsel and tender guidance is most required. When the news of Mrs. +Dundass's death reached her friends, they immediately wrote, +beseeching the bereaved husband to come at once to England with his +child, or if not expedient for himself to leave Jamaica, that he would +at least suffer the little Helen to come to them; and especially did +they urge the plea that thereby he would enable her to receive a more +finished education than could possibly be acquired upon the island. + +This plea, to be sure, offered a strong inducement to Mr. Dundass; but +how could he school his heart to this second bereavement. Helen +possessed all her mother's traits--her dark blue eyes--her golden hair +and skin of dazzling purity--the smile that played around her dimpled +mouth--her light airy step, were all her mother's. Looking upon her +thus in her budding loveliness the Helen of his youth once more moved +before him. To yield her up he could not--and therefore Mr. Dundass +rejected the oft-repeated entreaties of his English friends. Helen +remained in Jamaica. A governess was provided, and whatever money +could secure in the way of learning was most freely expended. + +Mr. Dundass possessed many noble traits of character, yet pride was a +very strong ingredient in his composition leading him not unfrequently +into errors which his sober judgment condemned. Still he was generally +beloved, especially by his slaves, to whom he was a kind, indulgent +master. Knowing himself to be one of the richest, if not _the_ richest +proprietor upon the island, it was natural he should mark out an +alliance for his daughter commensurate with the fortune her hand would +bestow. When, therefore, Helen, beaming and beautiful as the star of +evening, burst from the confinement of the school-room to dazzle all +eyes and move all hearts, what wonder that pride and ambition swelled +the heart of Mr. Dundass. But + + + "Love will venture in where it daur nae weel be seen;" + + +and, unfortunately for the realization of those ambitious dreams, a +mutual love had already sprung up between Helen and a young man +without friends or fortune, whom her father had received into favor, +and employed for some years in his counting-room. + +To appeal to Mr. Dundass for his sanction to their union Ward knew +would be vain, and he therefore prevailed upon the imprudent Helen to +elope with him, assuring her that her father's anger would be but +momentary, and that his great affection triumphing over resentment, +would compel him to forgive her error, and open his arms to welcome +her return. But, unhappily, it was not so. There was no moving the +heart of Mr. Dundass to forgiveness. His anger and resentment were as +boundless as had been his love. He refused to see his child, spurned +her from his door, and to all the numerous and penitent letters she +addressed him, gave no reply. The blow was, indeed, a heavy one, +coming from one so idolized; his affections, as well as his +long-cherished pride, were crushed, and his resentment rose in +proportion. + +In the meantime Ward had removed to a distant part of the island with +his young and beautiful bride, where he had obtained a situation which +promised to be lucrative. That he loved his young wife who for his +sake had renounced wealth, station, and a father's love, cannot be +doubted; but that he also held a corner of his heart for the +possessions she might inherit, is also certain. His disappointment, +therefore, at the inflexibility of Mr. Dundass was extreme, and +mingled with it a bitterness which, in a short time, displayed itself +toward his unoffending wife, and in an irritability which, ere the end +of a twelvemonth, caused his employer to dismiss him from his service. +From that time the life of poor Helen was most wretched, bitterly +reaping in tears and poverty the fruits of disobedience. From place to +place she followed her husband wherever he could obtain employ, but of +which his idle, dissolute habits soon deprived him. A constitution +naturally feeble sunk under the inroads of dissipation. Ere three +years a wife Helen became a widow. Her situation was now truly +deplorable. Without money, without friends, and thrown upon the cold +charity of the world ere yet she had reached her twentieth year. For +the sake of her innocent babe she resolved to make one more appeal to +the mercy of her father. + +Over mountain ridges, through deep valleys--crossing dense forests and +treacherous rivulets--sometimes on foot, sometimes indebted to the +kindness of some chance traveler for a few miles ride, Helen at length +drew near the home of her childhood, and stole, unannounced, into the +presence of her father. The moment was propitious. Mr. Dundass had +already learned the death of his son-in-law, and the probable +destitution of his daughter. In those three years alienation from his +only child he had suffered much, and untimely old age had silvered his +temples and worn deep furrows o'er his brow. Not all his wealth, not +all the goadings of disappointed ambition, nor even the sting her +ingratitude had left, could drive her image from his heart, or check +the still small voice of conscience, which whispered that not even her +errors could excuse the harshness with which she had been repulsed. +The death of Ward seemed to unite Helen once more to him. Over her +misfortunes he shed bitter tears; and although pride still rebelled +against the yearnings of his heart, and made him resolve he would +never more admit her to his presence, yet even at the moment when she +fell fainting and exhausted at his feet, he was meditating some +measures by which he could place her and her little one above want. +Ah! pride, anger, enduring obstinacy, where are ye now? There was a +well of love in that old man's heart whose depths ye had not yet +probed. One look at the sad, care-worn face of Helen; one glance at +the innocent babe pillowed upon her breast, and that fount of love was +unsealed. The father took them to his breast and blessed them. + + +CHAPTER II. + +A few years and Helen, more beautiful than ever, again made her +appearance in society, and again Mr. Dundass cherished his darling +dream of her forming some high connection. Little Mildred, in the +meanwhile, having been sent to England under the charge of a faithful +nurse, to receive her education. + +A second time, however, was Mr. Dundass doomed to disappointment. The +charming and attractive young widow gave her hand to Mr. Donaldson, a +Scotch gentleman, whose only recommendation in the eyes of Mr. +Dundass was a showy exterior and a superb set of teeth. He had known +him for many years, and had always regarded him as more shrewd than +honest, and one who, where his own interests were concerned, would let +no scruples of conscience stand in the way of his advancement. He +thought him rich, but he had much rather he had been poor, if able to +boast a titled descent. The idea, therefore, of this second marriage +of his daughter gave him in reality as little satisfaction as the +first. His reluctant consent was, however, at length obtained, and +Helen borne off a second time a bride from her father's house. + +The plantation of Mr. Donaldson was delightfully located in a most +lovely region of hill and dale, sparkling with delicious rivulets, and +sprinkled with charming groves of the deep-tinted pimento, the +graceful palm, and magnificent cotton-trees, and the air rife with the +fragrance of the orange and citron blossoms, through which, like +winged jewels, glanced birds of the most brilliant plumage. Whatever +may have been the errors which Mr. Dundass detected in the moral +character of Mr. Donaldson, he was a most tender and devoted husband; +and in this paradise to which he had brought her, the happiness of +Helen seemed perfect. The Cascade, as Mr. Donaldson had named his +station, from the numerous little rills and waterfalls in the +neighborhood, was distant fifty miles from Mount Dundass, yet the +intercourse between father and daughter continued uninterrupted until +the infirmities of age pressing upon Mr. Dundass, rendered his visits +to the Cascade less frequent, and the cares of a growing family +confining Mrs. Donaldson more closely at home. + +Helen was now the mother of several children, charming, bright little +girls, yet it was strange that Mr. Dundass never seemed to regard them +in the same tender light he did Mildred Ward. Mr. Donaldson had never +seen Mildred, but already in his heart he hated her. The partiality of +the grandfather rankled his inmost soul, for he saw plainly it would +interfere with the prospects of his own children. Indeed, Mr. Dundass +had already settled fifty thousand dollars upon his granddaughter +Mildred, asserting also that at his death that sum should be doubled. +Mr. Donaldson possessed great influence over his wife--his words to +her were oracles--his wishes laws. By degrees, therefore, he instilled +into her mind a jealousy against her absent child, mingled with +feelings of resentment toward her father, that, to the exclusion of +her little Grace and Anna, he should have made her the object of his +love and munificence. This feeling once engendered Mr. Donaldson took +good care to keep alive. The poison worked slowly but so secretly, +that no doubt Helen herself would have been shocked could she have +read her own heart and found that, instigated by jealousy, a mother's +tenderness for her first-born was fast turning to bitterness. + +In the meantime seventeen rosy summers had flitted as some fairy dream +over the head of Mildred, when her grandfather, no longer able to +resist his desire of seeing her, urged her return to Jamaica. + + +CHAPTER III. + +To merry England our story now takes us, that we may trace a brief +sketch of those scenes wherein the days of Mildred had glided so +happily away. + +Norcross Hall, the ancestral domain of the late Mrs. Dundass was +situated in one of England's most charming nooks, about forty miles +from the great metropolis. It was an ancient building, the main part +of which was said to have been erected in the time of Elizabeth--but +of this little of the original structure remained. Its present +occupant, Sir Hugh Norcross, was the son of Mrs. Dundass's eldest +brother, and to his guardianship the little Mildred had been +consigned. In this charming family she was treated with the utmost +tenderness, receiving the same education and sharing the same pursuits +as her little cousins, between whom and herself a lively affection +sprung up. Lady Norcross was a superior woman, both of mind and heart; +and under her guidance and gentle teachings, which her every-day life +so beautifully exemplified, what wonder that the little family growing +up around her should prove all that was good and lovely. Helen +Norcross was near the same age as Mildred, Rupert three years her +senior. It was not until the latter had reached his fourteenth year +that the three cousins were ever separated, even for a single day; but +now, Rupert was sent to Eton, and the two girls were left to weep and +mourn his absence, or to study a thousand delightful projects to +welcome his return at the holydays. + +What happy seasons those were when, released for a time from the +thraldom of college pursuits, Rupert once more sprung in freedom +through the haunts of his childhood; the old walls rung with cheerful +voices, and every dell and dingle echoed to the merry music of their +happy hearts. And then, as each holyday came round, what changes +marked their progress. The two little girls had become graceful, +lovely women, while Rupert from a school-boy had as suddenly shot up +into a tall, elegant young man. + +Sir Hugh and his lady saw with pleasure the attachment of the cousins; +they already loved Mildred as their daughter, and it was the nearest +wish of their hearts that in time the affection which now united them +might assume a more enduring form. As the education of Mildred might +now be considered completed, and the object for which she had been +sent to them attained, they grew every day more and more fearful that +Mrs. Donaldson would claim her long absent child. Mildred was too +young when she left Jamaica to have other than a faint recollection of +her mother; she could only remember the beautiful blue eyes which used +to meet hers so fondly, and the long golden ringlets through which, as +she nestled in mamma's lap, she had played bo-peep with an old +gentleman in a high-backed elbow-chair. Then she was so happy at +Norcross Hall that when her heart whispered to her, as it often did, +of her other dear mother in a far-off land, she could not but reproach +herself for not being more impatient for the moment to arrive when she +might again embrace her. But now the time drew near when she must bid +farewell to this cherished spot. + +April had smiled farewell in tears, and May with her beauteous buds +and blossoms danced over the green earth. The streams welcomed her +presence with songs of glee, and the forests dressed in fresh beauty +opened their arms to greet her presence. It was yet early morning, and +to the uplifting of the rosy curtain draping the couch of the day-god +the birds were singing a merry prelude, as two young men stole softly +around an angle of the old building, and crept silently under the +shadow of the wall, until they stood beneath the windows of an +apartment whose inmates were probably buried in sleep, as through the +half-closed shutter the curtains appeared still closely drawn. + +"You see I have proved a true prophet, for the girls still sleep," +cried the taller of the two, laughing. "Now fie upon their laziness +this bright May morning--why we should have been off to the dell an +hour since, to gather the flowers ere the sun kissed away their +freshness." + +"Now I will warrant you, Rupert," replied the other, "that while we +stand here with 'dewy feet,' maybe catching our deaths from this early +exposure of our delicate frames, the little jades are quietly dreaming +over the last new romance, or their first ball--come, let us arouse +them with a song!" and dropping on one knee, the young man placed his +hand upon his heart, and lifting his eyes to the window in the most +languishing manner began: + + + "Come, come to me, love, + Come, love, arise-- + And shame the bright stars + With the light of thine eyes, + Look out from thy lattice, + O lady--" + + +"Very well sung, most tender swain--what a pity Mildred and myself by +our too early rising lost the melting expression of those upturned +orbs!" cried Helen, issuing with her cousin from a thicket of +rose-bushes. "So you thought us still sleeping, slanderers, when we +have already brushed the dew from the lawn, and look here," (showering +down a quantity of early violets,) "see what we stole from Flora while +you two were sleeping." + +A few moments were spent in playful badinage, and then the happy party +strolled off in the direction of the dell. But, alas! like many of our +brightest hopes this morn which dawned so blissfully was destined to +end in sorrow! Upon the return of the party to the Hall, Sir Hugh with +a sorrowful countenance placed in the hands of Mildred a package of +letters. She grew pale as she read, and ere she had finished burst +into tears, and handing the package to Sir Hugh fled to her chamber. +Those letters contained the mandate for her return to Jamaica. That +very week she must leave Norcross Hall, its beloved inmates, and all +the delightful scenes of her childhood, and hasten to London, to join +a family who were about returning to the island, and to whose charge +her grandfather had consigned her. + +The grief which filled all hearts at this dreaded separation may +easily be imagined. Rupert was nearly crazy at the thought. He now +felt how dear Mildred was to him, and that to part with her was like +rending soul and body. But certain that his love would meet the +sanction of his parents, knowing how tenderly they regarded her, he +hastened to make known his feelings to them, and to entreat that he +might accompany Mildred to Jamaica, and demand the consent of her +friends to their union. + +"No, my dear son," said Sir Hugh, "Mildred is yet very young--of the +world she knows little, and it would be cruel to shackle her with ties +which she may in time be brought to abhor, nor would it be doing +justice to her friends to bind down her affections to us alone. Leave +her free, Rupert; if she loves you, that love will not diminish by +absence, and I promise you that in due time you shall be allowed to +prosecute your suit in the presence of her mother, and should you be +so fortunate as to win a bride so lovely, your parents' hearts will +welcome her with joy." + +How coldly his father reasoned thought the ardent young lover, but +accustomed to yield all deference to his wishes, he consented that +Mildred should depart without knowing how necessary her love was to +his happiness. + +Both Sir Hugh and Rupert accompanied her to London, and saw her safely +on board her majesty's ship the Essex, bound for Jamaica. + + +CHAPTER IV. + +Leaving Mildred to pursue her voyage we will see what preparations +were already making for her return by Mr. Donaldson. + +This gentleman was by no means as rich as many supposed him to be. His +plantations were valuable, and located advantageously, but whether +from mismanagement, or from circumstances beyond his control, for +several years his affairs had become greatly involved, and he had only +been saved from absolute ruin through the scheming friendship of a +Spaniard named Perozzi--a man whose cunning was as deep as his own, +and who by advancing large sums from time to time, only sought to +entangle his victim in such a snare as should secure him in the end +his valuable possessions. Pride prevented Mr. Donaldson from applying +to Mr. Dundass--every year matters grew worse, until finally he felt +himself to be completely in the power of Perozzi, who had even begun +to threaten loudly, and talk of distraining. It was at this critical +juncture that Mr. Dundass declared his intention of sending for +Mildred Ward. A project now suddenly suggested itself to Mr. Donaldson +which promised to relieve him from his difficulties, and which he +seized upon in his selfishness with as little conscience as the +highwayman who robs you of life in order to obtain your purse. + +Mounting his mule he one morning rode over to the "Pen" of Perozzi, +some few miles farther down the valley. He was received rather coolly. + +"Your timely visit has saved me a ride this morning, Donaldson," said +the Spaniard. "I have an imperative necessity for my money, or at +least for a part of it." + +"My dear fellow, the very thing I have come to talk about!" said +Donaldson. + +"_Corambre--to talk about!_ It must be something more than talk--words +will not answer my purpose," replied Perozzi, his sharp black eye +glittering with hate. "I tell you money I must have--money I will +have, or--" + +"Good God, Perozzi, don't drive me to desperation. You know I cannot +pay you a single piastre! Only wait until I receive my return sales +from England, and I swear to you you shall receive your last +farthing!" + +"Holy Mother Mary! your return sales from England!" exclaimed the +other, in a tone of cutting sarcasm. "In what manner of vessel must +those same returns be coming, for, if my memory serves me, Columbus +discovered a new world in less time than this same richly-freighted +_caravela_ has been crossing the Atlantic--this has been your answer +for twice a twelvemonth. And now," he continued, suddenly altering his +tone, and striding to the side of his victim, "there must be an end of +this--either pay me what you owe me, or give me a quit claim to the +Cascade, for which you have already received from me more than its +value." + +"By heavens, Perozzi!" cried Mr. Donaldson, turning pale with anger +and mortification, "this is more than I can bear even from you; but +come," he added, suddenly forcing a laugh, "it was to see you upon a +more pleasing errand I came here." + +"_Corambre!_" whistled through the teeth of the Spaniard. + +"Hark ye, Perozzi; what would you say if I could this moment promise +to place you in possession of one hundred thousand dollars and--a +wife?" + +"Say! why that the Devil helped you to cajole, and then deserted you +at the pinch, as he always does!" replied Perozzi. + +"No cajolery about it, as you shall find," answered Mr. Donaldson. +"But come, let us sit--by your leave I'll taste your wine; your +health, signor, and" (turning out a second glass) "here is another to +Madame Perozzi--ha-ha-ha! There--now," said he, setting down his glass +with a force which nearly shivered it, "listen to me. You know that +Mrs. Donaldson, by her first husband, had one daughter, Mildred Ward, +who is at this moment on her return from England, whither she was sent +at an early age for her education. She is now, by the bye, seventeen, +and, as report informs us, extremely beautiful and accomplished. Now +what think you, Perozzi, of the charming Mildred for a wife?" + +"I want money--no wife!" moodily replied Perozzi, draining a third +glass. + +"Precisely--money," answered the other; "and that is what the fair +hand of Mildred tenders you." + +"One hundred thousand dollars, did you say, Donaldson?" said the +Spaniard, with a searching gaze. + +"I did. Fifty thousand with the wedding-ring, and the balance when the +old man, her grandfather, dies." + +Excellent, by the Virgin!--ha-ha-ha! No one can dispute your skill in +diplomacy; but methinks it would be well to know by what method you +propose to bring about a "consummation so devoutly to be wished," said +Perozzi, with a sneer. + +"Leave that to me; only act with me, and Mildred Ward becomes your +wife just so certain as I now drink to you--your health, signor." + +"And, pray, allow me to ask," said Perozzi, "what benefit you expect +to reap from such unparalleled generosity--it cannot surely be out of +pure love to me that you thus + + + "Buckle fortune on my back + To bear her burthen whether I will or no!" + + +"You are right," answered Mr. Donaldson, dropping the servile tone in +which he had before spoken, "you are right--it is from no love to you; +my object is this. You know as well as I do the utter impracticability +of my refunding any part of the money I owe you at present. True, you +may seize my estates, but this I think you will hardly do in +preference to the plan I propose; it would be at best but a vexatious +affair, while by accepting my proposition you secure not only an +equivalent for your debt, but also the hand of a charming young girl." + +"Well, well, to the point," interrupted the Spaniard, impatiently. + +"It is simply this; give me your written promise to release me from +all obligation, return me whatever notes you hold against me, and I on +my part pledge to you the hand and fortune of my step-daughter." + +Perozzi remained for some moments in deep revery, as if studying the +feasibility of the proposed plan. "I have half a mind to try it," he +mused; "it may do--the connection will be a good one. Old Dundass is +as rich as a Jew, and a man of great influence; while on the other +hand, should the project fail, I shall be no worse off than now, +unless an earthquake should swallow up the estates from my grasp." + +"There is one contingency which seems to have entirely escaped your +forecast," he exclaimed aloud, turning to Mr. Donaldson, "the lady may +not be of your way of thinking--she may prove refractory." + +"Leave that to me," was the reply. + +"I may not fancy her." + +"Nor the money?" added Mr. Donaldson, with a meaning smile. + +"Ah, there, I grant, you have me. Well, well, I am willing to talk the +matter over with you a little more freely. Miss Ward is handsome, you +say?" + +"As a Houri." + +"And young?" + +"Scarce seventeen." + +"Very well--now to business." + +But we have already entered into sufficient detail of the conversation +of these two men to show the reader in what peril poor Mildred stood +from their machinations. It is enough to say that ere they parted, +Perozzi pledged his word that, should their plot succeed, he would, on +his marriage-day, place in the hands of Mr. Donaldson a quit claim to +every demand he held against him. + + +CHAPTER V. + +How beautiful was Mildred as she sprung to meet the embrace of her old +grandfather; and how fondly did the old man gaze upon his recovered +treasure, almost incredulous that this lovely girl could be the same +little pet, whose infantine gambols and artless caresses time had not +been able to efface from his mind. + +The style of Mildred's beauty was, indeed, most captivating and +piquant. To a form of perfect symmetry and airy grace was added a +countenance beaming with intellect and vivacity. Her complexion was of +the same dazzling fairness as her mother's, but her eyes were of a +deep-gray, sparkling beneath the most delicately penciled brows, and +her hair of that dark, glossy chestnut, flecked as it were with +sunbeams, whose peculiar tint painters so much love to catch. A small, +rosy mouth, and white, regular teeth, which in her innocent vivacity +were often displayed, completes the picture of Mildred's charms. + +After spending a few days at Mount Dundass she took leave of her +grandfather, and under the escort of Mr. Donaldson, who had hastened +thither for the purpose, departed for the Cascade, impatient to behold +her mother, in whose love she trusted to find a recompense for the +pain which parting with her dear friends at Norcross Hall had caused. +And for a few weeks all went happily. The sight of her innocent, +beautiful child banished for a time from the heart of Mrs. Donaldson +that unnatural jealousy her husband had awakened. Mr. Donaldson, for +his own selfish purposes, strove by every attention and kindness to +win her esteem and confidence, while Mildred on her part delighted +with and reciprocating her mother's affection, gratified by the +interest her step-father expressed for her, and perfectly enchanted +with the novel and beautiful scenery, threw off all her +sadness--linking the past with the present, not regretful or +sorrowful, but as one continued scene of love and happiness, for which +her heart rose in gratitude to her Maker that he had conferred upon +her so many rich blessings. + +How often did she wish that Rupert and Helen could share with her this +West India paradise. The climate so bland and delicious--soft, balmy +airs by day, and nights of unclouded loveliness; the beautiful +undulating scenery of hill and valley stretching far away into the dim +haze of ocean--hills from whose summits towered the magnificent +cabbage-palm, its immense plume-like leaves waving like the crest of +some gigantic warrior above the band of palms crowding around, bending +their graceful heads to this their chief; valleys of luxuriant beauty, +studded with groves of the aromatic pimento, whose pure white blossoms +seem like snow-flakes just fallen amid their dark, glossy foliage, +while at intervals clumps of magnolia, resting on a carpet of bright +verdure sprinkled with flowers, and their trunks garlanded with the +gay passa-flora, arrested the eye. From those beautiful hill-sides +silvery cascades came leaping and dancing down into the rich valleys, +then twining their lovely arms through this charming landscape, as if +they would fain bear off its beauties to the broad ocean, whither they +are gliding. + +In the meantime, you may be sure, Perozzi made his appearance at the +Cascade, where, under some slight pretext, he soon became almost +domesticated, merely riding over to the Pen at intervals of two or +three days. To Mildred there was something extremely repulsive in his +appearance, and she could not but feel amazed at the influence he +seemed to exercise over her parents, and the deference with which they +treated him. She little dreamed of the power he would soon exert +against her happiness--just as over those luxuriant valleys, whose +smiling beauty I have but imperfectly sketched, the whirl-wind comes +rushing in terrible might, scattering ruin and devastation around, did +the tempest burst over the head of Mildred, changing all the +brightness of her young life to darkness. Perozzi needed no other +impetus than the sight of Mildred's beauty to render him as eager to +push forward the plot in agitation as Mr. Donaldson, and in accordance +his attentions to her assumed a direct and positive form. She, +however, had not the most remote suspicion of his intentions. How +great, then, was her surprise when one day Perozzi made her a formal +offer of his hand, assuring her at the same time that he did so with +the consent and approbation of her parents and her grandfather. +Mildred could hardly credit her senses, that Perozzi, a man as old as +her step-father, should think of a mere child like herself for a wife, +seemed very strange, but that her friends should also approve of such +a match, stranger still. + +"My dearest Mildred, what have you done!" cried Mrs. Donaldson, +meeting her daughter a few hours after. "Can it be possible you have +refused Signor Perozzi?" + +"Dear mamma, you surely do not think I could do otherwise than refuse +him!" replied Mildred, surprised at her mother's manner. + +"And why not, Mildred? Would it not be a most eligible match for +you--why he is not only very rich, but will probably soon succeed to a +title." + +"Riches and titles can never make happiness, mamma." + +"But they conduce greatly to its maintainance, Mildred." + +"O, no, mamma, not if attached to such a disagreeable person as the +signor." + +"Disagreeable! Mildred, you surprise me--pray what can be your +objections?" + +"Indeed, they are so numerous, that the repetition would only be +tiresome," replied Mildred, smiling. "But you are surely laughing at +me; you did not really suppose, now did you, that I could love such a +man?" + +"I did suppose you had more sense, Mildred, than to refuse him," +replied Mrs. Donaldson. "I can only say your decision has deeply +grieved both Mr. Donaldson and myself; yet we regret it more for the +disappointment it will cause your grandfather, for to see you the wife +of Perozzi has long been his most cherished wish." + +"Can it be!" cried Mildred. "Can it be that my grandfather, my kind +grandfather, would have me marry Perozzi--is it so, mamma?" + +"It is, Mildred." + +"Now, indeed, am I most unhappy," cried Mildred, bursting into tears, +"for it can never, never be!" + +"My sweet child, I am sorry to see you so grieved!" said Mrs. +Donaldson. "It must be painful, I know, for you to distress your +excellent old grandfather, who loves you so truly, and has ever +treated you with such generosity; but perhaps your decision has been +too hasty--it is not too late; reconsider the subject, Mildred, and +perhaps you will conclude differently." + +"No, mamma, my resolution is unalterable!" + +"Let me at least soften your refusal to poor Perozzi--indeed, he is +quite overwhelmed with despair; let me bid him hope that in time you +may be brought to listen more favorably to his suit." + +"O, not for worlds, mamma--not for worlds!" + +"Well, well, my dear, you are strangely agitated. There, go--retire to +your chamber, and compose yourself, my love;" and affectionately +kissing her daughter, Mrs. Donaldson repaired to the library, where +her husband and Perozzi were awaiting the result of this interview. + +Had Mrs. Donaldson forgotten her own youth? + +From that day Mildred was the object of ceaseless persecution. Go +where she would, there was Perozzi ever at her side, to annoy her with +his odious attentions; walking or riding, he intruded himself upon +her; no room in the house seemed sacred from his approach; and even +when she retired to her own apartment, he either stationed himself +beneath her window, or stood at her door, ready to greet her with his +hateful smile as she issued forth. Constantly, too, was he urging his +suit, while her repeated refusals, her cold words, and still colder +looks, might as well have been spent upon a rock--for a rock could not +be more impressionless to their meaning. The persecution she underwent +from the odious Perozzi, had, perhaps, revealed to her the true nature +of her regard for Rupert, and in so doing, brought also the pleasing +consciousness that she was beloved even as she loved him. How +aggravating, then, her situation. Daily her life grew more wretched, +nor had she even the consolation of sympathy. With a yearning heart +did she now recall the happy days at Norcross Hall, rendered by +contrast still more dear. "O!" she cried, in her anguish, "could I but +once more rest in their loving arms, what power could tear me thence! +Dearest Helen! Dearest Rupert, come to me! O, hasten thither and +rescue me from this horrible thraldom!" + +But months passed in sorrow; there came no letters from +England--nothing to cheer up her fainting heart, and finally, Mildred, +the once gay, happy Mildred, sunk into a state of utter despondency. + + +CHAPTER VI. + +"_Hist--hist_, Pedro!" and a tall, swarthy Creole, obeying the finger +of Perozzi, glided stealthily behind a large tree, where stood the +Spaniard, both screened from observation by the thick drapery of +ferns and parasitic plants clinging around its trunk. Eyeing the man +keenly, Perozzi said, in a low tone, + +"Hark-ye, Pedro! I have a job for you; here are thirty pistoles as an +earnest, and when it is finished, you shall receive thirty more." + +"By St. Jago, signor! I am ready--what is it? _This?_" touching the +handle of his knife. + +"_Corambre_, knave! No. Listen to me. Do you see yonder mansion, with +the green verandas stretching itself out on the hill-side like an +anaconda at play?" + +"The Scotchman's--Donaldson's?" + +"The same. Now look, and tell me what you see at the open jalousie on +the right, that is, if you can see through the heavy screen of +jessamines which droop over it." + +"Ho, ho! I have eyes at any time for a pretty girl, signor; she is an +angel, that fair English girl!" + +"Very well--you know her, then. Now do you remember the thick pimento +walk between this and the hospital?" + +"Si, signor." + +"Now, Pedro, hasten thither, and conceal yourself. This fair Signora +will soon pass that way. Now mind me, knave, when she reaches the +middle of the grove, do you rush suddenly upon her--seize her in your +arms, and--" + +"Ho-ho! a pleasant job, signor!" + +"Peace, knave! Seize her, I tell you, and draw your knife, as if about +to plunge it in her white bosom. Now, mark me, at that moment I rush +upon you and rescue the lady--do you understand?" + +"Si, signor; but will your honor please to remember I am but flesh and +blood--don't strike more than skin deep, signor." + +"Tush, knave! and remember--no violence; by the Holy Mother! if you so +much as breathe upon a hair of her head, you taste my dagger!" + +"Ho-ho, signor! methinks to snatch a kiss from her sweet lips would be +worth more than a thousand pistoles." + +"Villain, to your work!" + +"Ho-ho! a pleasant job, signor--a pleasant job!" And with a hideous +leer, the lesser villain parted from the greater, and concealing +himself within the deep shadows of the grove, awaited the coming of +Mildred. + +It was not long ere, little suspecting the terrible scene which she +was to encounter, Mildred set forth _en route_ to the hospital, to +visit an old faithful female slave. This was a favorite walk, and +soothed by the quiet of the scene, she lingered long in its delightful +depths. As her foot pressed the summit of a gentle slope, enameled +with many-colored flowers, and over which frown the blood-tinged +foliage of a stately mahogany-tree, pendent garlands of the +passion-flower, and delicate white jasmine swung in the soft breeze, +she paused for a moment, as if to prolong this happy reprieve from the +presence of the Spaniard. + +Suddenly, the wretch, Pedro, sprung in her path, and while with one +hand he seized the trembling girl, with the other he drew his +stiletto, and muttering a horrible oath, raised it as if about to +strike at her innocent bosom. Mildred did not scream, she did not +faint, but he eyes closed, and all power of speech and motion seemed +paralized. But the threatened blow was arrested; a violent struggle +ensued, during which she was clasped still more tightly to the breast +of the ruffian, who seemed to be defending himself from some superior +arm. Oaths and curses mingled with the clash of weapons; she was +dragged, as it were, several paces through the grove, and then, after +another struggle, she felt the arm of the assassin relax its +grasp--she was caught to the breast of her deliverer, and then placed +gently on the soft turf. + +"Mildred--my angel--my life--O, speak to me!" + +_That voice!_ Mildred knew its hateful tones; and a cold shudder crept +through her frame, as if some venomous reptile had touched her, as she +felt the villains lips press her brow. Recoiling, she slowly opened +her eyes. + +"Thank God!" exclaimed Perozzi, "you are restored to me. Holy Virgin! +can it be--so near death, and yet living and unhurt, I now hold you in +my arms! O, blessed moment, when love guided me hither!" + +"I owe you my life, signor," said Mildred, freeing herself from his +embrace, "but it is a thankless boon; methinks death would have been +sweeter! Leave me--I am better--I am well--leave me, signor!" + +"Sweet angel! leave thee--leave thee thus exposed to new dangers! +No--lean on me, my beloved--let me guide your trembling steps!" and he +passed his arm around her. + +"Away!" cried Mildred, springing from him. "Away! touch me not! +Monster--fiend! I hate you! Begone from my sight forever, or, in +mercy, kill me!" + +Perozzi became livid with rage, and his eye-balls gleamed like fire in +the deepening shadows, as they rested on Mildred, never more beautiful +than as she now stood before him in all the majesty of outraged +purity. But masking the hell in his heart with a well-feigned air of +desperation, he fell on his knees before her. + +"Would that the assassin's knife had reached my heart!" he exclaimed. +"Better for me to die than endure your scorn. Yes, _die_! By heavens! +why not end this miserable existence--here--yes, here, at your feet, +cruel Mildred! _It shall be done!_" and drawing a pistol from his +breast, he placed the muzzle to his temple. + +"Hold--hold--for God's sake, miserable man, hold!" shrieked Mildred, +springing forward. + +It was too late--the pistol exploded. + +"Ha--ha--ha!" shouted Perozzi, wiping his blackened brows, "that was +well done!" And raising the now senseless girl in his arms he bore her +to the house. + +When, after a long and death-like swoon, Mildred opened her eyes they +rested upon the anxious countenances of her mother and Mr. Donaldson +bending over her couch. + +"Where am I?" she cried, starting up wildly--"how came I here--what +has happened? Ah, now I remember--or was it some dreadful dream?" She +pressed her hand to her forehead--"no, no, it was no dream--tell me," +she added, with a convulsive shudder, closing her eyes as if to shut +out some horrible vision, "is he dead--is Perozzi dead?" + +"Compose yourself, my dear Mildred," replied Mrs. Donaldson, "he +lives--fortunately the ball but slightly grazed his temple--yet, my +child, such is his despair--to such a state of frenzy has your cruelty +brought him, that we dare not trust him alone even for a moment, lest +he once more attempt to end his misery by self-destruction." + +A heart-rending groan was the poor girl's only answer. + +"Mildred, my daughter," said Mr. Donaldson, "I had decided to say no +more to you upon a subject so painful, but duty to my friend compels +me to make one more appeal to your compassion. Can I stand calmly by +and witness the wreck which despair has wrought in that beloved +friend--can I behold him resolutely rushing upon death to end his +misery and not speak! O, Mildred," falling on his knees, "save +him--for you can--Mildred, behold me thus imploring your pity for +Perozzi!" + +Mildred burst into tears, and placed her hand within that of Mr. +Donaldson. + +"You will relent, my sweet child, will you not?" said her mother, +throwing her arms around her--"yes, you will, and make us all +happy--see," she added, drawing a letter from her bosom, "here is a +letter from my beloved father--let his words plead with ours--shall I +read?" Mildred assented, and breaking the seal Mrs. Donaldson +continued: + + "MILDRED,--You have refused compliance with the fondest + wish of my heart--you have obstinately cast from you + the man of all others I wished to see your husband! + Henceforth I renounce you. I loved you, my child, (as I + now for the last time call you,) I have loved you from + your infancy--to you I looked as my greatest earthly + blessing--but it is all over--we never meet again! Yet, + cruel, ungrateful girl, I will not doom you to a life + of hardship and dependence. The fortune settled upon + you is still yours. Take it, Mildred, and enjoy it if + you can, knowing that you have broken the heart of your + old doting grandfather, + + Archibald Dundass." + +As Mrs. Donaldson concluded, Mildred sobbed aloud. These reproaches, +mingled with so much kindness, almost broke her heart. + +"Give me the letter," said she, extending her trembling hand, and once +more she tearfully perused it, while a glance of triumph was exchanged +between husband and wife. The look of agony which Mildred cast upon +them as she finished reading would have melted a heart of stone. Mrs. +Donaldson burst into tears, and even the lip of her husband quivered +with agitation. + +"My God, pity me!" cried Mildred, clasping her hands and raising her +eyes to heaven. Once more she turned them on her mother. "Mother, do +not weep--_I--O God--I--consent_!" And as if with those dreadful +words her pure spirit had fled, she fell back cold and rigid as marble +upon the pillow. + + +CHAPTER VII. + +Let the silence of despair rest upon the sufferings of the unhappy +Mildred after those fatal words had passed her lips. + +Among other artful devices agreed upon between Mr. Donaldson and +Perozzi, previous to Mildred's return, was that of keeping her +entirely secluded from society, lest some other suitor might wrest the +hand of the doomed girl from him. But now that a consent to their +infernal measures had been torn from her, it was resolved that a +magnificent _fete_ should mark the _debut_ of the affianced bride. The +evening previous to the wedding was the time fixed upon for this +important event, and accordingly invitations were immediately issued +for a grand _bal masque_, including the governor's family, together +with all the _elite_ of the island. + +For weeks all was hurry and confusion at the Cascade--artisans of many +trades were busily engaged pulling down and putting up--the +drawing-rooms--the halls--verandas, all newly decorated--in fact, the +whole establishment, through the purse of Perozzi and the good taste +of Mrs. Donaldson, completely revolutionized. Mildred in the meanwhile +remained in strict seclusion in her apartment, unless dragged thence +by the importunities of the Spaniard, so sad, so perfectly overwhelmed +with the wretchedness of her lot, that it seemed most probable death +might claim the young bride ere the day of sacrifice came. In vain her +mother strove to interest her in the gay proceedings--entreating she +would at least choose a costume for her expected _debut_. + +"Do with me as you will, mother," Mildred would reply, with a faint +smile. + +In the sleeping-room of Mrs. Donaldson there hung a portrait of a +beautiful Turkish maiden. This picture was a favorite with Mildred, +and it occurred to Mrs. Donaldson that a similar costume would well +become the style of her daughter's beauty. A careful examination of +her own and Mildred's ward-robe convinced her the thing could be done, +and she set herself diligently to prepare the dress--Mildred passively +obeying her directions. + +At length all was finished, and in its swift course Time brought round +the appointed evening for the _debut_ of the wretched Mildred, so soon +to become a more wretched wife. At an early hour those guests who +resided at a distance began to arrive, and after partaking of the +grateful refreshments provided for them were conducted to their +dressing-rooms, to prepare for the festivities of the evening--all +being expected to appear _en masque_. + +Mrs. Donaldson, the still handsome mistress of the _fete_, wore a +splendid dress of the tartan, in compliment to the Scottish tastes of +her husband, who himself appeared in the costume of a Highland Chief, +and had already entered the drawing-room, in readiness to welcome the +gay throng. The victim, too, was ready. Passive as a lamb in the hands +of the destroyer, she had suffered her mother and her maid to array +her, and now sat like some marbled image, awaiting the coming of +Perozzi to lead her forth. + +How lovely she was, nor yet casting one look to the mirror wherein her +exquisite form and beautiful face were reflected. The robe her mother +had chosen was the same as the picture, of a pale rose color, floating +like a summer cloud around her lovely person, and confined to her +waist by a broad girdle of white satin, wrought with gold and clasped +by a superb diamond. The sleeves of the same airy fabric as the caftan +were long and loose, revealing in their transparency the fine contour +of her snowy arm, and were ornamented upon the shoulders and around +the graceful fold of the outer edge with rich embroidery seeded with +pearls. The caftan was slightly open at the bust, displaying an under +vest of thin white gauze gathered in maidenly modesty over her lovely +bosom, and fastened by a magnificent cluster of diamonds and rubies. A +_talpec_, or head-dress, of white velvet, around which were wound two +rows of the finest pearls, was placed low on her pale brow, from which +her beautiful hair fell in long natural ringlets, looped here and +there with sprigs of the white jasmine and orange buds. + +Gently the wind swayed the orange boughs, and creeping through the +flowery links of the jessamine and passa-flora, kissed the pale cheek +of Mildred as she sat there in her misery--twilight stole on with +saddened step, and from out the cloudless heavens one by one the stars +looked down upon her wretchedness. Then over the distant mountains +rose up the full-orbed moon, bathing their summits with gladness and +flooding the valleys with calm and holy light. On she came, majestic +and serene, o'er her glorious path, and as her mild beams quivered +through the thick clustering blossoms around the window they touched +the heart of Mildred as the smile of angels. Throwing open the +jalousie she stepped into the veranda, and leaning over the balustrade +gazed upon the peaceful landscape stretching before her in all the +chastened loveliness of the moonlight. + +There was something in the scene which brought with it the "light of +other days" to her sad heart. For a few brief moments she was +happy--present sorrows lost themselves in past pleasures. Once more +upon the ivy-clad battlements of Norcross Hall she was standing with +Helen and Rupert, while the scene upon which the moon looked down +identified itself with the woods and dells of that beloved spot. Her +bright dream was brief--the voice of Perozzi in loud and angry +altercation with some one awoke her too rudely to her misery. + +"O, Rupert!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands in agony as she turned +to re-enter her chamber--"Rupert, farewell--farewell forever!" + +"Dearest Mildred!" cried a voice whose tones leaped into her heart +with a strange thrill of joy--"dearest Mildred!" + +Did she still dream--or was it indeed Rupert to whose breast she was +now folded with a bliss too great for words! + +"Thank God, Rupert, you have come!" cried Mildred. + +"Mildred," said Rupert, (for it was indeed Rupert,) "what mean these +tears? Are you not happy--this marriage--" + +"A--h!" shrieked Mildred, clinging to him as though the basilisk hand +of Perozzi were already upon her, "_save me--save me_, Rupert!" + +"_Save_ you! dearest, beloved Mildred--tell me--tell me quick--this +marriage--is it not your own choice?" + +"O no, no, no!" sobbed Mildred. + +"Then no power on earth shall compel you to it! You are mine--mine, +dearest Mildred!" and clasping her once more in his arms, Rupert +kissed the tears from her beautiful eyes, as full of hope and love +they met his beaming gaze. + +"But my grandfather!" she cried, starting up. + +"He is here, dear girl." + +"Here! then lead me to him quickly--let me implore him to have pity +upon me!" + +The arrival of Mr. Dundass upon the scene was wholly unlooked for by +Mr. Donaldson--need we say as wholly unwelcome. Guilt and fear paled +his cheek and almost palsied his tongue as his lips feigned a +welcome--nor was Perozzi less moved. To define the feelings of Mrs. +Donaldson would be difficult. Her love for her daughter had been held +in complete subjugation to the will of her husband, and while she +grieved deeply for the sorrows heaped upon her, her love and fear of +Mr. Donaldson, and her knowledge of his pecuniary distress caused her +at the same time to exert all her influence to rivet the chain around +poor Mildred--so strange is human nature! What then was to be the +result of her father's unexpected visit--was it freedom for +Mildred--was it to heap disgrace upon her husband? + +In the mean time Mr. Dundass had been shown to a private room in a +remote wing of the building, while Mr. Donaldson and Perozzi were +already planning new schemes. They resolved that Mildred should be +kept in ignorance of her grandfather's arrival as long as possible--of +Rupert's they themselves knew nothing--and that on no account should +she be allowed to speak with him privately. The marriage should take +place at an early hour the following morning--_that_ consummated they +would defy even the devil himself! + +Mr. Dundass was sitting sad and sorrowful in the apartment to which he +had been conducted, for this marriage filled him with grief, wondering +that Mildred did not appear to welcome him, or that Rupert did not +return, when the door suddenly opened and Mildred rushed in, and +falling at his feet exclaimed: + +"O dearest, dearest grandfather, pity me--O sacrifice me not to +Perozzi!" + +"Sacrifice you, my darling child! Come to my arms--what mean +you--_sacrifice_--I thought it was your happiness I was securing by +consenting to your union." + +"_Happiness!_ O grandfather--rather my misery!" + +"What does this mean?" exclaimed Mr. Dundass. "There must be treachery +somewhere! God knows how it has grieved my heart to think of your +union with that man--I know him to be a villain, and when repeatedly +urged to consent to the marriage, I as repeatedly refused, until your +own letter--" + +"_My_ letter--good heavens!" exclaimed Mildred. + +"Written in the most moving language, at length won my reluctant +consent!" + +All was now explained, and the villainy of Mr. Donaldson and his +coadjutor made clear. + +"Courage, courage, my darling," said Mr. Dundass, "come with me. Come, +Rupert, I will 'beard the lion in his den,' and make known this +infamous plot--come." + +"My mother--spare _her_, dear grandfather--forgive them all--I am +happy now--let us not mar the pleasure of the guests," interceded +Mildred. + +"You say right, my child--to-morrow will be soon enough. But come with +me, children--let us join the gay assembly--nay, fear not, Mildred. +Perozzi, the villain, he shall not dare even to look upon you!" + +Now strains of delicious music filled the air--lights gleamed--jewels +flashed--feathers waved, and on every side the merry laugh and gay +badinage met the ear from prince and beggar--wild roving gipsy and +sombre nun--knights in armor--minstrels--flower-girls--jugglers and +staid Quakers, as in confused _melee_ they swept through the +rooms--yet all stood aside in silent admiration as the lovely Mildred +Ward in her graceful Turkish costume, her face beaming with happiness, +entered the saloon leaning on the arm of her gray-haired sire. + +Muttering curses through his closed visor, Perozzi (who was dressed as +a knight of Old Castile) hastily left the scene. He had sought Mildred +in her chamber--she was not there, and well did his guilty fears +surmise where she might be found. One glance at her speaking +countenance was enough. He saw in a moment all was over--that the +fiendish plot so near consummation was betrayed! With terrible oaths +he mounted his mule, and plunging his spurs rowel-deep into the sides +of the poor beast rushed, armed as he was, like some terrible demon +through the peaceful moon-lit vale until he reached the Pen--vowing +that on the morrow he would seize at once with the grip of a harpy +upon the estates of Mr. Donaldson. + +But here, too, he was foiled! Mr. Donaldson, it is true, did not +deserve so much mercy, but when, like a penitent, he came before Mr. +Dundass and confessed his crime, the heart of the old man was moved to +pity. He generously advanced the necessary funds, and wrenched the +Cascade from the clutches of Perozzi. Touched by such unmerited +goodness and generosity, Mr. Donaldson resolved to become a better +man, and to repair by his future conduct the errors of the past. + +At Mount Dundass, whither the whole family accompanied its venerable +proprietor, Rupert received the hand of the happy Mildred, and after +the death of Mr. Dundass, which took place only a few months later, +took his beautiful young bride to England. + + + + +A LAY. + +BY GRACE GREENWOOD. + + + The glorious queen of heaven who flings + Her royal radiance round me now, + As with clasped hands and upturned brow + I watch her pathway fair and free, + Is not so silvery with the light + She pours o'er darkened earth to-night, + As in the gentle thoughts she brings + Of thee, dear love, of thee! + + The night-wind trembling round the rose-- + The starlight floating on the river, + The fearful aspen's silvery shiver, + The dew-drop glistening on the lea, + Night's pure baptism to the flowers-- + All, all bring back our dear, lost hours, + Till every heart-string thrills and glows + For thee, dear-love, for thee! + + And when dawn wakes the Earth with song, + And Nature's heart, so hushed to-night, + Goes leaping in the morning light,-- + While waves flash onward to the sea. + While perfumed dews to heaven arise-- + While glory flashes o'er the skies-- + Still through my soul shall sweet thoughts throng + Of thee, dear love, of thee! + + Ah, thou beloved, whose heart hath thrilled + To blessed dreams and joys with mine, + What power shall change thy love divine, + Or shut its presence out from me! + Since all bright things, from flower to star, + Its types and sweet reminders are + To this fond heart, this soul so filled + With thee, dear love, with thee! + + We part not, though we said adieu-- + Since first thy thoughts chimed in with mine, + And from those glorious eyes of thine + A heaven of love looked down on me, + My very life round thine is poured-- + Thy words within my soul I hoard-- + Still true, in every heart-throb true + To thee, dear love, to thee! + + + + +THE SAILOR'S LIFE-TALE. + +A TRUE REMINISCENCE. + +BY SYBIL SUTHERLAND. + +(DEDICATED TO MY COUSIN MARY S----.) + + + "There's many an 'o'er true' tale, coz, + That comes to the listening ear, + That makes the cheek turn pale, coz, + And brings the glistening tear." + + +During the last summer, Mary mine, I was one of a party of friends, +who, tired of the bustle and confusion of the busy city, resolved to +lay aside business and all other engagements, for the brief space of +one day, which was to be devoted to a picknick in some retired country +location. The destined spot for our intended _fete_ was, after +considerable consultation, at length decided upon, and we unanimously +agreed to spend the day in a pleasant woods in the neighborhood of New +Brighton. + +It was upon a balmy June morning, when, with light hearts, but heavier +baskets, laden with provisions, sun-bonnets, books, music, and sundry +et caeteras indispensable upon such an occasion, we found ourselves +snugly ensconced upon the deck of one of those spacious steamboats +which hourly wend their way toward the sunny shores for which we were +bound; and after an exhilarating sail of half an hour's duration, we +landed at Snug Harbor, and proceeded toward our place of destination, +which was situated about ten minutes' walk distant. + +It was to the Sailor's woods that our steps were bent on the morning +of our picknick. Sauntering slowly through a shady lane we first +passed the great gate leading to the Sailor's Snug Harbor, an +institution which, as you doubtless know, Cousin Mary, was, through +the munificence of a certain private individual, erected some years +since as a place of refuge and repose to the weary, wayworn seaman. +Walking a short distance beyond these stately buildings, we found +ourselves within "the deep solitudes of the leafy wood." + +How shall I describe to you, gentle coz, that dear old woods, as on +that eventful day its beauties and wonders first greeted my gaze? We +had not advanced far within its recesses, when a welcome sound fell +upon our ears, and in a moment more + + + "The flashing ray + Of joyous waters in their play," + + +came gladly upon our sight. A laughing little streamlet rose before +us, its bright waters rippling and dancing, and here and there +illuminated by a stray sunbeam that stole softly and faintly through +the thick foliage of the sturdy old trees above. The brook was narrow, +and one could have crossed it almost at a bound; but there was no +necessity for the exertion, for glancing but a few yards ahead, we +beheld a rustic bridge, which, on nearer approach, proved to be of +cedar, and was ornamented with a sofa of the same material. + +Upon this rude couch we rested awhile till our friend C----, whom we +had elected master of ceremonies, went forward to take a more extended +survey of the woods and its surroundings. In a few minutes we heard a +loud and very expressive halloo from our absent companion, and looking +about to find whence the sound proceeded, we beheld him standing upon +a stone-fence at some distance, and beckoning us to hasten immediately +to his side. The mandate was obeyed, and after a scramble over the +stones, we succeeded in mounting the desired eminence, when a pleasant +sight met our delighted visions. The waters of the brook were here so +managed as to form two sylvan lakes, divided from each other by a +bridge similar to the one previously mentioned. The borders of these +lakes, through one of which glided two stately swans, were supplied +with seats formed of cedar wood, and so arranged as to resemble +lounges, _tete-a-tetes_, and arm-chairs, whose appearance seemed to +invite repose. And here we would fain have lingered, but asserting +that he had something to show us in another direction, C---- bade us +follow him a few steps farther. + +Descending from our elevation, and roaming through a shadowed path, we +at last halted at the door of a diminutive and picturesque-looking +cottage, within which, to our astonishment, was a table, round which +were ranged seats more than sufficient for our number. In no measured +terms did we now express our surprise and delight at thus finding in +the very heart of the wilderness accommodations so necessary, +wondering at the same time whether the fairies had not been there +before us to provide every thing for our convenience. + +Beside the door of this rustic dwelling an old man, evidently nearing +the allotted "three score and ten," was seated upon a rude bench, +busily engaged weaving a small and dainty-looking basket. He was +dressed in a sailor's garb, but there was an indescribable something +in his appearance, betraying that he did not belong to the lowest rank +of seamen. There was a cloud of melancholy upon his countenance, and +though the sounds of laughter and mirth were floating around him, he +desisted not from his occupation, nor even once gazed into the bright +faces by which he was surrounded. Absorbed in his own meditations, he +seemed not to heed nor care for aught else; and it was some time ere +any of us presumed to address him. But after awhile C----, who was on +every occasion the most venturesome of our group, approached the old +man, and endeavored to lead him into conversation. He did not resist +the attempt, and we now learned that the various adornments of the +woods were entirely the handiwork of an aged sailor, to whose taste +and ingenuity many a previous picknick party had owed the greater +portion of its pleasures. He showed us a spring near by, where we +regaled ourselves with a libation of the purest and coldest water, and +told us of a fitting place for a dance, an even, grass-grown spot in +another part of the woods. He also described to us a moss-house, which +he said was located just below the opposite hill, informing us at the +same time that it belonged to the estate of Mr. G----, one of New +York's merchant-princes, who kindly and unselfishly left it free and +open to the inspection of the curious, and wonder-loving community. +And to this latter domain my friends now agreed to adjourn--but much +to my regret, I was unable to accompany them. A severe headache, the +usual result of excitement of any kind, was now exerting its influence +over me; and I was confident, from experience, that my only way of +soon getting rid of it would be by remaining where I was and keeping +perfectly quiet. All of my friends expressed their sorrow at my sudden +indisposition, and each one kindly offered to stay and bear me +company; but unwilling to deprive them of any enjoyment, I declined +their offers, alleging that I should not be altogether alone, as the +old man whom we found there would doubtless continue where he was till +their return. The sailor looked up as I spoke, and said that it was +his intention to remain there for the rest of the morning, adding that +he frequently passed the entire day in the woods. So, assured that I +would not be actually solitary, they at last allowed themselves to be +persuaded to go without me in search of the moss-house. + +After watching their forms till they had quite receded from my view, I +re-entered the arbor where the old sailor was still at work, and +seated myself very comfortably in a rocking-chair. It was somewhat of +an oddity, too, Mary--that rocking-chair; and though I had almost +forgotten to mention the circumstance to you, the first discovery of +such an article of furniture in the woods had been a source of +infinite amusement to my companions and myself. It was built of cedar, +to correspond with the other various decorations of the woods, and +though hewn of the roughest material, for ease and grace of motion, I +might confidently challenge the drawing-room of a fashionable lady to +produce its equal. Again, I say, it was an oddity--that rocking-chair. +But the powers of my simple pen being scarcely adequate to a +description of it, this being, as I have styled it, a true +reminiscence, I would advise and invite you, dear Mary, if you wish to +behold the rocker, and judge of its _indescribable_ merits, to +accompany me on the first summer's day you may have to spare, to the +pleasantest and most romantic spot in the immediate vicinity of New +York--the Sailor's Woods at Snug Harbor. + +But to go on with my record. After enjoying for a space the easy +lulling motion of this inimitable chair; and after bathing my head +repeatedly in water from the woodland-spring, I began to feel +considerably revived, while the pure air, and the stillness that +reigned around, were of especial benefit to my aching temples. The +pain gradually grew less and less tormenting, till at length it was no +longer felt, and again I found myself watching the old sailor, who sat +at a few paces from me weaving his pretty, delicate basket. Gathering +courage, I entered into conversation with him. He had stated +previously that his abode was at "the Harbor," so I now made some +inquiries concerning that institution, its regulations, &c., and he +very readily gave me all the requisite information. + +"They must be very happy, are they not?" I asked, referring to the +members of the institution of which we were speaking; "very happy and +very thankful, too, to have had so pleasant a home provided for them +in their old age?" + +"They are generally contented," was the reply, "but there are many +among their number who, having no fears for their earthly future, +allow their minds to dwell too earnestly upon the past--and wo be to +them, if one voice from the memories of bygone days comes back with +reproachful accents!" He sighed heavily--and for some moments there +was a pause. At length, raising his eyes hastily to mine, he said, + +"Young lady--do you think that _I_ am happy?" + +The question was altogether so abrupt and unexpected, that I scarcely +knew what to answer; but, after some little hesitation, I replied, "I +do not, sir. There is too much of sadness in your countenance to speak +of a mind quite at ease. I should think that you had known many +sorrows." + +"You are right," he rejoined, in a voice of emotion, "I have, indeed, +borne the burden of many griefs; but, alas! I do not mourn them so +much as the errors of a heart but for whose weakness they had never +oppressed me. I know not what it is, young lady, that prompts me to +confide to you my history. But, perchance, it may serve you as a +warning--it may impress more strongly upon your mind that divine law +of forgiveness inculcated by Him who pardons _our_ trespasses, 'as we +forgive those who trespass against us.' There is a passage in the +'Book of Books' that never fails to convey to me a reproof, for I +remembered not the lesson till it was too late to profit by it. 'Then +came one of his disciples unto him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my +brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times? Jesus +saith unto him, I say not unto thee until seven times; but until +seventy times seven.'" + +Though somewhat surprised at the turn matters were taking, yet, as the +speaker had paused, and was now apparently awaiting some token on my +part of interest in his proposed narration, _I_, of course, entreated +him to proceed. Nor was he long in complying with my desire. + +It was truly a touching story, dear Mary. I would, indeed, that I +could "tell the tale as 'twas told to me." And yet I would not, if I +possessed the power, portray the mournful accents of that old man's +voice, and the sorrowing expression of his countenance--for the +picture would make you weep. I may not attempt to recall the sketch in +the language of the aged sailor, for that it would be utterly +impossible to do; but I will strive to repeat it to you after my own +peculiar fashion, and to the best of my ability. Could I boast your +incomparable grace of diction, Mary, I might do full justice to my +subject. But I know that with your accustomed kindness you will +overlook the faults which I humbly trust that time and practice may +enable me to overcome. So, having thus worthily delivered my preface, +let me hasten at once to my task. + +Some sixty years since, there dwelt in the city of Boston, a merchant +by the name of Sydney--a man justly beloved and respected for +benevolence of character, integrity of purpose and of principle, and +envied by the worldly for the enormous income which enabled him to +surround his family with every luxury that money could procure. Early +in life he had married a beautiful girl, to whom he was tenderly +devoted. A son, whose name was Arthur, and who, to come at once to the +point, was the original narrator of this story, was the sole offspring +of this happy union, and, as may be supposed, the pride and idol of +his parents. They watched over him with the most untiring affection, +and endeavored to instil into his young mind those firm and honorable +principles which rendered their own lives so lovely. But at the age of +ten years the hand of death deprived Arthur Sydney of his gentle +mother, and daily he missed her counsels and her embrace, and most +bitterly did he mourn for the footstep that was to come no more. + +The loss of his wife was a stunning blow to Mr. Sydney. He never +married again, for he had loved the departed one too well to think for +an instant of supplying her place; and so four more years elapsed, and +his child continued to be the only object of his cares. But at the +termination of that period this good and just man was called to a +mansion beyond the skies, doubtless there to claim the crown of +immortality. And then Arthur was left alone in the wide world--a young +and almost broken-hearted orphan. + +Upon searching into Mr. Sydney's affairs soon after his decease, to +the surprise of every one, instead of leaving his son in the +possession of an immense estate, there was not quite sufficient to +meet the demands of creditors. When Arthur Sydney became older, he +could not help suspecting that there was some mystery about this, for +strictly honest as he had ever known his father to be, he could not +believe that he would ever have swerved thus from the path of right. +What was in reality the cause of this deficiency, whether it was +owing, as his son afterward thought, to the craft and fraud of his +executors, can only be answered from the curtain of futurity. + +The mansion where Arthur's early years had passed so happily, was now +sold, with all its effects, and the lonely orphan took up his abode +beneath the roof of an uncle. But, alas! it was not like the home he +had lost--the dear hearth of his sunny childhood. His relative, Mr. +Lindsay, was a far different being from his deceased parent, and +though, like the latter, he lived in splendor, he knew not how to +enjoy it. Devoid of that generosity of spirit which Mr. Sydney had +possessed, he was also of a morose, exacting, and passionate nature, +and his family, instead of hailing his presence with delight, shrunk +from him ever with indifference, and sometimes with trembling. +Governed by the law of fear instead of that of love, it was scarcely +to be wondered at that his children resorted to every petty means of +covering their faults, and were often guilty of deception and +falsehood. Arthur Sydney's education had been widely different, and he +despised the meannesses which his cousins practiced; but when he +expostulated with them, as he frequently did, his words invariably +drew upon himself a torrent of invectives. They taunted him with his +dependence upon their father's charity, and asked what right a beggar +had to preach to _them_; and then the youth's proud heart would swell +within him, and he would rush to his own little room, and there, +unseen, give full vent to his wounded feelings. + +His eldest cousin, Alfred Lindsay, who was always foremost in every +plan of mischief, and the most perfect adept in concealing the part he +had taken in it, was a twelvemonth Arthur's senior. From earliest +childhood the two had evinced a dislike to each other's society, and +as they grew up, the feeling did not diminish. At school they had been +rivals, and Arthur had now far outstripped Alfred in their course of +study. In various other ways he had also quite unintentionally foiled +his cousin's ambition; and he was convinced that at the first +opportunity Alfred would have his revenge. Too soon was the +fore-boding realized. + +Mr. Lindsay one afternoon entered the room where his children +generally spent their leisure hours, and with threatening looks +announced that he had lost a ten dollar bank note. He had missed it +under such circumstances that he was sure it must have been purloined +by one of the younger members of his family; and he now declared his +intention of searching both their persons and their apartments, that +he might, if possible, discover the guilty one. Very pale were the +young faces that now gathered round him; and though Arthur's heart was +free from reproach, he, too, trembled with fear for the criminal. I +need not dwell upon the details of that search, but suffice it to say +that the bank-note was found--found in _Arthur Sydney's_ apartment, +within a little box that always stood upon his dressing-table as the +honored receptacle of his parents' miniatures. Vainly did he assert +his ignorance as to how it came there--his uncle refused to listen to +his words, and loaded with passionate reproaches, he was dismissed to +his own room, there to remain till he received permission to leave +it. + +It was a long while ere the boy became sufficiently calm to reflect +upon what had occurred, for the thought that he was accused of theft +came with such bitterness to his soul that for several hours he was +almost frantic. But as he grew more composed he became confident that +this was the work of Alfred, and he remembered the triumphant leer +that stood upon his cousin's countenance when the hiding-place of the +missing note was proclaimed. + +Just at this moment his meditations were disturbed by the sound of +footsteps stealthily approaching his door, and the next instant it was +opened, and Alfred Lindsay stood upon the threshold, gazing exultingly +upon Arthur's misery, while a malicious smile wreathed his lips as +pointing his finger exultingly at him, the single word, "thief!" fell +upon the ear of his victim. Oh! how that undeserved epithet stung the +innocent and sensitive boy; and, almost maddened by the sense of his +injuries, he rushed toward the offender, impelled by but one +thought--the wish for revenge. But, coward-like, Alfred fled from his +approach, and then closing the door, and locking it, Arthur threw +himself upon his couch in tearless, voiceless agony. It was not until +the shades of evening had closed in that he roused himself from the +stupor into which he had been thrown by those overpowering emotions. +And now came a determination that he would no longer remain in his +uncle's house, where he knew that he must ever after be subjected to +the sneers and gibes of his cousins. He resolved to quit Mr. Lindsay's +dwelling, though he knew not of any other roof where he might find a +shelter for his aching head. + +That night, when the unbroken stillness that reigned around gave +assurance that the family had all retired to rest, Arthur Sydney stole +softly down the stairs, and taking with him nothing but a small bundle +of clothing, and the few treasured memorials of other days that he +could lawfully call his own, he left forever the mansion of his uncle. +And as he looked his last upon the home of Alfred Lindsay, there rose +in his heart a wild, dark resolve, that if he ever possessed the +power, his cousin should one day reap the fruits of his evil deed. + +For hours the youth wandered listlessly through the now deserted +streets of the city, till at last overcome with fatigue, and +completely unnerved as the full sense of his desolate situation burst +upon him, he seated himself near the edge of one of the wharves, and +wept long and bitterly. Suddenly a hand was laid upon his shoulder, +and a voice whose tones though rough were yet full of sympathy, +inquired the cause of his grief, and looking hastily up, he beheld a +man apparently about fifty years of age, and habited in a seaman's +garb. Touched with his kindness, in the first impulse of the moment, +Arthur gave him a brief account of his misfortunes. When he had +concluded, much to his surprise, his listener informed him that he had +known his father, who had, years before, rendered him an important +service, in return for which, he said that he would now willingly do +all in his power to serve the child of one to whom he was so deeply +indebted. He told Arthur that he was at present commander of a large +vessel lying close at hand, and which was to sail the following day +for South America, and asked if he would be willing to accompany him, +and learn to be a sailor like himself. The idea was a novel one, and +the boy seized upon it with avidity, as beside being his only +available means of obtaining life's necessaries, he knew that by +embracing it he should lose the chance of meeting those relatives whom +he cared no more to behold. And when he at once expressed his +readiness to go, his new friend patted his head in token of approval, +prophesied that he would prove a brave mariner, and then taking his +young companion by the hand, led him toward the ship which was +henceforth to be his abiding-place. The next day Arthur bade adieu to +his native city, and commenced his career as a seamen. But upon the +events of that career I have not time to linger. For years Captain +Carter, for such was his patron's name, continued to treat his +_protege_ with unremitting favor, sharing with him all the nautical +knowledge he had acquired, and using every endeavor for his +advancement. At the age of eight-and-twenty, through this kind +friend's interest, Arthur was himself raised to the post of captain, +and took possession of a packet-ship sailing between the ports of New +York and Southampton. He had now attained the summit of his hopes, for +a way was opened before him of obtaining, what had long been his +desire, a competence, which would enable him to resume that station in +life which his father had occupied, and of supplying also to his +parent's creditors the sum of which they had been so strangely +defrauded. And at the close of five more years he had the satisfaction +of knowing that this latter purpose was accomplished. + +It was about this period that an incident occurred which had a +material influence over the future destiny of Arthur Sydney. During +one of his voyages, accident revealed to his notice the wreck of what +had once apparently been a noble vessel. He immediately despatched a +boat with a portion of his crew to survey the ruins, and ascertain if +any of the passengers survived. They returned, bringing with them the +inanimate form of a lovely girl, seemingly not more than eighteen +years old. Every effort was used for her speedy restoration to +consciousness, but it was nearly two hours ere she opened her eyes, +and then she was so weak as to be quite unable to move or speak. Her +delicate frame was evidently exhausted by long fasting, and the +fearful scenes she must have witnessed; and for the whole of that day +Sydney watched beside her with feelings of the strongest sympathy for +her sufferings. The next morning she was much better, she could +recline in an easy chair, and had acquired sufficient strength to +relate her history. She was a native of Italy--the youngest daughter +of an ancient and noble family, whose father having been undeservedly +regarded by the government with suspicion, was threatened with +imprisonment, and had barely time to escape with his household on +board of a ship bound for America. That vessel was the one whose wreck +Captain Sydney had espied, and of the large number of souls within +it, who had departed but a few weeks before from Italia's sunny +shores, but one remained--that gentle and helpless maiden. For three +days she had continued upon the wreck without the slightest +sustenance, haunted by the memories of the terrible past, and +expecting that each instant would dash the frail fabric to pieces, and +precipitate her also into the deep, dark sea, till at length +consciousness forsook her, and in a death-like swoon she forgot the +dangers by which she was surrounded. + +With tears of anguish she now spoke of the dear ones lost to her +forever on earth--the loved mother, the noble father, the darling +sisters, and the cherished brother, over each one of whom she had +beheld the wild waves close. Then she lamented her desolation, utterly +destitute, and nearing the shores of a foreign land, where no familiar +voice would accord her a welcome. There was a similarity in her +situation to what had once been his own, and as Sydney listened, the +story inspired him with an interest in that fair being such as he had +never till then experienced for a fellow-creature. He used every +effort to console her--gave her an account of his own early life, and +bade her trust in the kind Providence who in the hour of need had +given _him_ a friend. He assured her also that he, at least, would not +forsake her, but that he would endeavor to place her in some way of +gaining her own livelihood till she could write to and hear from her +friends in Italy; and begged that she would look upon him as a +brother. She heard him with glistening eyes, and clasping his hand in +hers, with child-like earnestness expressed her thanks for his +kindness. + +During the rest of that voyage Captain Sydney spent every leisure +moment by the side of his beautiful charge. Returning health imparted +a bloom to her cheek, and a lustre to her soft, dark eyes, and as +Arthur gazed upon her, he often thought that earth had never owned a +fairer flower. It was not long ere he became fully conscious that she +daily grew dearer to him, and great was his joy as he marked the flush +that invariably rose to her pure forehead when he approached. And when +at length he poured his tale of love into the ear of the sweet Leonor, +the reply that he sought was given with an impassioned fervor that +sent a thrill of rapture to his soul. + +They were united the day that they landed at New York, and renting a +small but pretty cottage in the outskirts of the city, Captain Sydney +installed his Leonor as the mistress of that pleasant domain. Here, +amidst flowers and birds, and enlivened by the music of two loving +hearts, the time glided tranquilly away till the hour of separation +arrived--and, for the first time, Sydney quitted the land with regret, +and embarked once more upon the deep blue ocean. + +Eight years after his marriage, Captain Sydney was destined to weep +over the cold corpse of his lovely wife. She had never enjoyed +uninterrupted health since her residence beneath the variable clime of +her adoption, and at last she fell a victim to consumption. Vainly did +the anxious husband consult the most celebrated physicians--the +disease was incurable, and ere the blossoms of spring again burst +forth, Leonor slumbered beneath the sod. Wild, indeed, was the grief +of the bereaved one at her loss--but he recovered the first effects of +his sorrow, and leaving his only child, Harry, a brave boy just six +years of age, under the guardianship of a friend who had loved the +departed mother, Sydney resumed his former vocation. + +Years again fled. Harry Sydney attained the age of manhood--and every +one that knew him loved him, for he was a fine, manly fellow, +honorable and generous in every impulse, with a heart susceptible of +the warmest sympathies. He inherited his mother's ardent temperament, +and was of a sensitive and impassioned nature. Captain Sydney had +destined him for a merchant, and as such he had just commenced life +with every prospect of success. Had he been allowed to take his own +inclination as a guide, Harry would fain have followed the sea. But to +this his father was averse, and early, at his command, he relinquished +the desire. + +Upon his son all the hopes of Captain Sydney were centered. It was his +earnest wish to see him happily married, and determined to express the +desire to Harry, he one day sought his side for that purpose. Both to +his surprise and approval, the latter informed his father that he had +already met one to whom his heart's warmest affections were given. He +added that the young lady, though poor and dependent upon her own +exertions for her support, and that of an invalid father, was the +descendant of a family said to be highly respectable. "Her +grandfather," he continued, "was Robert Lindsay, a well-known merchant +of Boston; and though his son, Alfred, has dissipated the patrimony +left him by his parent, and now relies solely for maintenance upon the +proceeds of his daughter's needle, I am sure, my dear father, this +praiseworthy effort, on the part of one so young and lovely as Ida, +will but elevate her in your estimation?" + +"Robert Lindsay! Alfred Lindsay!" were the exclamations of Captain +Sydney, in a voice full of passion, as those well-remembered names +fell upon his ear for the first time in many years; "boy--did you say +that _Alfred Lindsay_ was her parent? Then be assured that never, +while life lasts, will I give my consent to your marriage with the +daughter of him who was the enemy of my unprotected youth!" + +"Father--what mean you?" asked Harry, in tones of amazement, for the +tale whose memory had so sudden an effect upon his companion, had +never been breathed to him. And suddenly recalled to a sense of his +son's ignorance upon the subject, Captain Sydney now hurriedly +sketched the history of the past. + +"It is very strange," said Harry, musingly; "but they never mentioned +that they were related to me. It is probable that Ida's father, if +aware of the fact, concealed it from her knowledge." + +"Or rather that he instigated her to keep it a secret, that in the end +she might reap the benefit of his injured cousin's wealth," was the +rejoinder. + +"Oh, no, father!" replied the young man, warmly. "I could not wrong +Ida by a suspicion of that kind. She is too good and pure-hearted to +countenance deception, and," he added, after a moment's hesitation, +"I cannot give her up and wreck both her own happiness and mine, for +the sake of her parent's faults." + +These words aroused Captain Sydney's indignation. He accused his son +of want of spirit in refusing to resent the occurrences that clouded +his youth; and when Harry responded that he felt them deeply, but +could not on their account brand himself with dishonor, by breaking +the troth already plighted to Ida Lindsay, his father parted from him +in anger, declaring that if his son married Ida, he might never expect +his blessing. + +The thought of uniting his son by indissoluble ties to the child of +his early foe, was, indeed, repugnant to the heart of Captain Sydney; +and while he remembered his resolve uttered on the night when he went +forth from his uncle's roof a desolate, friendless and dishonored +being--dishonored through the machinations of his cousin Alfred--he +was determined that it should be fulfilled, even though in so doing he +thwarted the earnest wishes of the one dearest to him. + +A few days afterward Captain Sydney departed upon one of his +accustomed voyages, and was absent several months. On his return he +found his son just recovering from a lingering fever, brought on, as +the physician averred, by distress of mind. He looked very pale and +thin, and his father could scarcely help feeling a sensation akin to +reproach, as he gazed upon that colorless cheek and wasted form. He +knew that this indisposition was occasioned by the manner in which he +had treated his son's engagement, for, through the medium of a friend, +he had learned that Ida Lindsay had nobly refused longer to encourage +attentions, which, as she learned from Harry, were tendered in +opposition to his father's desires. Alfred Lindsay, too, had died a +few weeks before, and the object of his resentment being no more, +Captain Sydney began to feel less reluctant to the match which he had +at first looked upon with such violent disapprobation. Conscience told +him he had acted cruelly in thus casting a blight over his child's +sweetest hopes, and he was determined that he would now do all in his +power to further them. And when Harry grew strong enough to bear a +conversation upon the subject, he communicated the change in his +feelings. Both startled and appalled was he at his son's reply. + +"My father, would you mock me with this show of kindness, when it is +too late to profit by it? Know you not that she is now dying of +consumption? I was sure that _she_ was too delicate to endure the +steady occupation necessary for her support--and my presentiment has +been verified. Yes, Ida Lindsay is dying! I would have saved her--I +would have borne her to a more genial clime, where she might, perhaps, +have revived; but she refused to give me a right to be her guardian, +for it was against the will of my parent, without whose sanction, she +said, our union would never prosper." + +He bowed his face, while for an instant his frame shook with emotion. +Hastily his father drew nearer to him, but he turned shudderingly +from those words of penitence and self-reproach, and dashing aside the +extended hand, rushed from the apartment. + +It was, indeed, too true--Ida Lindsay was dying! The constant +confinement called for by her continued exertions to obtain a +livelihood, had proved too much for a constitution by no means +strong--and it was his anxiety for her failing health which had caused +the illness of Harry Sydney. Oh! what would not the erring father have +given for power to recall the past; but it was too late--too late! A +few hours after the interview with his son the intelligence of Ida's +death was received, and during the whole of the succeeding evening +Captain Sydney could plainly distinguish the sound of Harry's +footsteps as he wildly paced his chamber, and each echo sent a thrill +of remorse to his soul. Little did the repentant and sorrowing parent +then think it was the last time that footfall would ever resound in +his dwelling--for that night Harry Sydney departed from his home, +leaving no trace of his destination. Days, weeks, months passed on, +and the heart of his father grew dark with the anguish of despair, for +he felt most surely that he should behold his son no more. Whither the +latter had gone was a mystery he tried in vain to solve, though +sometimes he remembered Harry's predilection for a mariner's life, and +blighted as he had been in his affections, might he not now have +followed the yearnings of former times, as the only means of gaining +oblivion of his sorrows? So, night after night, Captain Sydney sat +alone at his deserted hearth--a father, and yet childless, with a host +of dark recollections pressing heavily upon his spirit. And at last he +sought forgetfulness of his errors in the sparkling wine-cup, whose +draught he drained with an intense eagerness, for it enabled him to +mock at his misery. + +And so five more years passed on, during which period his mind was +seldom free from the delirium produced by the practices to which he +had resorted; and having, in utter recklessness of spirit dissipated +his property, deprived, through his own weakness, of his rank as +captain, he was at length forced to lower himself to the grade of a +common sailor, for the purpose of obtaining the means of subsistence. +Then a severe illness, caused by free indulgence in intoxicating +liquors, overtook him--and with sickness came reflection, and he +resolved to yield no longer to the voice of the tempter. He recovered +from his dangerous indisposition, but remaining fearfully weak, the +physician declared that his constitution was completely shattered, and +that he was no longer fit for service. At first he insisted upon +resuming his wonted occupation, for he had no other way of maintaining +himself. The physician seemed to comprehend his reluctance to obey his +command, and he now reminded his patient of an institution in the +vicinity of New York, where the indigent mariner might find a home. + +It was then that Captain Sydney--for so let me still continue to call +him--sought the peaceful shades of "the Harbor," where for two years +he had, indeed, found all the external comforts of a home, and but +for the voices of the past he would have had no cause to repine. + +About a twelvemonth after his arrival at "the Harbor," a new inmate +was admitted there, in the person of an invalid sailor, who was said +to be in a deep decline. He seldom left the apartment allotted to him, +save now and then of a warm sunny day, when he would go forth, leaning +upon the arm of an attendant, and seating himself upon a bench in the +garden beneath the shade of a tree, remain there for hours, gazing +silently upon the blue waters of the bay before him. Regarded by all +as in a dying state, no one strove at these times to disturb his +reverie. His situation had excited universal sympathy, and frequently +the other sailors would steal to his side and softly deposit there a +small basket of fruit, or some little delicacy which they knew would +prove acceptable to him on whom it was bestowed. + +Habitually reserved, and cultivating but little intercourse with those +around him, it was scarcely a matter of surprise that for some weeks +Captain Sydney took but little notice of the sailor of whom I have +been speaking. But chance at length brought him more fully beneath the +scope of his observation. While one day walking in the garden, buried +in thought, almost unconsciously he neared the spot generally occupied +by the invalid. But he heeded not the vicinity till startled by the +sound of a hollow cough, and looking hastily up, he met the gaze of +the feeble stranger. A half-suppressed cry burst from the latter, and +springing quickly forward, Captain Sydney caught him in his arms, +while the words, "Harry! my son--my son!" came in a tone of agony from +his lips. But he heeded not the caresses--he answered not the words of +mingled endearment and reproach which his parent murmured as he bent +wildly over him; and when at length the stricken father became calm +enough to summon assistance, they told him that the spirit of his +child was at rest. + + * * * * * + +Such, my dear cousin, was the old man's history; and as he ceased, his +head leaned droopingly upon his hand, while his whole attitude +betokened the most intense mental suffering. For some moments there +was silence between us, for I felt that words were insufficient to +console him. But suddenly the stillness was broken by the sound of +lively voices approaching, and I recognized the tones of my +long-absent companions, and knew that they were close at hand. In a +few seconds more, they appeared near the stone-fence, which I have +once before alluded to. The old sailor evidently wished to avoid them, +for their gayety was discordant to his feelings. Rising from his seat, +he now drew closer to the spot where I was stationed. + +"Farewell, young lady," were his parting words, as he clasped my +extended hand, and for a moment that pale, sad face, looked so +mournfully into mine, that tears of the deepest commiseration sprung +involuntarily to my eyes, "we may never meet again, and I trust you +will forgive me, if the repetition of my sorrows has cast a shadow +upon your heart. Remember me in your prayers, if you will, and ask +that I may soon be borne to my last repose in the little grave-yard +yonder, where my son lies sleeping. Farewell." + +An instant more and he was gone--and for some moments I remained +seated where he had left me, patiently awaiting the approach of my +friends, and meanwhile musing earnestly and sadly upon the Sailor's +Life-Tale. + + + + +THE MOURNERS. + + + Where'er I wander forth I view the mournful ones of earth: + They tread no more, with buoyant feet, the radiant halls of mirth; + Around their trembling frames are drawn the weary weeds of wo; + Their sighs, like cold November rains, with saddened cadence flow; + From the dead hopes and faded joys of bright departed years, + They twine a garland for the brow, impearled with many tears; + Upon the graves of buried loves they sit awhile and sigh, + Then, mid the ruin-mantled waste of time, lie down to die. + + They close their weary eyes upon God's calm and holy light; + They dwell girt round with misery as with a starless night; + They fold a thick and icy shroud their care-worn bosoms round, + And rest beneath the baleful charm like streams by winter bound; + They nurse their sorrow till of all their thoughts it grows a part, + And, like a cold and mighty snake, twines round the bleeding heart; + And then its hissing tones descend in drops of fiery rain, + And scathe, as lightning flashes blast, the weak and wandering brain. + + The mourners chant, with voices low, a sweet and sighing strain, + That moans, as on a rocky shore, the solemn sounding main: + It breathes alike when summer fades and when the violets spring; + It mingles with the morning light and evening twilight dim. + This is the burden of that faint and melancholy lay: + "The cloud of wo hath hid the smiles and beauty of the day; + The glow of earth, the radiant gleam, the bliss of life is o'er; + The rose of human love may bloom for us no more--_no more_." + + Arise, be strong, O, mournful ones! The Future is your own; + There Love may weave her rosy nest, there Joy erect a throne. + Though youth's pale buds in early Spring were blighted and laid low, + Thine yet may be the peerless bloom of life's rich summer glow. + The blissful ones, the glorified, build up their own bright state. + Let but the slumbering spirit learn "to labor and to wait," + Then, like a bird of tireless wing, 'twill rise above the storm, + And bathe its flashing pinions in the glory of the morn! + + REV. T. L. HARRIS. + + + + +REFLECTIONS + +ON SOME OF THE EVENTS OF THE YEAR 1848. + +BY JOSEPH R. CHANDLER. + +_Annus Mirabilis._ + + +We are approaching the close of the year--a year marked by greater +vicissitudes in the affairs of nations than any in which we have +lived--any indeed of which we have read. History gives us accounts of +the rapid march and equally rapid conquests by ambitious kings, who +seemed only happy in the unhappiness of others, and only proud of +destroying that which constituted the pride of others. From time to +time ambitious men have exhibited themselves in the great theatre of +the world, and their greatness has been measured by the extent of +misery they have produced; and their claims to permanent fame have +rested upon the rapidity that marked their destruction of cities, +kingdoms and empires. While between the epochs which are distinguished +by these promoters of extensive mischief, there have at all times been +humble imitators of their crimes, whose limited power of doing +confined their actions to provinces, and compelled them to be +ministers of local vengeance, and the enjoyers of that petty infamy +which results from numerable murders and calculable crime. It is but +too evident that order has had its antagonists, at all times and in +all degrees, and if history has been employed with the works of those +whose extensive scale of action gives larger consequence to their +movements, it cannot be doubted that society has been convulsed at its +centre by the restless and the bad, who have been as efficient in +their sphere of wrong doing as have been those who occupied a larger +space. The latter struck the elevated, and disturbed public relations; +the former sent home its weapon to the humble, and brought disturbance +and misery into the more limited circle, reaching social life and +stabbing even to the heart of domestic peace. + +Such great events have marked epochs, or made them; and such small +occurrences have been the characteristics of almost all times; so that +the wars of the present century may be considered but as continuations +of the belligerent movements of other times, modified indeed by the +improvement of the present age, but still of the same spirit and from +the same motives. But the events of the past year are of another kind. +The disturbances that have distinguished the history of Europe in that +time are not the result of the mad ambition of a conqueror to add to +his possessions, and subjugate kings and kingdoms as a means of +gratifying ambition; foreign conquest and invasion from abroad are not +now the occurrences which European rulers fear or anticipate. The +convulsions that distinguish every empire from the Atlantic to the +Black Sea, has nothing to do with the ambition of other _rulers_ but +are referable to the rising spirit of their own _people_. No longer do +the States of Germany combine to repel the assaults of the ruler of +France. Each member of the nominal confederacy is looking to itself as +possessing the active means of revolution, and each leans toward a +combination that shall sustain the rights of the people and put a +specific limit to the power of princes. + +No longer do men startle at the grasping avarice of the upper powers +demanding new possessions and the recognition of enlarged prerogative; +no longer is the peace of nations disturbed by the attempts of an +ambitious ruler to extend his domains and enlarge his power. The +convulsions that are everywhere in Europe felt, come from the +up-heaving of the lower masses; deep down in the bosom of empires is +heard the voice of multitudes crying out for newly understood rights. +Up from that stratum comes a convulsive heave, that is toppling down +the thrones that have rested upon the hearts of the people, and not +outside the national limits, not at the terminal portions, not at the +"outer walls" of the capital is the movement felt--but within, at the +heart of the nation, within the shadow of the palace, along the quays +where business is pursued, in the narrow walks of trade, over the +bench of the artisan, or in the boudoir of beauty, is planned the +movement that is subverting thrones and leveling up society. For +nearly a century past have there been at work the elements of such +convulsion. The struggle of the antagonistic powers has been such that +results were postponed--only postponed--while the injurers lost power, +and the injured gathered strength. Premonitory movements were +observed, and in some instances seconded, as in France, in others +allayed by power or concessions, as in Austria and Great Britain. But +when the whole is only a right, the acquisition of a part is only a +prelude to a struggle for more, and this has been seen in every nation +where concession was made to the people, or wrung by force from the +rulers. + +But there was reserved for the present year the great assertion of +human rights. The annunciation was first made in France, where tyranny +galled the sensitive portions of the people, or where a taste of +temporary freedom had created an appetite for constant enjoyment. The +flight of Louis Philippe seemed sudden--startling--almost without a +cause; and if nothing but the _emeute_ in Paris is regarded, certainly +the effect was entirely disproportioned to the cause. But the +revolution of the 22d of February was a natural consequence of the +pre-existing state of things. The fall of the leaf in autumn is not a +more natural result of a waning season than was the fall of Louis +Philippe a consequence of exhausted monarchy. The spirit of the people +had come up to that point at which monarchy must either assume the +form of absolutism, and rule by fear alone, or must yield to the +upward pressure of the people, and its possessors seek to escape the +opposing principle which they could not withstand. Louis Philippe +tried the former--it was too late--the army, that last hope of +tyrants, the sword and the bayonet _hired_ to defend the throne became +the people's support--failing in the effort to fix his power by blood, +Louis Philippe fled to save his life; a common movement of French +monarchs. + +France may or may not establish republican institutions. Love of +monarchy will not prevent the fulfillment of her people's +hopes--difference of opinion as it regards degrees of freedom, and +want of self sacrifice, we mean the sacrifice of personal views, +(there will never be a want of self sacrifice of human life in +France,) will do more to retard the establishment of republicanism in +France than all the lingering attachments to monarchy that can be +hunted up in the Faubourg de St. Germain, or in all the isolated +chateux of the interior of the country. The habits, not the affections +of the mass of the French people may also be regarded as one obstacle +to true republicanism--a constantly diminishing obstacle, it is true, +but still a formidable obstacle. + +The revolution in France was the signal (not the _preconcerted_ +signal, as it should have been,) for a general insurrectionary +movement, and no sooner had the press announced the departure of Louis +Philippe, than forthwith Poland gave signs of life--Austria heaved +with the workings of the under stratum--Hungary demanded +independence--Prussia was in an insurrectionary state--a voice was +heard from Russia--and Italy from the Alps to the Straights of Otranto +began to try the strength of those fetters which indolence, ignorance +and ease had allowed to be fastened upon her. The history of the +revolutionary movements on this peninsula has yet to be written; it is +full of interest, and if presented impartially, with a correct +reference to causes, both of tyranny and insurrection, must prove +deeply moving and instructive. We cannot do more than refer to the +fact that Italy has been aroused; that tyranny has received a blow +from which it can never wholly recover, and that there, as well as +elsewhere, the rights of man have been proclaimed--proclaimed in +part--proclaimed with doubts, with erroneous conceptions, with false +views and an unchastened spirit, but still proclaimed, and what is +more, openly admitted--admitted with purer views of property, more +definite ideas of practicability, chastened wishes and paternal +feelings. All is right in its tendencies. The false perceptions are +owing to the suddenness of the light recently admitted. The +inclusiveness of demands spring from a want of knowledge of the +sacrifices which order requires from the friends of liberty--success +will correct these views, and experience show the path which true +patriotism opens. + +Regarding, as we do, all movements as effects of Providential +direction, we cannot forbear to consider the election of Pius IX. to +the papal throne as an important part of that providence, in regard to +the Peninsula of Italy in particular, and, perhaps, to the whole +world. The correctness of the doctrine which makes that prelate a +spiritual chief, or the propriety of uniting temporal with spiritual +power, are questions to be settled elsewhere. Both exist, and both +have an influence on the movements of nations; and the character of +the new administrator of the Papal See, had at once an effect on his +own subjects and upon all the people of Italy, and, through the +people, upon the rulers. The new Pope seemed to have stepped forward a +century from the line occupied by his predecessor, and to have stood +in the front ranks of the reformers of the age. He was young, no old +habits of yielding retarded his movements. He was young, none of the +nervous tremulousness of age, that is shocked at the proposition of +_change_, made him deaf to the demands of the time. He was young, and +he had not yet been hardened into that unyieldingness of age that +distinguishes the veteran church-man, who mingles the necessity of +faith in _divine_ doctrines with the necessity of non-resistance to +human precepts. He knew and sympathized in the feelings which had +animated the Italians: he was not ignorant that the prisons had been +filled by men charged with crimes which the oppression of Austria +provoked, and which the espionage of Austria detected and caused to be +punished. He felt that his own temporal power was abused by the +overawing influence of Austria, and he pardoned those who had offended +only a foreign potentate, and were suffering under the condemnation of +their own rulers. He would have led the movement to a peaceful and +desirable result, but, alas! the oppression of centuries had made the +many mad; and their limbs had been so galled with the manacles of +political oppression that they became restive under the wholesome +restraints that order and appropriate government demand; dragged +forward by these eccentric bodies, and restrained by the timidity and +prejudices of some of his legitimate advisers, Pius has felt that his +triple crown was the means of triple sorrow; but he has also shown +that he understood the maxim, that "he only is fitted to rule who +knows how to sacrifice." + +The arms of the Italian States and the influence of the Pope have been +successful against Austria, and even though that overgrown and tumid +empire should reconquer all her late possessions in Lombardy, and be +as omnipotent in Venice as she is in Triest or Vienna, still the +prestige of power is gone, and she can no longer extend an influence +over the human mind that tends upward in its views. The _taste_ of +independence has been enjoyed--the tree of knowledge has yielded some +of its fruits--and hereafter there can be no rest, no quiet, without +something of liberty, much of science. + +The question has been raised as to the existence of the power of the +Pope deprived of his temporalities. That is, can the Pope yield up the +government of the Papal States to a secular ruler, and maintain the +full amount of spiritual power which he now exercises, and which he +and those of his creed deem a necessary portion of his official life. + +We are noways concerned in the settlement of that question, beyond its +bearing upon the condition of Italy, and through her upon many other +portions of the earth. We do not know that there is _now_ any +probability that the Papal States will pass under another ruler than +the Pope; but we entertain no doubt that the Pope could exercise all +the functions of Bishop of Rome, with all the supremacy which he +claims for that office over other bishoprics, as well without the +appanages of temporalities as with them. There is nothing in the +office, or all that is claimed for it, that renders direct temporal +power necessary. Bishops of Rome existed for centuries with all the +spiritual supremacy now claimed, but as destitute of temporal power as +the bishops of any other city. And the custom which rendered +concurrent the temporal rule--or admitted of extraordinary pomp--has +never been deemed more than a concurrence--never a necessity. And it +is a fact that when the invasion of a foreign power has stripped the +Pope of his territories, and made even Rome the home of invaders, +attention has been at once turned to the separation of spiritualities +from temporalities, and means adopted to drop the machinery of secular +government, and keep active and useful that of the church alone. + +It is, we believe, an admitted fact, that among the papers of the +Cardinal Prime Minister of Pius VII., who was carried away and kept a +prisoner in France by Napoleon, were found plans for carrying on the +spiritual offices of the Pope without the least connection with +temporal power; and Rome was to be to its bishop no more than +Philadelphia to either of the bishops who reside therein, and +administer the dioceses committed to their care. + +We mention these things, and dwell upon them, because speculation is, +and has been, active with regard to the effect of the revolution in +Italy, some movements of which evidently looked to the transfer of all +temporal power to laymen; and extraordinary effects were supposed to +be the necessary results of such a change. The change seems to us very +probable, and not very remote; but it does not appear to us that the +spiritual functions (proper) of the Pope will be essentially disturbed +by any such movement. + +We dwell longer on Italy than its geographical dimensions would +warrant, but that peninsula is deeply interesting to the world, not +only on account of the religious relations to which we have referred, +but from the fact that for centuries a foreign arm has held it down; +and while half of the world beside was rising into consequence, by the +science and scientific men that Italy sent forth, Italy alone of all +the geographical divisions of the earth seemed to be without profit +from her own great men. Because she _did_ decay, men believed that the +elements of her prosperity were exhausted; because she ceased to hold +the preeminence which she once possessed, it was deemed that the seal +of ruin was set upon her. These suppositions are wrong; and the new +movements in that peninsula show that the spirit of man is yet +active, and _now_ active to man's great good. What Italy needed was +concert. What other nations practiced were constant attempts to foment +jealousies among her different States, and create a demand for foreign +interference and the presence of foreign troops. At present a dream of +the ancient republic is the animating cause (or rather perhaps a sense +of the capabilities of Italy for the new republicanism of the time) +with leaders; who appeal to the recollections of the past because a +sense of the present is not to be depended on in the many; and the +shout for the old federative republics of past centuries awakens the +pride of those whose patriotism might not be strong enough to lead +them to the sacrifices which the object demands. + +There seems to be necessary to the Italian mind a hope of regaining +something that has been _lost_, and if this is rightly used there can +be no doubt that the people will attain to something they _need_. The +republics of elder Italy are no more the proper object for Italian +enterprise, than would be the old colonial dependencies for the +efforts of Americans. But Italy must be aroused; she must be called up +to some general object; her great men must be stimulated to useful +efforts, and her humbler citizens must be enticed away from +insurrectionary movements to revolutionary action, and that cry which +the soonest rouses and unites them is the true watchword of +independence. Some proper hand, some well endowed mind must lead them +in the right path--must set their faces and direct their efforts +toward the proper object. The alarm cry may be the same, though the +object of rising be opposite to that announced. The same bells and the +same peels would call up the citizens of Florence to withstand or +divert an inundation of the Arno which would be used to arouse them to +check the destructive progress of a conflagration. + +Italy, however, must not be kept too long in chase of the past +republics. She needs the confederation of modern democracy, and, when +once aroused, must be early directed to the true object. The Italian +who spends his power, his wealth and his influence in attempts to +restore the ancient confederacy is like the man who starts westward at +evening to overtake the departed sun. But the Italian who, roused to a +proper sense of the capability of his country, determines to secure to +her the best good that other nations now enjoy, is like the man who, +starting at dawn, proceeds in an easterly course to meet the sun in +his rising. There is a necessity laid upon both--failure is certain +for the former, success inevitable to the latter. + +We give more space to the changes and the condition of the Papal +States than to the circumstances of other kingdoms of Europe, because +the double power exercised there makes any change interesting, and the +extended influence of the spiritual supremacy gives proportionate +consequence to any movement or event that disturbs the dominancy of +the Bishop of Rome. Indeed so deeply interesting is the whole state of +Italy, taking its present movement in connection with its past +history, that a whole article might be profitably devoted to a +consideration of its past grandeur, its present distressed condition, +and its means and hopes of future restoration. We may in some future +number take up the subject. + +The peninsula containing the kingdoms of Portugal and Spain has been +in constant agitation for the past year--but so trifling are the +relations of Portugal that very little interest is felt in her +convulsions, and few pause to inquire which party or faction is +uppermost at the latest dates. Spain has had her semi-revolutions, but +as yet they have produced little good to the people beyond the +weakening of the power or influence of the rulers; so that when the +people shall really rise, they will have less weight to keep them +down--less power to resist--less of obstruction to overcome. But the +energies of Spain seem to be on a revival, and there are hopes, +founded on existing recent improvement, that this abundant providence +on behalf of that country will not be much longer neglected by the +people, but that from one effort to another they will rise to that +rank in the scale of nations to which the kingdom is entitled, and of +which the attempt to go beyond deprived her. + +Poor Portugal! She will linger yet, and perhaps be absorbed. Her +independent existence is not of sufficient consequence to the world to +induce an effort on her behalf; and England, now that France must +relinquish her claims on Spain, can afford to withdraw her patronage +from Portugal--if, indeed, we may not rather say that in the present +disturbed and crumbling state of European monarchies, neither England +nor any other kingdom will feel that she has much superflux of power +to shake to any decaying state. + +Portugal was once an integral portion of Spain, and she may again be +in union with her sister. The mountains that interpose need no longer +make enemies of these two small states, and the common wants and +common weakness of both should and will induce them "like kindred +drops to mingle into one." The language of Portugal differs from that +of Spain considerably, but almost every Portuguese speaks Spanish, and +the literature of Spain is in a great measure that of Portugal, as +that of Great Britain is shared by the United States. + +Portugal and Spain are both deriving the means of true strength by the +diminution of their colonial possessions, and when they have recovered +from the shock which the exercise of power over distant dependent +states is almost sure to bring, they may, united, have an important +rank with the European powers. + +Terrible has been the oppression of rulers in some parts of Germany. +That oppression has not trodden _out_, though it may have trodden +_down_, the spirit of men. And even in Austria the awakening power has +been felt within the present year--felt to the agitation of national +councils--to the terror and flight of rulers. It is perhaps a subject +for joy rather than regret, that the movements of the people have been +less radical than in some other countries. This is, after all, the +true way. Grasping at more than they can retain, a rising people lose +what might have been of service. The lesson of France in her +revolution in the last century was not lost on Germany, and the people +demanded of their rulers that which might be granted without the +disturbance of order; and then they were content with what they +received, because it was at once a proof that asking they could +receive, and receiving they could learn to enjoy. + +The King of Prussia, in reply to the demands of the people, yielded +some points, and then drew their attention to a long-cherished idea of +a confederation of the German States, by which the differences of the +several powers should be settled by an accredited tribunal, and a +species of federal government be established to watch over those +rights conceded by the individual states to the federal power. + +It is to be regretted that the King of Prussia should have found +occasion in these trying times to provoke war with Denmark, upon a +claim by Schleswig for protection, and that claim rests upon the poor +plea that--though really a _dependence_ of Denmark--Schleswig is not +of Scandinavian origin, like Denmark, and therefore is anxious to +maintain her German relations. The Scandinavian blood runs through the +veins of Sweden and Russia as well as those of Denmark, and "will +protect itself," if not now, at least when a better opportunity +occurs. + +The union of the various _States_ of Germany proposed by the King of +Prussia has been formed, and Arch-Duke John has been elected "VICAR of +the German Empire." He is a man of enlarged views, of liberal +political principles. He is a relation (an uncle) of the Emperor of +Austria. He was the representative of the emperor in the German Diet, +and his substitute during his (the emperor's) absence from his +capital. + +This new organization of the German powers looks to the establishment +of a common army, and the creation and maintenance of a common navy; +and the attempt to produce these means and evidences of power _may_ +create new disturbances, as they are costly to support, and often +dangerous to their supporters. + +Austria, to which we have already alluded, felt the common _throe_ and +manifested the general alarm. The vigilance of a jealous government +had spread over the whole empire an appearance of tranquillity, but +the first symptom of popular movement abroad roused the Austrians to +an annunciation of their own wrongs, (they did not comprehend their +_rights_,) and as they felt most directly the arm of the Prince +Metternich, the tyrannical and efficient minister of the emperor, they +demanded his dismissal; they assaulted his castle of Johannisburg; +they destroyed it and wasted the palatable contents of its +cellars--stores of many years collection of the wine that bears the +name of its place of deposit. + +In the mean time the people of Hungary, and those of Bohemia, which +had come to be dependencies upon the crown, demanded _their_ rights as +nations. It is remarkable of the movement in Hungary, that though the +people of that government had enjoyed privileges unknown to any other +subjects of the Austrian Emperor, yet they were the first to demand +further concessions; a proof this that the great agitation in Europe +is not the sudden action of an oppressed people. If it were, it would +be greatest and most _exigeant_ where the oppression was the most +intolerable: but the earliest and the most thorough opposition, and +the most effective insurrections have been where the hand of power was +most lenient, and the civil privileges of the people were the +greatest; a proof that the whole revolutionary movements in Europe +have been caused by a prevailing sense of human rights, rather than a +feeling of the people's wrongs; that the mind of man is rising to the +assertion of its own dignity, and is hastening forward to the +fulfillment of its own destiny; it is not content with toleration, it +demands an acknowledgment of freedom; and whatever restrains beyond +the necessity of government--of self-government--is regarded as an +infringement of rights; and the more delicate the perception, the +greater is the intolerance of the wrong. + +Austria proper has made a strong and a long stride toward _freedom_. +Comparatively she is yet in the dark, but her face is set toward the +coming light, and year after year will show her progress toward it, +and the effect of that light upon her institutions. It is now too late +for tyrants to doubt that their true interests will be found in +graceful, moderate concessions; to _give_ a little, rather than to +have much _taken_; and with all the restlessness of the people, they +seem to be disposed to remain content with a moderate progress of +improvement; but wo to those who would stay the motion of that to +which the spirit of the age has imparted the means of progress. + +The spirit of revolution has been rife along the shores of the Danube, +and the numerous states, provinces, and dependencies, that lie toward +the Black Sea, have formed alliances, and will assert their rights. + +The city of Prague, famous in story and in song, has been laid in +ashes, as a punishment for its oppugnation against the emperor; but +the ashes of a favorite city may be as powerful a stimulant to the +spirit of injured man as to the best portion of the vegetable +world--and power may find itself injured by a conflagration as well as +its dependence. + +Russia, amidst all this confusion among the nations of the Continent, +has been able to maintain her apparent quiet. But she has felt that +the experience of Austria was soon to be understood by herself; and +when light should have pierced into the almost impervious recesses of +that kingdom, her subjects would be able to discover not only the +chains upon their limbs, but those who placed them there. Her time is +at hand. She may yield, but the empire is too large to be conciliated +by concessions. Interest and feeling are opposite, and it is probable +that the only point upon which the whole can agree will be that of +immitigable hostility to the ruling powers. She will attempt to seize +upon the revolted provinces of other powers, and jeopard her central +position by the miserable attempt to keep truth and its enjoyment from +the extremities. + +Great Britain has had her share in the difficulties which have +disturbed and convulsed her continental neighbors. She has had in her +midst a party of ultras, called Chartists, that look to the subversion +of the present form of government. She has dealt with them steadily, +sternly, and, for a time, effectually; but while there is oppression +almost necessarily in a form of government, there will be a place for +opposition to stand upon, and that opposition will assume any form +which can promote its object. + +England, of all nations of Europe, seems to have understood the +advantage of concession. She has denied, postponed, hesitated, and +then granted, so that the joy caused by the concession has for a time +disarmed opposition, and given new strength, or at least additional +_time_ to the government. She has yielded slowly, but still yielding +from time to time what has been asked of the government in behalf of +the people, when the power of the government and the peace of the +realm were not involved. And she has overwhelmed with power or +ridicule all attempts at subverting the monarchy. The Radicals have +been shot down as at Manchester; the Chartists ridiculed into silence; +but Catholic emancipation has been allowed, and the corn-laws +repealed. + +But let no one suppose that the results of force, of ridicule, or +concession are to be the yielding of the public; the same spirit which +called into action all those opposing means, is as constantly at work +now as it was ten years ago, and the demands will be as regular and as +imperative as ever, until the last vestige of inequality shall have +disappeared. Happy will it be for Great Britain if her ministry, +practicing the wisdom of the past, allows concession to prevent +revolution, and permits what of monarchy and aristocracy is left, to +come easily to the ground rather than to be upturned by the violence +of insurrection. England, for many years, has been as much in a state +of revolution as has France. She has had fewer convulsions, but she +has made a steady progress in her orbit, and those who live out the +century, will see the end of one grand cycle. + +Ireland has been made to occupy a large portion of the public eye this +year. The death of O'Connell seemed to have left the "repeal party," +(nearly the whole nation,) without a leader. Certainly without a sage +adviser; and the great measures which that distinguished man had so +long lead, was likely to be lost by the apathy of one section, or the +rash zeal of the other. That Ireland has been badly ruled by England, +ever since its conquest, is an historical fact; that the efforts +toward redress have usually resulted in worse than failure, is known. +But the prudence of O'Connell seemed to promise as favorable results +to the _repeal_ question, (reasonably considered,) as they had wrought +in favor of emancipation. He had age, talents, learning, experience, +prudence, fore-sight; he knew when to withdraw and when to press his +claims; he could not, of course, please all who desired the same +object with him, because all could not comprehend the powerful effect +of prudent restraint, or, as a southern statesman says, of "masterly +inactivity." And his death allowed those of more zeal but less +discretion to obtain an influence which he once possessed; and Ireland +is now plunged into the miseries of a _civil_ war. + +Whatever may be the power of private feelings, our intention is to +refer to the insurrectionary movements in Ireland as to those of other +countries, namely, as the consequence of the growing sense of human +rights, and as that sense must increase, must constantly augment, it +is impossible that Ireland can remain in the same situation in which +she has been kept. It is known, however, that a galling sense of wrong +stimulates the Irish; that it is not the ordinary effects of an +oppressive government that produces rebellion, but injury that extends +to the domestic hearth, injury that strikes at the rights of +conscience, injury that makes even the wise man mad. The end is not +yet. + +All is quiet in Holland and Belgium; and all is awaiting the +melioration which time and wisdom must bring. + +This year has seen the close of the Mexican War, in which our army +gained fame, and our nation gained territory. And now the great +question is as to the uses of that territory, and the character of the +institutions that are to be granted to these new acquisitions soon to +become sovereignties. We do not mean to take any share in what may be +considered the party politics of the country; but we may allude +_historically_ to measures as well as to events, and therefore we are +at liberty to say, that the question now pressed upon the people of +the United States by the acquisition of new territory, is that of the +extension of the institution of slavery. Shall the new _territories_ +be allowed by Congress to authorize slavery within their borders? and +on that question there is much feeling, and before it can be settled +there must of necessity be more, inasmuch as it has now become one of +the elements of party movements--not merely a question _in_ the +presidential canvass, but absolutely one on which a party stands, and +on which it nominated a president, nominated not merely a nominal +candidate, but one who, having held the office once, had acquired +distinction, and having manifested interest in all public measures +since, had maintained that distinction, and was a _real_ candidate. +The sooner this question is settled the _better_; and the better it is +settled, the more for the peace and the dignity of the nation. + +To this question, which has in some respect, also, assumed one of +local distinction, we will not further refer; it is one that will +agitate until settled, and being settled, will no more disturb. + +It is not our intention to place before our readers an array of +political facts, nor to make out a chronological table for the year +now drawing to a close. It would be better at once to refer the reader +to the easily accessible columns of the daily papers, which have +really been crowded with statements of convulsed states, and +revolutionized governments. It has not been a question with them as to +commercial changes, the fluctuations of a market, or the variation of +stocks; but they have had to record the fate of kingdoms, and the +flight or concession of kings and emperors. And we write necessarily +so much in advance of printing, that our quarter of the globe might +change its rulers between our pen and the type of our compositor. + +We have been content to notice some of the most exciting movements in +Europe, without pretending to write their termination. We see in some +kingdoms the freshness of new institutions, and in others the renewal +of contests which had been deemed closed forever; where power has had +its heels upon the neck of the people for centuries, there are tokens +of _turning_; and from all this we learn that there is a spirit in the +mind of man, and that, in spite of all attempts to crush that spirit, +or to darken it, the inspiration of the Most High is giving it +understanding, and it is asserting its high prerogative, doing justice +to its lofty teachings. + +How will all these things abroad affect us here? What will be the +influence upon the United States of these revolutionary movements in +Europe? + +The effect is now being felt; it is only to calculate the increasing +power to understand the augmentation of results. Rapidly and more +rapidly will the number of inhabitants be increased; the amount of +wealth will be more than proportionably great, because not only will +not immigration be limited to the poor, but those of the rich who +_cannot_ come, will send hither their hoarded means, for safety; so +that while the abundance of our fields shall make us "the exhaustless +granary of the world," the permanence of our institutions shall make +us the depository of European wealth. + +It may be asked whether our own country may not be exposed to the very +convulsions which make European nations so unstable. We answer, no; +agitation may occur here, and momentary excitement lead to fear of +local violence, but he who strikes here, strikes at himself. The very +nature of our institutions are such as to make it the interest of all +to sustain them, and the very causes which operate to the disturbance +of society in other countries, can have no existence here, or if they +exist, they have nothing to act upon, that evil effects may result. + +In Europe, a majority of the people are deprived of their rights, are +made to yield to the dictation of a small minority, and sustain others +whom they do not like, with their own industry. They must submit to +laws which they do not approve, or submit to the charge of treason for +their attempts to resist, that they may change their laws. In this +country, whenever a majority is satisfied that certain measures are +inconsistent with their own good, they may instruct their law-makers +to change the enactments, or they can change the law-makers. This is +the _theory_ and this the actual _practice_ of our government. + +The people of Europe find the means of living unequally divided. There +is less of a surplus, as it regards the _whole_, than for a _part_; +and while the few abound in all that is desirable, nay, with the +superfluities of life, the many lack the necessaries of wholesome +existence. And this is the result of their institutions--a result +which no convulsion, no revolution can at once change--so many +centuries have passed over the abuses, that not only are they +prescriptive, but there does not seem in the people any knowledge to +apply the power they may attain, to any _immediate_ remedy of the +evil. + +With the United States there is no system to change--no institution to +be remodeled; of course, every year works some change in the operation +of the system, and makes more and more beneficial the institutions of +the country. The new views of man's importance and of human rights, +which work out revolutions in Europe, only make our citizens cling +close and closer to the institutions of their own country. While blood +is poured out like water in Paris to change the rulers of the people, +the rulers of this country are changed with a quiet that would denote +almost indifference. Men talk of an exciting _contest_ for the +presidential chair; but analyze that contest, and it is found to be +only a newspaper discussion of the merits of certain existing or +proposed acts of Congress, having nothing to do with the organic laws +of the land, or with the form of government; the contest or discussion +was closed on the 7th day of November last, and men scarcely remember +the earnestness of the newspaper paragraphs, or the stump speeches. + +Broad and expanded are the views of a true Republic; there can be no +narrowness in the institution--it is for all men, and for all times; +and never since the first gathering of people into a political body +was there such a foundation for national greatness and diffused +individual happiness, as is laid in this country. Wealth, true wealth, +the means of general comfort, abounds. A variety of climate ensures +the produce of almost every section of the world, and the right to +cultivate a portion, gives to all the means of enjoyment; there can +never be in this country (without a special visitation of +Providence,) real want among any considerable number. + +We have over twenty millions of inhabitants, and raise more than a +thousand million bushels of grain, and one hundred million bushels of +potatoes. With these means to be multiplied indefinitely, and a free +mind, what has America to fear? + +It is not our purpose to make a eulogy upon our country, or to +anticipate the great results from the full operation of our system of +government with the immense natural advantages which we possess. But +we may remark, that with the progress of civil freedom in this country +has been the diffusion of morals and piety; and with the enjoyment of +political advantage, have been the enlargement of social delights, and +the augmentation of domestic happiness. Woman has found her rank in +the scale of existence, and enjoys that eminence in refined estimation +which the delicacy of her feelings, the purity of her sentiment, and +the intensity of her affections demand. And every where her influence +is felt, in the melioration of the public mind, as in the limited +circle at the home fire-side. Nay, it is _from_ the fire-side that the +circle of her influence expands, and she is respected abroad as she is +loved at home. This is one of the results of the free institutions of +this country; and while it is seen now as a result, it will be felt +hereafter as one of the powerfully operating causes of constantly +increasing human freedom and human happiness. + +How beautiful the thought, that she who is the light of our hearts and +our homes is becoming the blessing of our country; and that not less +than domestic delight is political freedom to be derived from the +sanctifying influences of woman's gentleness and woman's purity. + + + + +ANGELS ON EARTH. + +BY BLANCHE BENAIRDE. + + + It sometimes chances, in this world of wo, + That lovely flowers in gloomy forests grow, + Which freely lend their sweetness to impart + A sense of pleasure to the stranger's heart. + They come to cheer and bless, like showers of rain + That fall in mercy on the parched plain, + And bloom in beauty, fair as though the light + That shines from heaven had never been from sight. + These flowers are emblems of the angels fair + That oft appear, man's lot to bless and share. + He dwells within a dreary forest wild, + No cheering sun has ever on him smiled, + His way is hedged with thorns, his soul is sad-- + He spies an angel in love's vestment clad; + Kind words are spoken, and his grief has flown, + His heart is cheered--for he is not alone; + An angel ministers to him and points above, + Bidding him cast his care on endless love. + He lifts his eyes to heaven, and there behold, + The azure sky, touched with a tinge of gold, + Giving him promise of a brighter day, + A life more calm, more clear his onward way. + And angels, too, appear when Death comes nigh, + To wipe the bitter tear from Sorrow's eye-- + They whisper of that bright and blessed shore + Where pain and suffering will be no more. + Oh, there are angels near us all the while, + That guard our homes and sweetly on us smile! + They minister _to all_--sometimes unseen-- + And change life's desert to a living green. + + + + +MRS. TIPTOP. + +OR THE NEW MINISTER. + +BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY. + + The tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full + of deadly poison. JAMES iii. 8. + + +Few villages in the Union could exceed Green Valley in local beauty +and advantages; embosomed in hills, embellished with trees, and +watered by a willow-shaded stream that meandered through its centre. +Situated, too, within twenty miles of the great emporium, and skirted +by a railway leading to it, the cultivators of a soil, that ever +fulfilled more abundantly the hopes of the husbandman, could ask +nothing more favorable to the ready disposal of their crops. The +inhabitants of Green Valley were mostly farmers, who, besides "owing +no man any thing," had each a comfortable dwelling and ample outhouses +of his own, nothing better than his neighbors, but equaling theirs in +the well-to-do look of the fences, the garden and door-yard. That the +village was originally settled by Quakers, and half peopled by this +drab-coated sect at the date of our story, no stranger needed to +inquire, after passing through its straight-cut roads, or breathing +its air of purity and quietude. Long had its simple-minded, +true-hearted people lived in the daily enjoyment of mutual kindness +and love; till contentment seemed written not only on the broad brims +of the farmers, but on the bridles of their docile beasts, and on +their very implements of husbandry. In the course of time, other +religious denominations were established in Green Valley; but as the +descendants of Penn continued to "work in quietness and eat their own +bread," strangers intermeddled not with them; while the savor of their +peaceful spirits seemed so diffused among other sects, that all +"agreed to disagree" with one another, and for years unbroken harmony +was the result. But _we_ have only to do with the Congregational +church of Green Valley, and will forthwith introduce the reader to the +shepherd of this little flock. Mr. Worthiman was a plain man of +God--middle-aged, of respectable scholastic attainments, and one who, +for his sound judgment and exemplary "walk and conversation," had ever +a "good report of them that were without." The law of kindness dwelt +in his heart and on his lips, and in all the offices of exemplar, +teacher and comforter of his charge none was more worthy than he. The +church at its earliest organization, without a dissenting voice, +invited Mr. Worthiman to become its pastor--his prayer dedicated the +house of worship, and each succeeding Sabbath for a series of years +found him at his post, breaking the Bread of Life to a grateful, +confiding people. Nor were his pastoral duties less regularly +fulfilled: One afternoon of every week was devoted by himself and his +wife (whose living example was "such as becometh woman possessing +godliness,") to visiting in rotation the families of his congregation; +and so well timed was this custom, that the farmers' wives could +calculate each her honored turn to a day; so that the substantial +hospitalities of a generous board were added to the warm welcomes of +heart and hand. + +Besides the neat parsonage reared for the minister and his increasing +family, he was, through the generosity of his parishioners, the owner +of an old-fashioned chaise, and a horse gentle and well-ordered as his +master. These were always in requisition on visiting afternoons; and a +right comfortable sight it was to see the minister and his wife +jogging along over the smooth roads, blessing all they passed with the +smile of true benignity, and receiving the heart's blessing of all in +return; while the good dame to whose dwelling their course was +directed, having all things in readiness for the pastoral visitation, +stationed one of her cleanly-attired children at the window, to watch +for the first appearance of the reverend chaise wending up the lane to +the farm-house, at which signal, with beaming eyes, the child hastened +to open the gate, dreaming in the simplicity of her rosyhood, of no +greater honor than to usher in the respected pair. On these occasions +the farmer usually left the field, and donned his Sunday suit, the +good wife appeared in her best cap and snowy kerchief, and the maid +came from the dairy, with tidy apron, to claim her seat in the snug +parlor, that alike they might sit under the lips that dropped wisdom +for all. Then, when they gathered around the lengthened table, the +pastor's blessing was music in their ears, and supper being over, his +elongated prayer, comprehending the wants of each, and all, closed the +privileges of the pastor's visit. Mr. Worthiman was equally +satisfactory in his visits at the bedside of the sick--in his +consolations to the dying, and his sympathy in the house of mourning. +The aged leaned on him for support--the middle-aged walked hand in +hand with his counsels, and the young looked up to him for guidance; +while no austerity on his part forbade the merriment of their sports: +so far from this, it was his custom at weddings, after a salutation to +the bride, and a commendation of the bride's loaf, to take early +leave, lest his presence should restrain the music and dancing that +usually sum up a country bridal entertainment. + +Such _was_ the pastoral position of Mr. Worthiman, and such the +unmolested happiness of Green Valley! But, alas! the serpent that +looked with envious eyes on the paradise of our first parents, was +about to creep stealthily among the vine-clad cottages of the peaceful +villagers. And as in Eden his poison first insinuated itself through +the mind of woman, so from woman was it to be communicated to these +homes of contentment and love. + +Among the few merchants of all-wares that had come in to supply the +growing population of Green Valley, was a young man of more amiability +than vigor of mind, who, having lived a single but quiet and peaceable +life some years in the village, brought unexpectedly, from a town +near-by, a wife to divide or double his blessedness. Kate Tiptop was +cousin to the young man, and did not change her name in marrying him. +She was the only daughter of parents who lived just long enough to +spoil by indulgence a child whose native faculties of mind were more +than ordinarily vigorous and acute; such as, under a disciplinary +course of education, united with healthful moral training, would have +ripened her into the noblest development of woman; but her first idea +took the form of self, instead of truth, and growing perception +brought only increasing self-consciousness. In short, she had early +imbibed the belief that the world in which she moved was made for her +accommodation; and her inherent passion--love of power--became more +and more apparent as she increased in years. Had she been beautiful in +person, this might have shown itself in more vain, but less injurious +forms; as it was, she desired to sway hearts, not to receive their +flattering unction in return, but to strengthen and confirm her own +sense of ability to do it. Love of _action_ alone induced her to +engage in the practical duties of domestic life, and she married more +for the sake of being the head of a family, than from any motives of +affection. To accomplish this desire, she well knew that her husband +must be her inferior in mental strength; while the additional +inducement that fixed her choice on her cousin was, that in uniting +herself with him, she would not even have to yield her name. Mrs. +Tiptop soon became a pattern-card to all housewives--always having her +work _done_, and _well_ done; and never lacking time nor tongue to +entertain visiters, nor health, leisure, or purpose to visit among the +neighbors herself. She was one of those women whose husbands are +super-numeraries at home, while their wives are mouth-pieces for them +abroad. + +Her go-_aheaditiveness_ was a new revelation to the plodding +villagers; it not only made her household cares a mere song, but +enabled her to preside over her husband's business affairs with a +dexterity of calculation that soon rendered his own position but a +sinecure. In short, Mrs. Tiptop was a trump-card at home, and every +where, always winning the game of domestic differences, and turning +the chances of all neighborly or church variances, which began to +spring up simultaneously with her introduction there. + +In person Mrs. Tiptop was tall, of slender frame, and thin, almost to +emaciation, giving no indications of physical or mental strength, +save that it was "all in the _eye_"--black, penetrating, "wise as the +serpent," and possessing the optical versatility of seeing all sides +in a twinkling; yet when its latent forces were single-eyed to a +purpose, that end was achieved as unquestionably as when acknowledged +by many witnesses. + +No sooner did that eye peer through the bridal veil at Mr. Worthiman, +on Mrs. Tiptop's introduction to the village church, than her purpose +was formed and executed as truly as when carried out through all the +intricate passages leading to its accomplishment. + +She had determined to be _felt_ in the village, and Mr. Worthiman's +godly power over his unsophisticated people was then and there +destined to totter from its long settled foundations. Before the next +communion season Mrs. Tiptop had sent in her certificate, and was +placed on the list of church-members. Here was a footing on which she +could stand to use the instruments that would be needed in the +premeditated revolution. The initiation of a communicant into a +country church is generally succeeded by a call from its officers on +the new member. Nothing could be more gracious than Mrs. Tiptop's +reception of this church police, who paid her the complimentary visit +during the week subsequent to her admission; but in this instance, on +Deacon Heedful alone fell the _charm_ of her serpentine eye. Quick as +thought in discernment, she penetrated at once through the deacon's +tractable physiognomy to his more flexible mind; and while the good +man was inwardly congratulating his church on the acquisition of so +worthy a member, she was fastening around him the toils in which he +was hereafter to do her bidding, as willingly as the dray-horse works +in the harness. Deacon Heedful belonged to that small minority of +human beings who know nothing of double-meanings or double-dealings; +pure in himself, he was the embodiment of that "charity that thinketh +no evil" of others; but, unfortunately, of stronger heart than head. +Perhaps an innate sense of this _crowning_ weakness made him lend a +more ready ear to the suggestions of other minds; at any rate, Mrs. +Tiptop soon had him under her easy control, through that psychological +law by which superior intellect ever governs its inferior. This +accomplished, it were unnecessary to carry the reader through the +winding ways which led her, with the deacon, to that point where she +could spread out before him the spiritual position of Mr. Worthiman +and his church, and convince him that they were "far behind the +times." Now this was "a secret" that she had not even communicated to +her husband, but in which she could not be mistaken, having come from +a town where all was "stirring" in the cause of religion--where the +preachers were "wide awake," and dead-level homilies, like Mr. +Worthiman's, were not tolerated; for her part, she should soon +languish under such enervating sermons as his; and here her fears +being profusely watered by tears, began to take root in the heart of +Deacon Heedful, who gave her a sympathetic squeeze of the hand on +parting with her one evening, and turned, poor man! to the sleepless +pillow where she had planted a thorn. He, however, determined to +deliberate some days before communicating his fears, even to his +brother officers in the church, and never to do it, unless reflection +sanctioned Mrs. Tiptop's hints. + +But seeds of discontent sown in one mind, are by some Mesmeric +sympathy conveyed into another, and _another_, till a rapid, +wide-spread growth is the unlooked for consequence; yet Mrs. Tiptop +waited for another visit from the deacon, before breaking the subject +to any one else, even to "dear Mr. Tiptop;" so _she_ was not to blame +for the disaffection that was springing up around her. Deacon Heedful +arrived even sooner than she had anticipated--and most _unexpected_ to +her was his account of the spreading influence that had so +_mysteriously_ come to light. The deacon's doubts were now matured +into a strong sense of duty, and, to the complete satisfaction of Mrs. +Tiptop, he had decided to take a _stand_ in the matter. + +The only proposition she made was that the leading clergyman of her +native town should be invited to exchange one Sabbath with Mr. +Worthiman. This he promised should be effected, and took his leave for +the purpose. As the parsonage was in his way home, he called to pay +his respects to his minister, whom he found confined to the house by +an indisposition that would prevent his preaching the following +Sabbath; so he requested the deacon to read a sermon, as usual under +such circumstances. This was opportune for proposing to call in the +aid of a neighboring minister, which Mr. Worthiman acceding to, the +matter was soon arranged, and word given out through the village that +Mr. Newlight would fill the pulpit the coming Sabbath. + +Providence, or _some_ invisible agent, seemed on the side of Mrs. +Tiptop, under the inspiration of which she went from house to house, +promising the parishioners a treat new to them from Mr. Worthiman's +pulpit. + +The Sabbath was an anxious one to her, and an eventful one in the +Congregational church of Green Valley; the spirit-stirring tones of +Mr. Newlight's voice--his forceful manner, and novel forms of +presenting old truths, had such an electric effect upon his audience +that Mrs. Tiptop's eyes drank their fill of satisfaction, and +gratified ambition began to revel in her brain. Nothing was talked of +the succeeding day but Mr. Newlight's great sermon; and wishes were +openly expressed, mostly by the younger members of the congregation, +that Mr. Worthiman was more like him. Dissatisfaction spread like an +infectious disease, and before the year expired, a meeting had been +called to confer on the subject--the church was divided against +itself, and the iron had entered the soul of poor Mr. Worthiman. But +the oldest and best of his people, those who had been the pillars of +the church, were not to be so easily moved out of place, and the +result was, that the disaffected members--including at least one +half--immigrated in a body, under the lead of Deacon Heedful and Mrs. +Tiptop; were formed into another church, built a modern house of +worship, and called a new-school minister to fill its pulpit. + +Mr. Lion was a man of strong sense, strong principle, and strong will. +His wife was an English lady of family and attainments, who, under the +influence of a fervid attachment, had left a high-born circle of +friends in her native land, to share the lot of an humble American +clergyman, when too young to have attained that maturity of +good-breeding which accommodates itself, without apparent effort, to +the accidents and diversities of society. Having few attributes of +mind, and no tastes in common with the secluded inhabitants of Green +Valley, but possessing a kind heart and an amiable temper, she +endeavored to conform, so far as native refinement would permit, to +the habits and wishes of her husband's pastoral charge. + +For the first six months succeeding Mr. Lion's installation the +triumph of the immigrants seemed complete. Deacon Heedful was +reappointed to the office he held under Mr. Worthiman's ministration, +and Mrs. Tiptop assumed her undisputed place of honor next to the +minister's wife--introduced a maternal association, and a female +prayer-meeting among the women of the congregation, in the exercises +of which she invariably took the lead, and made herself so +_prominently_ useful, that Deacon Heedful often prayed that she might +live to be "a mother in Israel." Even the spirit of discord for a time +appeared to be exorcised from their midst, while admiration of the new +minister and his lovely wife was the absorbing passion of the day. + +But the evil spirit that had built the church was not long to be +denied his right to a place in it, and before many months began to +show himself in various forms and guises. First, there arose an +indistinct murmur that Mr. Lion did not visit his people familiarly +and often enough; nor did he make pastoral tea-visits with his wife, +as was Mr. Worthiman's custom. Then a whisper was heard that Mrs. Lion +seemed to consider herself of "better flesh and blood" than others; +that even Mrs. Tiptop wasn't a confidential friend of hers; but they +guessed her piety was no better than theirs, by the fashionable way in +which she dressed. Then, the new minister and his wife cared more for +each other than they did for their parishioners, as they frequently +walked out together without stopping to call on any of them. Thus, in +various quarters, discontent began to show itself, and somehow or +other could always be traced back to Mrs. Tiptop, who evidently felt +chagrined at not being invited to share the secrets of Mrs. Lion's +household. + +But now an unlooked for arrival at the new minister's gave fresh +impulse and direction to the evil genius of Green Valley. The +new-comer was a sister of Mrs. Lion's, just from England, who, it was +understood, would be a future inmate of the family. Miss May proved to +have the _disadvantages_, in the eyes of the village belles, of +beauty, accomplishments, and independence of mind and purse. Brought +up, and having just completed her education in the city of London, she +was now a bird let loose in the free air of the country, whither she +had been drawn by affection for her sister, and a desire, not +unmingled with romance, to see the land of liberty, and exult in the +freedom of its rural scenes. And exult she _did_--now in the woods and +fields gathering wild-flowers, and now, mounted on her English pony, +galloping over the hills and away--the villagers said, "none knew +where"--the stared-at of all starers, if not "the admired of all +admirers." Though Miss May was sweet enough to savor all the village +with amiability, and musical enough to harmonize the whole, the venom +of the serpent made her sweetness gall to the senses of her brother's +envious flock, and her music was discord in their ears. + +One morning, as Miss May was riding rapidly over a bridge, her pony +stumbled on a loose plank and threw her over his head so violently, +that she was taken up senseless by a miller who lived on the stream, +and conveyed into his humble abode, where the good man committed her +to the care of his wife, while he went for the doctor. Now the village +physician, who was a middle-aged, married man, had a bachelor brother +connected with him, who was the envy of the village beaux for his +gentlemanly air and good looks, _he_ it was who, in this instance, +hastened to answer the urgent call of the miller. Dr. Mannerly, on his +arrival, found Miss May recovering from her unconsciousness, and quite +alarmed at seeing herself in such strange circumstances; but his +gentleness, joined with the homely manifestations of kindness and +concern on the part of the miller and his wife, soon composed her +mind, and after the doctor had taken some blood from her beautiful +arm, she was enabled to rise and receive his assurance that she had +sustained no very serious injury by the fall. Being, however, too much +bruised to mount her pony again, she accepted the doctor's polite +offer to take her home in his buggy. + +Before night Miss May's adventure was the gossip of the village; +especially her ride homeward with the doctor, who was observed to look +uncommonly interested, and to be engaged in earnest conversation with +his fair companion; nor did it escape the vigilant eye of Mrs. Tiptop +that the doctor's buggy stood at the minister's gate every day for a +week thereafter, and longer each successive time than _she_ thought +necessary for a professional call. And then, when Miss May appeared +again on her pony, Dr. Mannerly was by her side, on his own +high-mettled horse, (the doctor never rode a _tame_ animal, nor +perpetrated a tame remark;) this happened, too, again and again, so +that it was soon a settled matter that Miss May and the doctor would +be a match. + +In the course of a few months, an unusual stir was apparent at the new +minister's; the blinds were thrown open in the east parlor, and people +were seen bustling through the hall as if in preparation for some +important event. As Mr. Lion never received "donation visits," as the +custom is with village-ministers, the bustle meant nothing less than +Miss May's wedding--and for once, the gossip had some foundation in +truth. + +Late in the afternoon a handsome carriage drove up to the house, from +which alighted a foreign-looking gentleman, of some twenty-five years, +who was pronounced to be an English acquaintance of Mrs. Lion's who +had been invited to the wedding. And a wedding, true enough, it was, +for Dr. Mannerly came hurrying along toward the minister's about dark, +equipped from top to toe, and wearing the white vest that decided him +to be the happy man. And now the uninvited multitude envied the very +lights that made brilliant "the east room," and no language could +express their mortification, when the honest chaise of Mr. Worthiman +dropped himself and wife at the new minister's door. + +But a greater surprise awaited them the following morning, when the +carriage that brought the Englishman to the village, was seen rolling +rapidly away, and in it, seated by the stranger, was the heroine of +all their surmises. + +The doctor visited his patients as usual on that day, and the village +newspaper announced the marriage, at Green Valley, of Sir Edward +Sterling, of London, England, to Miss Rosina May, of the same +metropolis. + +Mrs. Tiptop and her followers were dumb-founded! But the evil genius, +paralyzed for the time, revived ere long again with fresh vigor, and +became so vexatious to Mr. and Mrs. Lion, that a dismissal was asked +for and obtained from the Second Congregational Church of Green +Valley, which, at the last accounts, was about calling a NEW MINISTER. + + + + +THE GARDENER. + +BY GEORGE S. BURLEIGH. + + + From dewy day-dawn to its dewy close, + Between the lark's song and the whippo-wil's, + With life as fresh and musical as fills + Their varied round, in quiet joyance goes + The faithful gardener, spying out the foes + Of queenly Beauty, whom, for all the ills + They wrought her reign, his hand in pity kills. + That pure-eyed Peace may in her realm repose. + He bears cool water to the drooping flowers, + And gently crops o'erflushed exuberance; + Trains the young vines to crown imperial bowers, + And guardeth well fair buds from foul mischance; + Let others find what prize befits their powers, + _His_ deeds put smiles on Nature's countenance. + + + + +ONE OF THE "SOUTHERN TIER OF COUNTIES." + +BY ALFRED B. STREET. + + + A realm of forest, hill and lake I sing, + Nestling in wild and unknown loveliness + Beneath the "Empire State's" protecting wing; + But be not too inquisitive and press + Its name--my motto must be, reader! "Stat + Nominis umbra"--I'll not tell that's flat. + + But this much I will say; it bears the name + Of a brave warrior, who, in times of old, + Burst through the forests like a flood of flame, + And on the savage foe deep vengeance told. + And well that warrior kept unstained the wreath + Reaped by his sword in fields of blood and death. + + And to be more explicit--on the west + The Chihohocki[1] laves its mountain sides; + East the grim Shawangunk uprears its crest, + And monarch-like this forest-land divides + From that whose name superfluous 't were to utter + If mention's made of golden "Goshen butter." + + Within this realm Dame Nature's mantle wide + Has scarcely yet been rent by human toil; + Here tower the hill-tops in their forest pride, + There smile the sylvan valleys, though the soil + Is such, in truth, no wonder people chose + To leave Dame Nature to her wild repose. + + Yet pleasant are the sights and sounds when Summer + Wakens the forest depths to light and life; + The woodpecker, a red-plumed, noisy drummer, + Times to the thrasher's clearly flourished fife; + The partridge strikes its bass upon its log, + And with his deep bassoon chimes in the frog. + + The stream reflects the leaf, the trunk, the root, + The sunlight drops its gold upon the moss, + Whose delicate fringes sink beneath the foot + Of the quick squirrel as it glides across; + And, glancing like a vision to the eye, + Through the tall trees the deer shoots, dream-like, by. + + Fancy your wearied foot has clambered now + The Delaware's steep hill, and then glance back. + The splendid sight will put you in a glow! + There winds the river in its snake-like track, + Whilst rural beauty laughs upon your view-- + Meadows of green, and fields of golden hue, + + And then White Lake, expanding far away! + Oh, its pure waters gleam before me now! + It sheds upon my world-worn heart a ray + Bright as the crystal beauty of its brow. + Loveliest of lakes! this pulse must cease to beat + Ere I forget thee, beautiful and sweet! + + M., too, (the village,) is a lovely place, + Clustered midst grain-fields rich and orchards green, + With the grand woods around--in blended grace + Nature and Art at every point are seen. + Brimmed is it with good fellows, and those pearls + Of man's prosaic being--witching girls. + + Yet there are places in this rising county + Where Nature seems determined not to grow; + Where travelers merit an especial bounty + For perseverance, where the starving crow + Would pass, disdaining to arrest his flight; + (But these things in strict confidence I write.) + + The earth is sprinkled with a scanty growth + Of ragged, scrubby pine, and here and there + A lofty hemlock, looking as if loath + To show its surly head--while grim and bare + The ghosts of former trees their mossy locks + Shake, but all else is one great bed of rocks. + + Yet there is beauty even there when green + And sunbright--there the ground-pine twines its fringe, + And the low whortleberries give the scene + (So thick their downy gems) a purple tinge, + And mossy paths are branching all about, + But if you meet a rattlesnake, look out! + + Hour after hour, the stranger passing through + This member of the "southern tier" will see + Naught but the stretching forests, grand, 't is true, + But then life's naught without variety, + Though if he seeks with care to find that charm, + He 'chance may stumble on some stumpy farm, + + And then the road called "Turnpike," "verbum sap!" + Now climbing o'er some mountain's rugged brow, + Now plunging headlong in some hollow's lap, + Still, "vice versa," laboring on you go, + How high soe'er the hill, it has its brother, + You're scarce down one before you go up t'other. + + The people, too, who live--I mean, who stay + In their green Alpine homes, (I like a touch + Of the sublime,) presents a queer array + Of three most interesting species--Dutch, + Yankee and mongrel--and this triple mixture + Form when they meet a very curious picture. + + They call one "smart" who's keen at overreaching, + "Tonguey" the babbler of the loudest din, + They'll travel miles on Sunday to a "preaching," + And seek next day to "take their neighbor in," + And the word "deacon," in this charming region, + Covers, like charity, of sins a legion. + + And there's another race, "half flesh, half fish," + That live where rolls the Delaware its flood, + Ready to fight or drink as others wish, + Not as they care; whose speech is loud and rude, + Half oath half boast, and think that all things slumber + When "Philadelfy" markets fall in "lumber." + + Their toil is pastime when the river leaps + On, like a war-horse foaming in his wrath, + With thundering hoof and flashing mane, and sweeps + The forest fragments on its roaring path, + What time the Spring-rains its mild current thresh, + And make what vulgarly is called a "fresh." + + Then from deep eddy and from winding creek + His mammoth platform the bold raftsman steers, + And, as his giant oar he pushes quick, + With song and jest his wearying labor cheers, + Whilst confident in skill he fearless drifts + By swamping islands and o'er staving rifts. + + From rafts we glance to saw-mills--oft you meet + Their pine-slab roofs and board-piles by some brook, + And, with the splashing wheel and watery sheet + Flinging its curtain o'er the dam, they look, + (When tired of gazing at the endless woods,) + Though saw-mills, pleasant in their solitudes. + +[Footnote 1: The Indian (Delaware) name for the Delaware River.] + + + + +THE EXHAUSTED TOPIC. + +BY CAROLINE C----. + + +What shall I write about? A sensible question enough for me to address +to you, good reader, were I a worn-out school-girl, with a mind quite +like an "exhausted receiver" on the one subject, frightful, dismal, +and hated at all times to _her_. But, thanks be to Time, I am _no_ +school-girl--and it is rather a foolish question, this same one I have +proposed, considering that for sixty long seconds my mind has been +fully determined as to _what_ I will write about this morning. + +I have been looking over a file of old magazines, which are now +scattered about me in most beautiful confusion, for the sole purpose +of discovering in the steps of _how many_ "illustrious predecessors" I +am to follow, when I expatiate on that, which, by the last tale in the +last new magazine, seems to be still a marvelous object in creation, +namely, "_The Coquette_." + +And oh the poems, and tales, and essays, by the Mrs.'s and Misses--the +Mr.'s and Esqr.'s, let alone the Dr.'s and Rev.'s, who have not +disdained to pour forth their thoughts like water on this exhausted +(?) topic! I will spare you, through mere Christian charity, dear +reader, from listening to their enumeration. + +By this time, if you are any thing of a magazine or newspaper reader, +you must _necessarily_ have arrived at some conclusion as to this +tribe of humans. Well, what do you think of coquettes _in general_, my +friend--what do you think of those with whom you have had to do with +_in particular_? According to Johnson, a coquette is "a gay, airy +girl, who by various _arts_ endeavors to gain admirers." Natural +enough, all that, _I_ should say. + +When women are blessed (?) by a kind Providence with beauty, does it +not follow rapidly on the heels of the truth, that they are meant and +made to be admired, and loved, and wooed by the gender masculine? And +when the admiration and homage of men's hearts are offered at the +shrine of beauty--and the favored fair one tastes the cup of adulation +man _forces_ to her lips, say, ye wise ones! is there any thing so +very _unnatural_ in the fact that her human heart cries "more?" Why, +even that poor, miserable daughter of the horse-leech was not content +with saying "give!" once, it must needs be "give--_give_!" + +Now, in all fairness, I put the question to you--what warrior, after a +brilliant achievement in _one_ battle--after one glorious conquest +over his foes, was content ever after to dwell in a quiet obscurity, +and suffer his name to be at last almost forgotten by men, because of +his very inaction? Tell me, was that shining light so often lit and +re-lit on the Mountain of Warning for the benefit of the sojourners +in the vallies of the world--I mean Napoleon Bonaparte? Was Cortes? +Was Alexander? + +What _author_, after writing _one_ book that took the reading world by +storm, ever after that blessed day laid down his pen and said, "I have +done." Did any of those glorious beings who, with their +death-stiffened fingers _can_ write for us no more? Are the writers of +_our_ day satisfied with _one_ brilliant and successful effort in the +field of literary labor? Bear witness, oh, Bulwer, and Dickens, and +Cooper, and James, to the absurdity of _such_ an idea! Wait--I would +be truthful--even as I write there comes before me a bright +remembrance of _one_ glorious bard, living, voiceless _now_--our own +well-beloved Halleck; but even _he_ may awake, and speak yet--and so +make way with _the_ exception to my rule. + +And what does the warrior battle for? Tell it not in this wise, +wide-awake century it is all _for country and the good of man_! We are +a wise people, WE! Such humbugging is too ancient. Say out plainly it +is for glory, for distinction, for place in the higher room, and we +will honor you for your honest words! And what does the author labor +and strive for, through dreary days and sleepless nights? Is it for +the enlightenment of mankind--the improvement of his fellows? Who will +say that _this_ is not oftenest, when indeed it is thought of at all, +the _secondary_ consideration? Ay, yes! there are such things as poor +misguided scribblers dipping their pens in their life-blood, wherewith +to leave a mark on the pages of time, "to be seen of men!" There _is_ +such a thing as a "lord of creation," _pining_ for distinction, and +braving every distress, and even death, for--Fame! Yes, we have +records of sons of Genius who have _died_ because men recognized not +the light _they_ set before them. I mind me, and I "weep for Adonais! +he is dead." + +I tell you, among men it is rare to find one who, after he has tasted +the honey of applause and world-admiration, but will taste, and +continue to taste, until he has cloyed himself, and almost (I do not +_say_ quite) sickened the patient bystanders. + +Is there, then, any thing wonderful in the fact that woman loves +admiration? With such noble examples before her, why should she not? I +know it has been hinted broadly that it is heartless, and selfish, and +sinful, in a woman, merely for her personal gratification, to make +wrecks of the hearts of men(!!) and that coquetting is set down among +masculines in the catalogue of sins as one of the blackest dye. But, +if man, in his wonderful wisdom, can suffer himself to be so fooled, +pray whose fault or sin is it? If he rests his happiness on the smiles +of _one_ woman, which is a rarer thing than ye think, oh, maidens! +whom shall he blame, if the smile does not always await him? Whose +fault is it if he does not _continue_ to please, when the eyes of the +fair one are awakened to his numberless "short comings?" And some day +when a more favored one of nature draws near with his homage, why +should the old lover listen in amaze to cold words and colder +sentiments? Trust me, if men would only apply to this subject of our +consideration one iota of the coolness and calmness of unprejudiced +thought which distinguishes many of their other musings, they might +some day come to a just conclusion. + +But enough of this; I have given a _preface_--and I know a case in +point--more satisfactory than all _my_ arguments I think it will +prove; and I imagine it will clear me from all suspicion, or charge, +if you should prefer it against me, of entertaining wrong opinions on +this important subject. + +From a far longer time since than I can well remember, till within two +years past, the Cleveland family were our next door neighbors. +Florence, the eldest daughter, was a very dear friend of mine, and I +would not make her the heroine of this story to-day, were it not for +the following fact. Two years ago the whole family emigrated to +Wisconsin; and now that they are gone so very far "out of the world," +I think no blame should be attached to me for giving her "experience" +to the good public. Sure am I, that buried as she is in the backwoods, +she will never know that _I_ have seized upon her as a "subject" +whereabout to expatiate. But if you should chance to meet Florence in +your wanderings, reader, do not, I pray you, wound her feelings, by +touching on this topic. + +Every body said Flory was a coquette--and adopting as a settled point +the sentiment that "what every body says _must_ be true," I suppose +she was; that is, she was "a gay, airy girl, who was fond of +admiration;" and I will not deny that she may have exerted herself the +least bit in the world to obtain it. But I do repel most indignantly +the idea that _she_ was artful and designing, or that she ever +regularly _set a trap_ to ensnare any human heart. + +Florence, when she parted from us, was of middle height, very fair, +and her cheeks wore the bloom of early roses; her hair was of a light, +glossy brown--and, oh, those beautiful ringlets! I can vouch for the +truth of it, _they_ never emerged from curl-papers--(and by the way, +how refreshing and pleasant now-a-days it is to see any thing +_natural_, even a paltry curl!) Then her eyes, "deeply, divinely +blue," sometimes filled with a sober, tranquil, _holy_ light, and +again dancing, beaming, and running over with joy and happiness. + +Though Flory was the admiration of all eyes, and "the beaux" seemed +really to have no appreciation of the presence of we poor +insignificants when she was by, yet to not many of _us_ did the +"green-eyed monster" ever whisper one bad, ungracious thought of her. + +We all loved her--and a sadder set never waited in our depot the +arrival of the eastern train, than gathered there the day Mr. +Cleveland and family were to leave for a home in the "far West." + +There were some, indeed, who invariably honored Florence with the +title of "coquette!" and pursed up their lips very sanctimoniously +whenever they heard of her new conquests; particularly may this remark +apply to old Widow Forbes, who rejoiced in the possession of four +grown-up daughters--"fixtures" most decidedly they were in her +household--for these four above-mentioned, were not in any way +remarkable for their personal attractions; and two of them had +well-nigh passed the third stage of woman's unmarried life! But by far +the greater part of the villagers rejoiced in the presence of Florence +Cleveland as they would in a sunbeam on a dull day; she was always so +cheerful, so generous and obliging. + +None of those sunny curls of hers were visible the day Florence set +out on her journey; perhaps you think that was because ladies do not +usually travel with such appendages in view, and that they were snugly +packed away in the back part of her traveling hat. But had Flory's +head been uncovered then, I fear me it would have borne terrible +witness of the desecrating hands which had been busy about it; for the +fairy-like ringlets which had so long adorned the beautiful head, full +beautiful enough without _them_, were slumbering on the hearts of us, +her miserable, weeping cronies; and I know not how many gentlemen's +purses were freighted with like treasure. + +What a silent, stupid company we were gathered there that day. It was +a bright morning--there was not a cloud to be seen in all the sky; and +Susy, the old fortune-teller, said it was a day that augured well for +their future prosperity; but that did not help _us_ any. Every body +seemed to think we were to lose one of the choicest lights of our +village--and so, indeed, we were. + +At last the odious depot-bell rung--soon after the "fire-demon" heaved +in sight, followed by its long train of crowded cars. In ten minutes +the leave-taking was all over, our friends were seated--their "worldly +goods" were stowed away--another ring of the bell, that never sounded +half so remorselessly before, and away they went, over the +road--across the bridge--past the burial-ground--and on--on--on! + +To my bosom I pressed a package Florence had given to me that morning +of her departure, which she bade me not open till she was fairly gone. +I need not tell you how I hastened home when I had seen her +depart--how, with just one look at their old garden, which ran back of +my father's house, through whose paths we had wandered so often +together--how with one thought of how lonely I was and always should +be, now that _she_ was gone, I hied away to my room, that I might be +alone with my sorrow. But every thing seemed determined to speak out +to me of _her_; there, by the window, was _her_ "old arm-chair;" she +had given it to me as a keepsake; and many, many a time had the broad, +leather-covered seat supported us both--so, of course, the very sight +of that gave me such a blue-fit that I threw myself into its open +"arms," and indulged in the most luxurious fit of weeping, the length +whereof might be counted by hours, not by minutes. But when I had +fairly "cried it out," (you know all things must have an end,) I went +to bed with the most dreadful headache conceivable, and opened with +more of regret than curiosity, the last "testament" of dear Flory. + +It was in the shape of a long, long letter, filling many pages of +paper; but I shall not indulge you, reader, with a glance even, at all +the contents--satisfy yourself with these few extracts, and oblige +yours, &c. + +"Writing is not my _forte_, Carry, you know that very well," the +epistle began, "but I had for a long time determined to explain myself +to you; and when father finally succeeded in convincing mother that +the West is _such_ a wonderful country, and that it is the best and +only place for them to safely settle _our_ troop of boys, then I made +up my mind to _write_ you what I had intended to speak. Don't think me +vain, but I'm going to be my own heroine in these pages; I'm going to +give you the key wherewith to unfold parts of my life, which you, with +others, may now think quite unexplainable. + +"When I am gone, and the partial regret some will feel at first, is +worn away, and they begin with all earnestness to give me what _they_ +think _my_ 'due,' and honor me once more with the flattering titles +they have given me before this, then do you, my friend, take up the +gauntlet in my defence. If I should happen to die of those horrible +'fevers,' into whose hands we are about to commit ourselves, 'Aunt +Sally,' _may_ say it is a just 'dispensation of Providence' that has +removed me; and that old Juliet Baker _might_ take it into her head to +write my veritable history, under the title of 'The Coquette,' and so +be published in one of the magazines as a warning for all who shall +come after me--an immortality to which I assure you I do not aspire. +Or Tom Harding might be tempted to discourse more eloquently than ever +on my respective demerits--drawing some of his sage conclusions +therefrom. So, dear, if such things _should_ happen, remember to stand +up valiantly for 'woman's rights,' and _me_! As I have mentioned Tom +Harding's name, I may as well, in these 'confessions,' have done with +him as speedily as possible. I know very well what all the gossips +said when it was rumored that I had 'cut him dead,' after encouraging +the poor fellow, who was really 'too good for me!' But, as it happened +in _this_ case, they were all wrong--as doth unfortunately sometimes +happen even with gossipers. Tom, since time immemorial, (you will bear +me out in the truth of this statement,) has been one of the most +_active beaux_ in our village; attaching himself, with all his +_canine_ characteristics, to every lady who was favored with the least +pretensions to beauty, and making himself vastly useful in the way of +getting up all sorts of 'parties of pleasure' in summer, and in the +winter also. It was very needful, was it not, that we should be always +on good terms with _him_, which, as a body, we managed very well to +do. As he had been _in love with_, and offered himself to at least a +dozen girls of our acquaintance, I don't yet know why he should have +thought that _I_ would take up with him at last. Now was it not +presumption, Carry? To be sure, he came to our house night after +night, and sat often with us in church on Sundays--and it _was_ +rumored we were engaged; but that, I fancy, did not make the case a +clear one." + +_Ladies_ may be attentive and agreeable, even over the verge of +intimacy with one another, and yet not be suspected of _designs +matrimonial_; but boys and girls, who have from early childhood grown +up with the most fraternal feelings, as soon as childhood has passed, +must be expected to give up what was a very delightful kind of +friendship, indeed; is that wise? + +"The fact is, I never for a moment thought of marrying Tom Harding; +but I _did_ think him a great deal better youth than he proved to be. +When he foolishly proposed _the_ subject to me, I dismissed it again +quietly as might be, convincing him, as I hope, that the thing was +forever impossible. And I kept his secret well. No one till to-day can +say that I was ever guilty of parading this offer, and its refusal, +before my friends; and I scarcely think _you_ will consider me as +parading it _now_; or, indeed, of entering on this recital merely to +gratify a foolish personal vanity. Tom, himself, by his ungentlemanly +conduct, exposed all that ever was exposed; and his impudent, silly +behavior toward me has had the final result of making me heartily +despise him; and I sincerely hope no damsel that _I_ love will ever +accept offers, which some dozens may yet have the honor, or--which is +it? be _doomed_ to hear! + +"Harry Kirkland was, indeed, a fine fellow--at least I thought so +once, for I was engaged to him within a time I well remember. +Talented, too--was he not? But, oh, what an unreasonable mortal he +was. + +"When I engaged myself to Harry, I did love him truly, or what I +_thought_ was him, but you will not wonder that my love cooled before +such evidences of tyranny, _incipient_ it could hardly be called, as +he exhibited, truly in a petty manner, but giving me good, +overpowering evidence of what I might expect when the _chains_ of +Hymen should be flung around us. + +"_He_ went to his Club, and the Lyceum, and became a member of the Odd +Fellows Society, so soon as there was one organized in the +village--indeed, on all points acted his own pleasure, even as to the +number of cigars he would smoke per day. And I, like a reasonable +woman, thinking all this part and parcel of his own business, never +for a moment _thought_ of interfering. But no sooner had I, in a kind +of dumb way, (foolishly enough, I confess _now_,) answered his +pathetic appeals, by acknowledging that I loved him, than he at once, +without questioning his right and title, proceeded to take the reins +of government into his own hands. And then it was incessantly, +'Florence, why do you allow that cox-comb to visit you?' or, 'why did +you go to the party last night when I was away?' or, 'how _can_ you +endure that conceited fool?' or, 'do, dear, arrange your hair in some +other style--curls are so common!' or, at another time, when I had +adorned myself with special thoughts of him, and his particular taste, +the ungracious salutation would be, 'It is _so_ strange you will wear +flounces--_I_ cannot endure them, and they are so unbecoming for you!' + +"Well, I _did_ give James Thompson, 'the cox-comb,' as Harry called +him, leave to understand I was not 'at home' to him; and I stayed away +from all places of amusement to which Harry _would not_, or could not +go, (which former I came at last to know was most frequently the +case.) And I did treat Charles Wood more coolly than my conscience +approved, for nature gave to him a good, kind heart, if she did not +make him a genius. And I left off flounces, which my tasty little +'dress-maker' thought '_such_ a pity;' and I braided my hair, which +all the time cried out against the stiff bands I put on the curly +locks; in short, for six months I made a fool of myself, by giving way +to all my exacting lover's whims. It makes me shudder when I think of +what had been my fate had I married him--I should have died a very +martyr long before this day. + +"I knew that on most subjects Harry's opinion was worth having--his +judgment sound; so I resolved to try what might be done on _this_ +point, which certainly concerned our happiness so much. By degrees I +went back to my old habits, saying never a word to him of the test I +was intending to put to him. Perhaps _you_ would have proceeded +differently--you might have reasoned with him, and urged him not to +distress himself about affairs far too trifling for him to interfere +with--about which no woman likes the interference, even of a favored +lover. + +"But such a course was not the one for me--and in the end, a person +pursuing a far different method of reasoning might, probably would, +have arrived at the same climax that I did. Wherever among my old +friends I chose to go, I went without consulting the pleasure of his +highness, who had led me about as a child in leading-strings quite +long enough. What books I liked, I read; concerning my judgment on +this point, perhaps, (not altogether unwarrantably either,) quite as +good as his own. I dressed in what fashion I pleased--and wore my hair +in the style nature intended. At one determined stroke I broke the +thread-like chains which, from their very fineness, had been more +galling to me than links of iron. I could read by Harry's look of +astonishment what his thoughts were, as he saw these changes in +me--and it was with some anxiety, I do confess, that I awaited the +result; for all this time I loved him well, though my attachment was +_not_ so selfish in its nature as was his love toward me. + +"One day I sent Harry a note, with a purse which I had knitted for +him, and requested that he would accompany me in the evening, when +there was to be a horseback-party on the lake-shore. In about half an +hour much was I astonished by the return of the messenger, with an +answer to my note, and my _rejected gift_. He declined the ride also, +saying that he had a severe headache--(well might his head ache when +it contained a brain capable of suggesting _such_ a note.) After some +few preliminaries, Harry proceeded to tell me that my gifts were +altogether unacceptable so long as my heart continued not right +toward him; that I had grieved him beyond all power of expression by +the heartlessness I had exhibited _in my disregard of all his wishes +and opinions_; this strange note ended by begging that I would not +join the riding-party that night; that he would visit me in the +evening, and receive from me then any explanations I might be ready to +make. + +"In ten minutes more the messenger was on his way back to Harry +Kirkland's office, with a neat package, which contained the young +man's notes, miniature, gifts, &c., with an assurance, which I wrote +with a most steady hand, that my evening ride would, doubtless, prove +more agreeable than a _tete-tete_ with him, and that, as I had no +explanations or apologies to offer, he need not be under the +inconvenience of seeking me again at home, or elsewhere. I will not +speak of the manner in which I passed that afternoon, after I had +returned Harry's _second_ note, _un_answered, and _un_opened; nor what +thoughts were busy in my mind, nor what feelings were busy in my +heart. But I will tell you this, at tea-time, when father came home, +_he_ did not reject his daughter's kiss, or the purse either; and now +it is snugly resting in the bottom of his pocket, well-filled, as I +hope it ever will be. + +"That moonlight ride--you remember it; perhaps you remember, also, +that there was no gayer mortal among you than a certain Florence +Cleveland. She might not have slept _quite_ soundly that night, when +she was alone in her little chamber, but it was not _very_ long that +Harry Kirkland's image disturbed her dreams. Harry was proud as I; +doubtless he thought himself the abused one, (and _that_, you know, is +wonderfully efficacious in curing heart-wounds,) and I can readily +believe that many times since he has blessed the day that saved him +from _coquetting_ Florence Cleveland. But--you know already how +suddenly Harry moved to New York that autumn, and also how you +wondered we did not correspond. + +"And what of George Stephenson? Ha! ha! I always laugh when I think of +him--_do you_, dear? What did _we_ think of him, _mon ami_, till we +discovered one day, much to our amaze, that he was engaged to us both. + +"Never shall I forget that tableau we presented--being our own +spectators--when, with your head resting on my knee in the old +summer-house, you, with trembling lips, told me of that delightful +youth! and of your future prospects; and how, when you approached the +interesting climax, I joined in with you and told _my_ story, too; and +how, instead of our becoming sworn foes from that hour, two more +loving and light-hearted beings seldom took pen in hand, than we, when +we wrote that joint letter, and saved George from the fate of +bigamists! Well, there was _never_ a more captivating youth than +he--at least we must _say_ so, to save ourselves from the obloquy of +falling in love with such a _scamp_! Who'd have thought it? those very +stories of his early life, and sorrows which drew such earnest tears +from _my_ eyes. I suppose you, too, have wept upon his shoulder as he +told them. Ah, me! + +"Then there was the poet, Earnest Ward. I tolerated _him_ because his +father was a college friend of my paternal, who wished us always to +show him kindness, and make the orphan feel himself not quite so +friendless. But you cannot believe that _I_ loved _him_. Poor fellow! +he is dead now. He never seemed destined to a long life to me; the +fact is, he did not possess _energy_ enough to keep him alive. And he +was eternally railing against Fate and his poverty, which no man who +wishes to gain favor in _my_ eyes must indulge in. His talents _were +not_ of that order which commands the ear of the public--and yet he +seemed to think so, and in that thought centered all his hope. There +was nothing practical about Ernest. He belonged to that miserable +class of beings, (how many of them we see about us,) who are aptly +described as having lost _their way_ in the great roads of life, +having early groped blindly past the stations they were designed to +fill. Ernest had a good deal of fancy and ingenuity--more than should +have been lavished on newspaper enigmas, and verses descriptive of the +color of my hair and eyes; he might have made a capital manufacturer, +or designer of toys. He was made, I am convinced, for some such +purpose, and might have excelled in some such _art_; but least of all, +you will acknowledge, was Ernest Ward fitted to be _my_ husband. And +well for us was it, that if he did not know it, _I did_. + +"And, last of all of whom I will speak, there was Edward Graham; and +thus I fancy I hear him described by some (whom I _will_ say I am not +sorry to have left behind me,) 'a fine fellow! but driven to +desperation and to sea by that worthless flirt, Florence Cleveland!' +Now I will give you an opportunity, _ma chere_, to laugh in your +sleeve, if you will, for beyond the shadow of a doubt, I am engaged to +this same Edward Graham, who departed in such desperation; and what's +more, I mean to marry him, too. + +"And how shall I explain conduct that will appear so strange as this +to you? You know Ned Graham _almost_ as well as I do; and as we both +have known him from childhood, it would be idle in me to speak of his +fine, noble, generous character, and of his _sensibleness_, by far a +rarer component of the human character than many people seem to +imagine. Our engagement was, I confess, an altogether unanticipated +thing to me, though there was always a lingering thought in my mind +that Ned approached a _little_ nearer my standard of manly perfection +than any suitor I ever had. You and I have often together admired the +outward man, so I will not now speak of those great black eyes of his, +which seem to pierce you through and through, as though they _would_ +know your secret thoughts, (which, as far as they regarded him, +_could_ be only thoughts of admiration and respect.) And that manly +form, so sweet and noble, that was never yet bent by the weight of a +mean or sordid thought--that _could not_ stoop to any thing low or +ignoble. Now, when I tell you that Ned has hired himself to a +sea-captain, whom his father has known from boyhood, for three years, +that his wages (excepting only a moiety) have been paid at Ned's +request into his father's hands to aid the old man, who is now in +difficulties, when I tell you this, you will concur with me in +thinking _my_ Edward Graham the most noble and generous youth in the +world. + +"Only a week before his departure _we_ made our arrangements; for +before that time Ned had never spoken to me of love--and I never heard +of his broaching the subject to any one else, did you? In three years +he is coming back again. By that time _we_ shall have become settled, +and have learned to love our new home. What farmers we shall be! Then +Ned will join us in Wisconsin--and who says we shall not be a happy +family there? And that Flory Cleveland will not prove herself quite +tractable and human, although people have dared and presumed to call +her a 'desperate flirt?' + +"So, my dearest, I have given you a true history of my _coquetting_ +(?) life, with the exception of those tragedies you are acquainted +with already. Frank Blake died, it is true, but never for a moment +have I reproached myself with _his_ death. He was 'found drowned,' so +the verdict of the coroner's jury ran; but have none others been ever +'found drowned,' than men who were in love? I am not jesting, or +speaking lightly now. Heaven knows the subject is far too fearful to +jest about! Could they who have seemed to delight in calling me little +better than a murderess, but know what bitter, bitter hours I have +passed writhing under their 'scorpion tongues,' they would, I think, +be satisfied. I tell you again, my friend, Frank never treated me more +kindly, or considerately, or _justly_ than he did that day when I told +him I _could not_ love him as he deserved to be loved, though I must +ever bear toward him the utmost respect and the kindliest feelings. +And when Tom Harding made that incident a theme for newspaper gossip, +I wonder Heaven had not blasted the right hand that dared to write +such things! + +"You know how afterward I went to Frank's home--to his widowed mother. +She, too, turned in horror from me when I told her who I was, and why +I had come so far from my home in search of her. Go to her _now_, my +friend, and she will tell you that she attaches to me _no_ blame. Even +the agonized, heart-broken mother believed me, when I told her all +that had transpired between her son and me. She _knows_, as _you_ +know, and as _I_ know, that I never won the affections of her son +intentionally, for the purpose of adding one more name to my list of +conquests. + +"And of that other, whose name I will not write--he who died in the +convict's cell--my friend, _had I_ aught to do with that man's crimes? +The brutish madness with which he heard my refusal of his suit--his +dreadful downward course afterward; oh, can unreturned _love_ be the +instigator of such crimes? Had he not been a reckless youth ever; +disliked of all the village boys, whose friendship, even his wealth +and good family could not buy for him? If I would not wed a villain +such as he, where rests the blame? Oh, surely _not with me_! _I_ did +not make that festering, sinful heart of his, nor did I lure him on to +hope that I would _ever_ wed him. If love is _heaven_, what were life +with him! + +"I cannot write more--_non sum qualis eram_! yet the sun shines +brightly on me still as in my childhood, and the future is _full_ of +hope. If I have cleared myself of the imputation of the folly and +heartlessness some have laid to my charge, it is well; _I_ cannot +think that my proceedings have been _very_ dreadful, or sinful; they +did not frighten honest-hearted, noble Ned Graham. + +"And after this, when you see a woman whose conduct to you is quite +unexplainable, and full of mystery, listen, dear friend, and bid those +around you listen a little more earnestly, to the voice of _human love +and Christian charity_; and trust _me_, the number of women _who have +the power_ to act _long_ in direct opposition to all the better +impulses of woman's nature, is _surprisingly small_. + +"If your trust continues in me still unshaken, as in the days gone by, +come ere long to Wisconsin, and I will insure you a husband of the +'free soil,' who shall bear as little resemblance to _our_ faithless +George, as my Ned does--and a home in the wilderness, this glorious +wilderness. + +"God bless you, love--good bye!----." + +"I have not yet obeyed the call of my friend to the far west," _now_ +her happy home. Do you think it advisable that I should place myself +in the hands of such a--; but first let me ask you, + +_Do_ you think Florence Cleveland was a coquette? + +And--_is_ this _once_ prolific topic _yet_ exhausted? + +I cannot conclude this discourse, "my hearers," without repeating to +you a song, which appeared some years ago in "Graham." It is by Miss +Barrett. Has it ever yet been "set to music?" if not, I would advise +some composer to neglect no longer so beautiful an effusion. And when +the _deed is done_, let every lady learn the song, and every gentleman +stand by and listen to it humbly. Here it is. + +THE LADY'S YES. + + + "Yes!" I answered you last night-- + "No'!" this morning, sir, I say; + Colors seen by candlelight, + Cannot look the same by day. + + When the tabors played their best, + And the dancers were not slow, + "Love me" sounded like a jest, + Fit for "yes" or fit for "no." + + Thus the sin is on us both; + Was the dance a time to woo? + Wooer light makes fickle troth-- + Scorn of _me_ recoils on _you_. + + _Learn to win a lady's faith + Nobly, as the thing is high-- + Bravely, as in fronting death, + With a virtuous gravity._ + + Lead her from the painted boards-- + Point her to the starry skies-- + _Guard her by your truthful words, + Pure from courtship's flatteries_. + + By your truth she shall be true-- + Ever true, as wives of yore, + And her "yes" once said to you, + Shall be yes for evermore. + + + + +THE RECORD OF DECEMBER. + +BY HENRY MORFORD. + + + Write--with the finger of the angel-born, + Upon the tablet of the human soul, + That old December, wearied and outworn, + Drags on his failing footsteps to the goal. + Write--that the Christmas bells ring on till morn + Peace and eternal pardon to the whole, + And I, before I drop my farewell tear, + Must lay December's closing record here. + + Write--for I weary; Age with failing thought + Forgets the triumph of his younger days-- + Forgets the changes that himself has wrought-- + Forgets the lip that tuned to woman's praise-- + Forgets in summer how his fingers brought + Fresh flowers in olden time for manhood's ways, + Forgets all pleasure save an old man's word, + To think of bygone sorrows and record. + + Write--ere he passes--even now they come + With wailing harps and wreaths of withered flowers, + To bind his brows and bear him to his home + Amid the multitude of buried hours-- + A moment's respite ere his senses numb + And the death throe seals up his mental powers; + He shall not die, e'en in his age and dearth, + Without a legacy of good to earth. + + His course has been with manhood, and his name + Has changed with human years--we yet recall + How bounding onward at the first he came, + And trembled wearily unto his fall-- + How in his noon of life his strength was flame, + Spurning the very hand that gave him all, + How day by day and month by month he changed, + Till Time on old December is avenged. + + The air he breathes is but ingratitude + From each unto the other--from the air + Unto the Giver of Eternal Good, + And from man to the years unceasing care. + Spirit to spirit on the moving flood, + And demon unto demon in his lair, + Jarring with discord, scarcely yet set free + From the kind measure of God's harmony. + + And so he gave unto the sons of men + Last winter, snow, and ice, and driving sleet, + And the cold winds, each from his northern den, + Strewed wrecks of forest branches at our feet. + Old trees all naked shivered in the glen, + And houseless wretches shivered in the street-- + It was the time when poor and cold mankind + Should know the welcome of a generous mind. + + Few read the lesson--there was passing by + Of squalid poverty by gilded pride, + Wealth from the needy turned away his eye, + Rich doors to richer guests were opened wide-- + Pity sought out a fancy scene to sigh + And gave not burial to the poor who died-- + Beside the gourmand with his food opprest, + Mothers hugged starving infants to the breast. + + Oh, not for this came winter, not for this + Rolled out the storm clouds from the northern zone, + There was a hope that gay luxurious bliss + Would not be happy in itself alone: + There was a hope that wealth might stoop to kiss + Lips paler with cold sorrow than its own-- + There was a hope that severed things might blend, + And man, the selfish, soften to the friend. + + The old man was but young, but thankless hearts + They say are "sharper than the adder's tooth," + And ere the Spring came, by inhuman arts + The marble forehead was no longer smooth; + Cold blasts of scorn repaid him his deserts, + Bitter forebodings grew too often sooth, + At twenty years, they say, who knew him then, + He had grown sadder than old withered men. + + Spring lay upon the garden--from his hand + Showered the blossoms and the springing buds, + The songsters sang tales of a summer land, + And a new music lived upon the floods: + And o'er the scene there waved a magic wand, + And watched the spirit of the fields and woods, + Laying in golden promise on the earth + Beauties that mocked him in their very birth. + + The buds of spring grew withered in his grasp, + The thorns lay hid beneath the rose's leaf, + Leaving a poison deeper than the asp, + Long as the memory of corroding grief. + Rude hands tore off the petals, to unclasp + Too soon the fullness of a lot so brief-- + There was ingratitude in bud and flower, + And rude unkindness in man's thankless power. + + And all the summer long the rays he gave, + To cheer the weary sons of sweat and toil, + Flashed back with blistering brightness from the wave, + And burned like molten lava from the soil. + And vainly oft the giver came to crave + A shelter from the burning heat the while, + Beneath the bending vines the welcome fled, + And yellow harvest seldom crowned his head. + + They knew not, as he pressed the table seat, + That he alone had spread the groaning board, + They cared not that the master came to eat + Where one small blessing glittered from his hoard; + They knew not, cared not, how the angel's feet + Have trodden in the steps of good restored-- + The furrows deepened on the old man's brow, + And sadly humankind had sped the plough. + + Autumn grew brown upon the teeming zone, + Lo! here at last he should forget his pain + Amid the mellow fruits around them thrown, + With garners brimful of the golden grain, + Men should look smiling to the giver's throne, + And gentle peace sit on the loaded wain-- + There was a discord when the year began, + That jarred the wider as the circle ran. + + The wheat-sheaf grew into the curse of life, + And from the stalk the burning pain distilled-- + The orchard mast with the dark bane was rife, + Pouring out poison as the master willed. + The purple wine-grape reddened into strife, + And in its shadow man by man was killed-- + Poison, dark poison, rankled in the cup, + Pressed to his lips foredoomed to drink it up. + + So should the blessing of the fields and woods + Be moulded into curses? think it not! + Cold and unfeeling man's ingratitude, + Who to the season gave back such a lot, + To drink the cup gemmed with a poison flood, + And bitter with the felon's loathsome blot; + Oh deeply on our bosoms rests the stain + That never years shall wash away again. + + The wail of autumn winds was on the air, + That played with forest trunks as little things; + The demons of the storm, each from his lair, + Shot forth and hissed upon the tempest wings; + Rent from the old man's head the scanty hair, + Sung on the north wind as the cordage sings: + Little they spared him in their giant course, + The whirling winds that owed him all their force. + + Again 't is winter, to the sons of men + Come forth the snow and wind and driving sleet-- + Again the storm-cloud lowers o'er the glen. + Again the branches shiver at our feet. + Faint and uncovered, over moor and fen, + The weary man has come his doom to meet, + The storms of winter beat upon his head, + The record of his failing time is read. + + Chill to his heart strikes in the northern blast, + Ending the season as the year began; + December hastens to his final rest, + Friendless by the dark cruelty of man. + E'en now, while to his death-couch he is prest, + A wail rings round his head so pale and wan, + And withered flowers are ready for his bier, + That mock the dying with his past career. + + His course has been with manhood, and his end + Is fitting for a type of humankind, + Around whose heavy head the laggard friend + The veil of useless pity comes to bind. + The dirge of his departure shall ascend + From those who scarce recalled his life to mind, + The tide of life above his grave rolls on, + And few remember he is dead and gone. + + December passes, in the opening sky + Of the new year's first morning breaks a star, + The record he has left us here shall lie + Beside us when his form is borne afar. + Bending above his last farewell, I sigh + That he has left us, ingrate as we are, + And turning to the New Year, I behold + A new-born spirit throned upon the old. + + + + +[Illustration: Overvboard in the Gulf] + +OVERBOARD IN THE GULF. + +BY CHARLES J. PETERSON, AUTHOR OF "CRUISING IN THE LAST WAR," ETC., ETC. + +[SEE ENGRAVING.] + + +"A man overboard!" + +I heard the cry distinctly as the dark waters whirled me astern. + +"Who?--where?" + +"Heave over a coop!" + +"Can you see him?" + +"Clear away the quarter-boat!" + +These were the cries that followed each other in rapid succession, +accompanied with the hurried tread of feet, which rose even over the +sounds of the whistling hurricane and of the roaring water in which I +was immersed. + +We had been out from Marseilles about three days, and were now well up +with the Straits. A gale which had begun just after dawn had increased +with such violence that before the afternoon set in we were lying-to +under a storm stay-sail. Noticing that the heel of the boom was +chafing loose, I had gone aloft to repair it, when a sudden lurch tore +the spar from its fastenings, and flung me into the air like a ball +shot from a twenty-four. + +At first I sunk plumb, as if tied to a shot; but in a few seconds +began to ascend. When I reached the surface, however, it was to find +myself whirling from the vessel's side, with a confused noise of the +howling tempest and the bubbling waters in my ears: yet over all rose +the shouts of my messmates. + +I was so blinded by the water that I could not immediately see. I spun +around and around as in a whirlpool, for I had been caught in the +eddies under the stern. I looked to windward, too, for the ship; +forgetting that a heavy vessel would make more leeway than my light +person. Just as I sunk in the trough of the sea, however, I caught +sight of the tall spars pitching a short distance to leeward; and when +I rose on the next wave I took care to have my eyes fixed in that +direction. I could now behold the men in the rigging on the look-out, +and hear again distinctly their eager and excited cries. They were all +gazing to leeward, and consequently could not see me. + +"Whereaway is he?" + +"I can't see him--can you?" + +"There--he has just sunk in the trough--no! it was not he." + +"Hillo!" + +"Hil-hil-loa!" + +While these cries were following each other, the skipper himself came +on deck, and springing on the tafferel cast a rapid glance around the +horizon. I thought his eye had lighted on me, for, unlike the rest, he +turned to windward; but, after a hasty glance in the right direction, +he, too, looked off to leeward. How my heart sunk within me! Was I to +perish, and within hearing too, in consequence of this mistake of my +messmates? I raised my voice and shouted. I could still hear the +answers. + +"Ahoy!--aho-o-y!" + +"There--that was his voice certainly--can't you see him yet?" + +"Ahoy!--ahoy!--aho-o-y!" I repeated, straining my lungs to the utmost. + +"Hillo!" replied the stentorian voice of the skipper, the words +struggling faintly against the wind. + +The ship was rapidly drifting down to leeward, and I knew that if not +soon discovered I was lost, so I shouted again. + +"Aho-o-y!--A-hoy!--A-hoy!--Aho-o-y!" + +The last word was frantically prolonged, and I watched its effect for +a full minute with intense anxiety. It was evident from the manner in +which my comrades on board glanced anew around the horizon, as also +from the shouts which they uttered in reply, that my cry had reached +them. I could not indeed hear their hail, but saw their hands to their +mouths as when persons shout loudly. Alas! the same fatal error of +still looking in the wrong direction prevailed among them: not an eye +was turned to windward. My heart died within me. + +"Oh, God!" I cried, "they do not hear me, and I am lost. My mother--my +poor, poor mother." + +I forgot to mention that, on my falling overboard, the cook, who had +been cleaning knives in the galley, had mechanically flung the board +he was using into the sea. Luckily it floated near me, and catching +it, I placed it, end up, under my chin, and thus supported my head +above the water without difficulty. But for this, perhaps, I should +have been wearied out already by the surges which would have broke +over me continually, but which I now generally rode. I also had on my +oilskin cap and coat: an equally fortunate circumstance. + +After giving way, therefore, for a few minutes to despondency, as I +saw the ship drifting off, I rallied myself, and, reflecting that hope +never dies while there is life, began to consider my situation more +calmly. The comparative buoyancy of my dress, added to the board I had +so fortunately obtained, would enable me to keep afloat for an hour, +or perhaps for even a longer period, and in that time what chances +might not turn up! I knew the Gulf was crowded with vessels. I had +observed a French frigate, lying-to, to windward, just before I fell +overboard. The direction in which I was drifting would carry me near +her, when I might be more fortunate in attracting attention. I cheered +my heart with this reflection, and began to look out for the +man-of-war. + +My first object, in this new frame of mind, was to get rid of my +boots, which were by this time full of water, and began sensibly to +drag me down. With great difficulty I succeeded in pulling them off; +for I had to retain hold of my board with one hand while I worked at +the boot with the other. At last I was rid of those dangerous +encumbrances, and, floating more lightly, had a better opportunity to +look around. Of course my vision of distant objects was cut off every +moment by my being carried down into the trough of the sea. No one, +who has not been in a similar situation, can appreciate the awfulness +with which I gazed on the dark, glistening sides of the immense +billows, as I saw myself sinking away from them, as if to the very +bottom of the ocean. With what horrid mockery the glassy waters seemed +to rise mountain high all around me. Suddenly, when I was at the +lowest, I would begin to ascend, as if by magic, from that gloomy +gulf, my velocity increasing every instant, until at last I would +shoot upward above the crest of the wave, like an arrow propelled from +the abyss. A toss of the head, to shake off the water, a long drawn +breath, to recover myself, a hasty glance around, and then I was +whirled downward again, half smothered in the wild abyss. + +I had been overboard half an hour before I caught sight of the French +frigate. When at last I beheld her, I could scarcely restrain a cry of +joy. She was drifting rapidly toward me, and would pass within hail. +How beautiful she looked! Her symmetrical hull, that floated buoyantly +as some wild-fowl: her tall spars, unrelieved by a single bit of +canvas, except the close-reefed maintop-sail under which she was +lying-to: these, penciled against the horizon, formed together a +picture of grace and beauty unsurpassed. Now she would pitch +head-foremost into the sea; now slowly rise dripping from the deluge. +Here and there a look-out was visible dotting her rigging. As she +swung, pendulum-like, the wild and whirling clouds that rapidly +traversed the distant sky seemed one moment to stand still, and then +to speed past her with accelerated velocity. In the midst of peril as +I was I still felt all the charm of this picture. + +Suddenly I reflected--what if I should miss the frigate? There were +other vessels in sight, but none in my track, for by this time I could +calculate, with some approach to accuracy, the direction of my drift. +Again the thought of my mother came up to me. I was her only son--her +almost sole hope--the comfort and darling of her old age. Perhaps even +now she was thinking of me. I seemed to see her silver hair, and hear +her mild voice once more. Then the vision of that gray head bowed in +grief arose. I beheld her in the weeds of deep mourning, bent in body +and prostrated in mind. They had told her that her child had been lost +overboard months ago, and was now a thousand fathom in the sea. I +groaned audibly. God knows, even in that awful hour, it was less of +myself than of my mother I thought! + +I was now rapidly approaching the frigate. + +"Hillo!--hil-lo!" I cried, waving my arm above my head, as I rose on +the crest of a wave. + +I had but an instant to watch the effect of my cry, before I was +submerged again. But there was time enough to assure me that I had not +been heard. + +I noticed, with terrible misgivings, that my voice was much weaker +than it had been half an hour before. Was I so soon becoming +exhausted? At this rate, an hour more would probably extinguish life. + +This idea filled me with alarm, and as I gained the crest of the next +billow, I made a desperate exertion to shout both louder and quicker. + +"Hillo!--hillo!--hillo-o-o!" I frantically cried. + +I was still prolonging the sound when the comb of a wave went over me, +and half blinded as well as smothered, I was tumbled headlong down +into the trough of the sea, which I reached more dead than alive. I +was still so exhausted when I rose on the next billow that I could not +speak. + +With agony inexpressible I now saw myself nearly abreast of the +frigate. Another descent, another mad whirl upward, and I found her +shooting from me. I was now almost delirious with despair, + +"Hillo!--ahoy!" I cried. "Oh! for the love of God, hear me!" + +I fancied I saw a look-out turn toward me. I knew he must have heard +me. If I could have remained on the top of that surge an instant +longer his eye would have fallen on me; but the insatiate gulf +demanded me, and seized in the embraces of the pitiless waters, I was +hurried downward to darkness and death. + +When I next rose to the light of day, the man-of-war was fast +receding. I was so utterly drenched, so breathless from being nearly +smothered, that I could not raise my voice above that of a child, and +hence failed to attract the attention of the look-out whom I still saw +gazing in search of me. May Heaven grant that none who read these +words may ever experience feelings similar to mine at that moment! In +another instant I had recovered my voice, but the frigate was now out +of hearing. + +Suddenly, just as I was giving way to despair, I saw in the distance a +large ship driving before the gale, under a reefed maintop-sail and +storm stay-sail. She was heading directly toward me. This afforded a +new gleam of hope. If I could but arrest her attention, I thought I +should be rescued. I forgot that it would be first necessary to throw +her into the wind, and that the risk of her broaching-to in this +manoeuvre would probably prevent her paying any attention to my cries. + +On she came, racing like some mad courser, yet riding the gigantic +billows buoyantly as a bird. Now half enveloped in the driving +foam--now rolling her vast yard-arms almost to the water--now showing +her keel as far back as the dripping fore-chains, she presented a +spectacle of the most terrible sublimity. The scene around, too, added +to the awful majesty of the picture. Just as she rose on a colossal +wave, in the trough of which I was buried an immense distance beneath +her, a flash of lightning blazed across her track, while, at the same +instant, the clouds rolled away behind her, as if lifted like a +curtain, and the sun burst forth in all his glory. Never shall I +forget the sight! The after part of the gallant ship was buried in the +crest of the wave, which, beating over her quarter, flew into the +maintop itself. Her fore part had outrun the billow, and hung for a +second suspended over the abyss. Then, like a falcon stooping from its +height, she swooped down into the gulf, the wild waters roaring after +her, like wolves in pursuit of their prey. + +She was somewhat to leeward of me, but nevertheless I shouted with all +my might, again and again. + +It was in vain. Her crew clinging to the rigging, were all engaged +each in his own preservation, and no more noticed the half-buried +figure calling to them, than they observed the sea-bird that, like an +_avant courier_, swept the billow before them. I shouted, I shrieked, +I waved my arm frantically over my head. But all to no purpose. I +heard the fierce bubbling of the waters as the mighty ship tore +through them close at hand; I caught a glimpse of the pale and +terrified faces of her crew, gleaming out in the angry light of the +setting sun: and then the vision passed, a Titanic wave upheaved +between us, and I was alone. + +Alone on the illimitable ocean! Alone while night was drawing on! +Alone with no chance of escape remaining! Far, far to leeward, just +visible occasionally over the distant surges, I saw my own vessel; +but, except this, the horizon was now without a speck. + +I burst into tears. The tension of my nerves had been unnatural; they +now gave way: and, as I saw nothing but death before me, I wept like a +child. Yet still it was the thought of my mother that affected me, not +any consideration of self. My whole past life rushed in review before +me. I saw myself at my mother's knee looking and wondering as she +taught me to pray. I was a boy going to school, now chasing a +butterfly, now watching the angler from the village bridge, but ever +loitering on my way. I saw my little sister die, and after her, one by +one, in that season of terrible epidemic, my four brothers. I followed +my father to the grave, the last victim of that pestilence: I wept +with my surviving parent: I promised always to stay by her: I was her +all in all. And then, with the flight of years, came other pictures. I +was older and more adventurous, but, I fear, not wiser nor better. A +strange longing for the sea had seized me. I had secretly joined a +ship sailing to the Mediterranean, and was now on my return. But, +alas! I was never to see that happy home again. The avenging bolt of +God had overtaken me. No mother would ever weep above my ashes, no +kind hand would deck the sod with flowers. My doom was to be tossed to +and fro, midway down the depths of ocean, until the trumpet of the +arch-angel should sound. + +The night began to close in. Darker and darker the shades of evening +fell around the waste of waters, and the wind, as it went by, seemed +moaning my requiem. Occasionally the lightning threw a ghastly +radiance across the water. I was cold, weary, and half stupefied. My +senses began to desert me. No longer able to buffet against fate as I +had done, I took in each moment larger draughts of the briny element. +In fact I was drowning. Things actual and things visionary--the +present and the past--began to commingle in my brain in a wild +phantasmagoria. Faces of childhood, the sweet faces of my dead +brothers and sisters, looked at me from the sky above; while hideous +ones, the countenances seen in fever-dreams, grinned out from the +spray around. Confused noises, too, were in my ears. There was music +as if from celestial spheres; then notes as if demons laughed in the +gale. Gradually all things, seen or heard, became more and more +indistinct; a dead blank swum before me, leaving only the sensation of +blackness: and then followed utter forgetfulness, the stupor of the +dead--or rather that trance between life and death, when the body is +exhausted but the vital spark not yet fled--that one dread pause +between this world and the next. + +I have no recollection of any thing further, until I was partially +roused from my insensibility by a hand being laid on me. The next +instant I was dragged violently through the water, and thrown on my +chest across some sharp substance, which I concluded was the gunwale +of a boat. I fell with such force as to eject from me, as from a +force-pump, the water I had swallowed. The excessive pain roused me to +more complete consciousness. I languidly opened my eyes. I thought I +recognized familiar faces: the doubt was settled immediately by a well +known voice. + +"Easy there, Jack--poor fellow! he is almost gone--now, my hearties!" + +The words were spoken in the kind tone of the mate. I knew now that I +had been picked up by our ship's boat. She was lying head-on to the +waves, to prevent her being swamped while she took me up. Obeying the +directions of the mate, the men with a second effort lifted me +completely out of the water, and laid me in the stern-sheets of the +boat. + +"How do you feel?" asked the mate. "God help us, we were looking for +you in the wrong direction, till, all at once, I remembered you ought +to be to windward, and so at last made you out, a mere speck on the +horizon. We had a hard pull to reach you too! At first I thought we +should be swamped. But here you are safe. And now, lads, give way +lustily." + +The crew, at these words, put double strength into their oars, and +away we sped toward the ship. What a sensation of comfort and security +came over me as I felt the planks under me, and heard the waters, +which, cheated of their prey, followed roaring in our wake. + +I looked up toward the mate, who, steering with one hand, was covering +me with his jacket with the other. He was doing it, too, as tenderly +as a mother wraps her babe. Oh! how full my heart was. I tried to +raise myself on my elbow and speak. + +"Nay! shipmate," he said, placing his hand on my shoulder gently, as +if to press me down, "not a word. You need rest: you were three hours +in the water." + +In truth, this little exertion had made me dizzy. I heard his words as +in a dream, and sunk back, while all things seemed to whirl around +me. I closed my eyes, and presently, in a whisper, the mate said-- + +"He sleeps. I don't think he could have stood it five minutes longer. +Who would have told his mother?" + +From this time until I woke in my berth, I lay in a state of profound +insensibility. They have since told me that on reaching the ship they +thought me gone; but that by chafing my limbs, and employing stringent +restoratives they recovered me. I soon after sunk into a refreshing +sleep, and when I woke in the morning was perfectly well, though weak. + +It was quite dark, it appears, when we reached the ship, so that if my +discovery had come a few minutes later, it is exceedingly doubtful +whether or not I could have been saved. + +Years have passed since then, and I have rehearsed my deliverance a +hundred times, yet I always shudder to recall those terrible hours +when OVERBOARD IN THE GULF. + + + + +MY NATIVE ISLE. + +BY MRS. MARY G. HORSFORD. + + + My native isle! my native isle! + Forever round thy sunny steep + The low waves curl with sparkling foam + And solemn murmurs deep; + While o'er the surging waters blue + The ceaseless breezes throng, + And in the grand old woods awake + An everlasting song. + + The sordid strife and petty cares + That crowd the city's street, + The rush, the race, the storm of Life + Upon thee never meet; + But quiet and contented hearts + Their daily tasks fulfill, + And meet with simple hope and trust + The coming good or ill. + + The spireless church stands plain and brown + The winding road beside; + The green graves rise in silence near, + With moss-grown tablets wide; + And early on the Sabbath morn, + Along the flowery sod, + Unfettered souls, with humble prayer, + Go up to worship God. + + And dearer far than sculptured fane + Is that gray church to me, + For in its shade my mother sleeps, + Beneath the willow-tree; + And often when my heart is raised, + By sermon and by song, + Her friendly smile appears to me + From the seraphic throng. + + The sunset glow, the moon-lit stream + Part of my being are; + The fairy flowers that bloom and die, + The skies so clear and far. + The stars that circle Night's dark brow, + The winds and waters free, + Each with a lesson all its own + Are monitors to me. + + The systems in their endless march + Eternal truth proclaim; + The flowers God's love from day to day + In gentlest accents name; + The skies for burdened hearts and faint + A code of Faith prepare; + What tempest ever left the heaven + Without a blue spot there? + + My native isle! my native isle! + In sunnier climes I've strayed, + But better love thy pebbled beach + And lonely forest glade, + Where low winds stir with fragrant breath + The purple violet's head, + And the star-grass in the early spring + Peeps from the sear leaf's bed. + + I would no more of tears and strife + Might on thee ever meet, + But when against the tide of years + This heart has ceased to beat, + Where the green weeping willows bend + I fain would go to rest, + Where waters lave, and winds may sweep + Above my peaceful breast. + + + + +SONNET. + +SUGGESTED BY THE GREAT MOVEMENTS IN EUROPE. + +BY ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH. + + + To marshal you, oh army of the Poor! + The spirits of the Past have back returned-- + They who once toiled for you, though crushed and spurned; + Toiled, that while Truth and Freedom evermore + Might guard the olive of the lowliest door: + He, the Great human Type, for whom men yearned, + And longed in prophecy, for you, who mourned: + And they, the martyrs, red at every pore: + The blood-sown Truth of all these mighty dead + Ye have ingarnered, and the fruit appears + Nursed unto giant growth to the full days-- + Now, Lebanon is shaken--Isles outspread + Amid the seas are stirred--they who sowed in tears + In gladness now the harvest paean raise. + + + + +ROCHESTER'S RETURN. + +OR THE KING OUTWITTED. + +BY JOSEPH A. NUNES. + + +CHAPTER I. + +"We shall see," gentlemen, said King Charles, as he strode with a +hasty step across the apartment, "whether my lord of Rochester's +presence is as essential to the court and to the amusement of the +king, as his vanity induces him to suppose." + +"The expression was a thoughtless one," observed the young Count de +Grammont, who was present, "and doubtless not intended for your +majesty's ears." + +"Yet it was made, De Grammont," replied the king, "and, by the soul of +St. Paul! he shall be responsible for it. Rochester presumes too much +on our clemency, which he has so often experienced, but which he shall +have no reason to slight again." + +"Be merciful, my liege, for the sake of his wit," said the Duke of +Buckingham, with an ill-concealed smile at the king's petulance. + +"Better he had none, George," replied the king, "for he knows not how +to use it. Odds-fish! he as essential to Charles as Charles to him! We +have more wits at court, my lords, than Rochester. There's yourself, +Buckingham, and De Grammont, there, and Killegrew, Sedly, and a dozen +others who can make a pigmy of this Goliah!" + +"But your majesty will limit the period of his disgrace?" asked De +Grammont, who was sincerely friendly toward the obnoxious earl. + +"We will put this limit to it, and none other," replied Charles. "When +Rochester's wit is seductive enough to induce his king, personally, to +wait upon him three several times, or to command his presence at +court, then he may return, and not before; but come, gentleman, we +have other things to attend to this morning without wasting time upon +an ingrate." + + +CHAPTER II. + +The wittiest man at the wittiest court in Europe--that of Charles the +Second of England--was undoubtedly John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester; and +innumerable are the anecdotes that have been related of him in +connection with his friend and sovereign, Charles. Rochester's wit, +however, sometimes resulted in inconvenience to himself, and was +occasionally the means of having him banished from the court. This +circumstance generally occurred at least once a year, and sometimes +oftener, as in seeking amusement for himself and friends, he held +nothing sacred. Persons and things alike shared his satire and his +wit, and even majesty was not always exempt from the shafts he +lavished so freely on all sides. + +The dialogue detailed in the last chapter was the result of one of +those indiscretions. He had presented Charles to the court in so very +ridiculous a light, that the monarch became highly incensed, and +banished him from his presence. Rochester, at the time, happened to be +engaged in an intrigue with one of the maids of honor to the Duchess +of York, which made this interruption to his avocations the more +unpleasant than it otherwise would have been. He bore it, however, +with his usual humor, and left the court, declaring that his disgrace +could not be of long duration, as he was quite as indispensable to +Charles as Charles was necessary to him, and that within two months he +would be recalled. + +This inconsiderate boast had, as we have seen, been as inconsiderately +repeated to the king, and resulted in the monarch's declaration that +Rochester should not return to court until his wit had induced him, +Charles, either to wait upon him three several times, or to command +his presence. + +The Count de Grammont took an early opportunity of communicating this +resolution to his friend, and though he was himself sanguine in his +hopes, and fertile in his invention, he was not a little surprised at +the indifferent, not to say facetious, manner of its reception by +Rochester. + +"I accept his majesty's challenge," exclaimed the wit, laughing; "and +by Miss Hobart's wrinkles, and the fair Temple's smiles, I swear, I am +now disposed to say that within a single moon our sacred, sapient king +shall command the presence of his most melancholy subject; ay, and +wait upon him, too." + +"Be not too confident, _mon chere ami_" said De Grammont, "for this +time, for a wonder, our Charles is serious, and he must work deeply +and sharply who outwits him." + +"But he shall be outwitted, O, most unbelieving of infidels!" cried +Rochester, "if thou wilt only prove true to me." + +"Thou hast me as sure as thy blade," replied the count. + +"Then within a month," said the earl, "the smiles of Rochester shall +once more illuminate the court; and those who sigh in sadness now +shall confess that the sun shone not during his absence. Do you but +second my projects, and obey my behests, and Charles shall admit that +he is no match for Rochester." + +"But whither go you now to banishment?" asked De Grammont, as +Rochester rose to leave him. + +"You shall hear from me anon," replied the earl; "I go to make an +actress of my lady's maid, and to study snares for the king." + + +CHAPTER III. + +Rochester left London for a day or two to conceal the traces of his +whereabouts; but disguising himself completely, and assuming the +habit of a simple citizen, he soon returned, and selected an +ostensible residence, where he intended, for the time, to appear in +the character he had adopted. + +Chance, in this vagary, had given to Rochester, as a host, a gentleman +and a soldier, who had once been an equal and a companion. + +A cavalier officer, and one of the most devoted to his king, Colonel +Boynton, had fought in almost every battle against the troops of the +parliament, and distinguished himself sufficiently in several to +attract the royal notice, and to elicit the commendation of his king. +With the loss of the royal cause, Colonel Boynton retired, wounded +both in person and in fortune, to private life, where, in the society +of his wife and infant daughter, he strove to forget the downfall of +the unfortunate though guilty Charles, and the ruin of his family. + +The triumph of the parliamentary cause still further affected +Boynton's fortunes; yet, when some years after he knew that the sons +of his royal master were fugitives in a foreign land, and in pecuniary +distress, he did not hesitate to impoverish himself in order to +minister to their necessities; trusting to Providence and his own +exertions for his immediate wants, and to the re-establishment of the +monarchy and the royal gratitude for his future fortune. + +Colonel Boynton had lived to see the son of the First Charles ascend +the throne; but his just expectations, with regard to his own fortune, +had not been realized. Too proud to present himself to the royal +notice to claim the reward of his services, and the return of his +advances, when he thought that gratitude required he should be sought +out, he languished, with his daughter, who had now grown up to be a +beautiful maiden, neglected and unnoticed in a condition not many +degrees removed from absolute want; struggling for the means of +existence, and cherishing each hour increased feelings of bitterness +against the king and the court. + +It was with Colonel Boynton that Rochester now took up his abode, nor +was it long before he recognized the heroic soldier of former times; +and wild, reckless and dissipated as Rochester was, he could not help +deeply sympathizing with the condition of Boynton, and determining to +assist in having justice done to him. But from the Colonel himself he +met with an impediment he had not expected; for when, in his assumed +character, (Rochester did not disclose himself,) he suggested the +king's ignorance of his existence and urged him to present himself to +the monarch's notice, the old soldier unhesitatingly and indignantly +refused, alleging proudly, that it was not for him personally to +quicken the king's memory, adding, that if his services could be so +easily forgotten, he was satisfied they should forever remain in +oblivion. + +Notwithstanding this unexpected obstinacy the earl resolved to serve +the veteran and his motherless child, and he conceived a plot at the +same time, by which he purposed making the colonel's history +subservient to his design of outwitting the Merry Monarch. + + +CHAPTER IV. + +A fortnight had hardly elapsed since the retirement of Rochester from +court, when the reputation of a German doctor--said to be a wonderful +astrologist--began to be generally noised about. He had located +himself, on his arrival, in an obscure corner of the city of London, +and his practice was at first confined to valets, waiting-maids, and +such like persons; but so astounding and veracious had been his +disclosures to these, that his fame rapidly reached the upper circles, +and aroused the curiosity of the lords and ladies of the court. No +sooner had he obtained this run of custom than he became a made man, +with every prospect of a speedy fortune before him; for the displays +of his art, with which he had petrified his more humble patrons, +carried no less astonishment amongst the more fashionable ones, who at +first affected to disbelieve in it, and who originally sought only to +while away the tedium of an idle hour by laughing at the grossness of +his impositions. But he had overwhelmed them with consternation by his +knowledge, and his information of the intrigues with which they were +all more or less connected; he covered them with confusion for +themselves, at the same time that they could not withhold their +admiration of his skill. He was quickly esteemed a wonderful man, to +whom all hidden things were open, and who could decipher the pages of +the past and future as readily as he could read the events which were +transpiring around him. + +Now to pretend that any supernatural powers had been displayed by the +learned astrologer, Doctor Herman Von Lieber, (for that was the name +under which this tenth wonder suffered himself to be known,) would, +perhaps, be going too far; though it was certain that he possessed a +knowledge of persons, and of the history of individuals who sought +him, that was really startling; and if we consider that the +development of personal matters of scandal, which we thought confined +to our own breasts, is more apt to astound us than effects which are +positively inexplicable and beyond the reach of human ken, we will not +be surprised at the celebrity which our astrologer suddenly acquired. + +All the court was in commotion at his disclosures, and the royal +curiosity had been excited. + +Late one afternoon the Chevalier de Grammont proposed to the king the +idea of disguising themselves and paying a visit to the astrologer, +who had created so great a sensation; and the monarch, who was anxious +that the time until evening--when he, with the chevalier, had a new +adventure to inspire them--should pass rapidly away, consented readily +to the suggestion. + +At the residence of the astrologer they found all the arrangements of +the most singular character. They were met at the door by a couple of +Ethiopeans, fantastically dressed, who conducted them, without +question, through a suit of dim-looking apartments to one which would +have been quite dark, had its gloom not been relieved by a few small +antique lamps, whose light barely sufficed to disclose the necromantic +arrangements of the room and the untranslatable hieroglyphics around. + +After bidding them be seated, one of the blacks approached a +strange-looking table, and rang a small silver bell, then lighting +another lamp, which in burning dispersed an aroma through the room, +he, with his companion, left our adventurers to themselves. + +"Odds-fish, De Grammont," exclaimed the king, as the door closed, "the +sorcerer knows enough of human nature to commence his tricks by +astonishing the outward senses, thereby rendering the conquest of the +intellectual man the more simple." + +"This looks necromancy, certainly;" replied De Grammont, "but let us +see further before we confess ourselves bewitched, even by so great an +adept." + +At this moment a door at the further end of the apartment opened, and +a tall, stately, venerable looking man entered. His dress was almost +grotesque, but there was a certain dignity about it which redeemed it +from being entirely so. It was surmounted by a magnificent robe +trimmed with sables and decorated with a variety of unknown orders. +Upon his head he wore a richly wrought velvet cap, from beneath which +his long silvery hair escaped and reached quite down to his shoulders. + +"Men seek me," said the astrologer, (for it was him) "but for two +purposes: either to have the past rehearsed to them, or to lift the +veil of time and unravel the mysteries of the future. For which of +these do you come?" + +"Most learned doctor," said Charles, smiling at his companion, "we +come for both purposes; but more especially are we here to test that +wisdom, the reputation of which has reached the four corners of the +earth and filled the most profound with wonder." + +"You sneer, my son," observed the doctor, gravely, "but nevertheless +your wishes shall be gratified, for even a skeptic may be made a +believer. Shall I expound the past to you?" + +"First enlighten my incredulous companion as to his fate," replied +Charles, "and then I will judge how far you can speak of mine." + +"Give me the hour of your birth," said the doctor, turning to De +Grammont, "and I will consult the stars in reference to your fortune." + +De Grammont did as he was desired, and the astrologer left the +apartment. In a few moments he returned. + +"You are not what you seem!" he said, seating himself, and addressing +De Grammont. + +"Pray heaven you prove me no worse," replied De Grammont, laughing; "I +am a thriving merchant, though I would fain be a lord or a duke." + +"The merchandise you deal in," said the astrologer, "is to be found in +the mart of fashion, where frailty, unrebuked, boldly lifts its head +by the side of innocence, making the latter undistinguishable Thou +hast naught to do with those wares that make a nation's commerce." + +De Grammont laughed as he asked him of his parentage and past +fortune. + +"You are nobly derived," replied the astrologer: "you have been the +companion of kings." + +"Tut, tut!" exclaimed Charles, "thy art discloses naught. Thou wilt +surely make me an emperor if my friend is already the companion of +kings." + +After a few more questions, which were as shrewdly answered by the +adept, it became the disguised monarch's turn to learn his fate. + +"Yours has been a checkered life," the doctor said, when he had, as +before, consulted the stars. "The planets show that you have been +beset by as many and as great vicissitudes even as the monarch now +seated upon England's throne, and that thou hast profited as little by +them." + +Charles exchanged a smile with De Grammont, as he said-- + +"I thought you had a throne reserved for me, though I fear me 'tis in +the moon it must be fixed. Prove but your words, however, and thou +shalt be my chief favorite." + +"That," replied the astrologer, "is too precarious a place for me. +They say that Rochester is banished from King Charles's court, and +what hope could I have of pleasing if he could be dispensed with? +Nevertheless, I'll prove my words." + +"Tell me, then, of the present," said Charles. + +"I'll tell you of a war, and a concluded treaty of peace, that the +world knows not yet of." + +"With what nation, most sapient sir?" asked the monarch, laughing. + +"With a woman!" replied the doctor. "There is one, who this morning +was styled a countess, and, as such, waged war against you; the +preliminaries of peace have been signed, and she is now the Duchess of +Cleveland, for which concession she has consented to abjure the +society of St. Albans' nephew, Jermyn, and to meddle no more with his +Majesty's passion for the pretty Stewart!" + +"Thou dealest with the devil!" exclaimed the monarch, startled into an +awkward admission. + +"_I deal with the stars_," replied the doctor, gravely, "_and they are +unerring guides_." + +"Let them speak of the future, then, and perchance I may think so." + +"There is a bird a monarch seeks to cage, though the trembler knows +him not. This night he hies to her bower in a strange habit, and hopes +to win her thence; but let him take heed that more eyes look not on +him than the young bird's; she may escape, and he be unmasked." + +"Odds my life! my friend, I think thou knowest me," cried Charles, +laughing, as he drew a purse from his belt. + +"The stars proclaim thee England's king," replied the astrologer, as +he bent his knee to the monarch. + +Charles satisfied himself by asking a few more questions, then threw +the doctor his purse, and, bidding him come to the palace to receive +another, he departed. + +The doctor reseated himself, and taking off his cap and venerable wig +he disclosed the now easily recognized features of the Earl of +Rochester. + +Rochester indulged in a hearty fit of laughter, as he muttered to +himself,--"Already you have been outwitted once, friend Charles, +thanks to De Grammont's aid, and shall be thrice, or Rochester will +confess himself a fool, and unworthy to be recalled." + + +CHAPTER V. + +When Rochester casually stopped, an hour after the king's visit, at +the humble residence of Colonel Boynton, he was surprised to find much +confusion there. Two rough-looking strangers seemed to have taken +possession of the apartment usually occupied by the veteran. The +unfortunate old man stood passive, cold, and immoveable, while his +pretty daughter Margaret hung round his neck, weeping bitterly, and +pleading alternately with him and with the strangers, who--the +instruments of a flinty-hearted creditor--seemed quite unmoved by her +touching sorrow. + +"What is this, my good friend?" asked Rochester, taking the colonel by +the hand. + +"'Tis nothing," he replied, with a quivering lip, as he turned his +gaze upon his daughter; "I have been deficient in punctuality to an +impatient creditor, and he thinks the discipline of a prison may +quicken my memory and resources." + +"Out upon him, the hard-hearted knave!" exclaimed Rochester, "he +should have his ears slit to teach him better manners." + +"Oh, sir, speak to them!" cried Margaret, pointing to the officers; +"they refuse to let me bear my poor father company." + +Rochester took the commitment from one of the men, and glancing at the +amount of the debt, proceeded at once to liquidate it from the king's +purse. + +"Hold, sir!" said Boynton, interposing. "I thank you from my soul for +your intentions, but I cannot consent to receive charity from mortal +man." + +"I had no thought of charity, my excellent friend," said Rochester; +"'tis only to exchange places with your creditor that I intend, and +shall, at your earliest convenience, expect payment at your +hands.--Think," he added in a lower tone, "of this fair girl, and +leave not her youth and inexperience exposed to the temptations and +corruptions by which she would be surrounded in your absence." + +This argument was too powerful to be resisted. The gallant old colonel +shook his friend's offered hand, as he suffered him to pay the debt, +and dismiss the myrmidons of the law. + +"I say it is no obligation," Rochester observed, in reply to the +veteran's reiterated acknowledgments; "fortune has smiles in store for +you yet, nor will they be withheld much longer. I must leave you now, +though," he said, smiling at a passing idea, "for I have this night to +superintend the planetary influences, in order to prevent the +prognostications of the stars from failing." + +The colonel looked after him as he departed, but without comprehending +a word of his astrological remarks. + + +CHAPTER VI. + +In a house remote from the one in which King Charles experienced his +last adventure with the pretended astrologer, he sat again, disguised +in the undress uniform of a naval officer, with his arm encircling the +neat waist of a remarkably pretty girl. + +She affected to allow this liberty reluctantly, yet there was that in +her large black eyes and mischief-loving countenance which +contradicted the attempted coyness she at first evinced. + +"So, they call thee Margaret?" said the king, as he leaned his face +against her curls. + +"Yes, Master Stuart." + +"And thou art poor, Margaret?" + +"Alas! yes," she replied, "my father was once a royalist officer, and +rich; but the civil wars and his sacrifices for his king left him +penniless and friendless." + +"It has been the fate of many besides him," the monarch observed. +"Those same wars were, at one time, the ruin of my own family. But +thou, Margaret, shalt be poor no longer. Thou shalt leave this home of +penury with me, and I will make thee rich." + +"Nay, sir," she said, as he attempted to kiss her, "be not so tender +with your kindness. I fear already thy sympathy and its motive." + +"Fear nothing from me, pretty one," said Charles, clasping her closely +to him. + +"Why are we here alone?" she asked, seeming to realize, and be +startled at the idea, for the first time; "where is the friend who +introduced you--where is Master Granby?" + +"He will be here anon, pretty Margaret," replied the king, "his own +affairs have called him hence for a time. Heed him not, though, my +sweet trembler, my Peri of perfection, my Houri of Paradise! thou art +safe with me, and with me thou shalt hie away to regions where love +will smile upon thee, and gold will pour in perpetual showers in thy +lap." + +The monarch became so inexpressibly tender that the maiden, in her own +defence, was compelled to scream. After a moment's lapse an +approaching step upon the stairs warned the precipitate lover to defer +the prosecution of his suit to a more auspicious occasion. He hastened +to the door, but, to his astonishment, found it fastened, and on +trying the window, that, too, had been externally cared for. + +"De Grammont has betrayed me!" he exclaimed, as he drew a concealed +pistol from his belt and prepared to confront the coming danger. + +His apprehensions, were, however, groundless, for the only person who +entered the room was a tall, athletic looking old woman, in her night +dress, wearing a remarkably heavy pair of shoes. She placed her candle +upon the table and walked deliberately up to where the young girl was +sitting. Seeing her she started back in astonishment. + +"Are you here, Margaret?" she exclaimed; "beshrew me, I thought thee +asleep two good hours ago, instead of throwing thy company away upon a +young man, and a stranger. Away with you, mistress, to your bed! You +are unworthy to be called your father's daughter." + +"Nay, good dame, be not so hard with pretty Margaret," said Charles, +as he saw the young girl leaving the room with her handkerchief to her +eyes. + +"Out upon thee, sirrah, for a knave!" retorted the old woman; "I'll +see directly who thou art, sir jack-a-napes. To thy chamber, Miss, and +thank Heaven for thy father's misfortune, which prevented his being +here this night." + +When the girl had gone, she took up the light, and approaching the +king, scrutinized him closely from head to foot. + +"Well, mother," he said, as he suffered her to proceed with the +examination, "find you aught here to fear?" + +She was gazing at the moment at his face, and she started back as she +spoke. + +"Much, much to fear!" she replied, "for I see here the features of a +king! When we find the wolf in the sheepfold we may slay him, but who +dare approach the 'lion!' + +The king was filled with amazement at being recognised; but without +suffering his surprise to be evident, he endeavored to ridicule the +assertion. + +"True, dame," he remarked, "they call me the king of good fellows; but +as for a lion, the comparison is somewhat strained; it would be more +apt with a longer-eared animal, for suffering myself to be trapped +thus sillily." + +The old woman seized his hand, and after pointing to the royal signet, +dropped it. + +"Charles Stuart, King of England, thou canst not deceive me!" + +"Faith," said the king, laughing, "methinks this is another astrologer +in petticoats!" + +"And is it to his king," exclaimed the old woman, reproachfully, "that +the unfortunate Colonel Boynton is indebted for a base attempt upon +his daughter's honor, at the very moment when he himself is the tenant +of a prison for having, by his loyalty, impoverished himself! Is this +the reward for the blood he has shed, and the honorable wounds he has +received in fighting your battles, and for hastening to offer you his +last penny in a foreign land, even when his own family was persecuted +and destitute at home!" + +"Colonel Boynton!" cried Charles, as the old woman concluded; "surely +not the brave Boynton who served so nobly at Edge Hill, Naseby, and +Worcester, and who came to relieve his royal master's wants when he +was a wanderer and an outcast among strangers? This cannot be his +child, nor can he be living. They told me years since, when I caused +inquiry to be made for him, that he was dead." + +"He knew not that his king had ever sought for him," the old woman +said; "he thought his services and his sacrifices in the past had been +willfully forgotten, and his proud spirit scorned to thrust unpleasant +recollections upon you." + +"Poor Boynton! poor Boynton!" exclaimed Charles, "this has, indeed, +been ingratitude to one of the most deserving and faithful of my +subjects. Said you, my good woman, that he is now in a prison, and +for debt?" + +"Ay, my good lord." + +"There, there!" said Charles, hastily handing her a weighty purse, +"see that he is relieved at once--this night, if it be possible--and +bid him in the morning wait upon his king, whose greatest regret is +that he has not met with him sooner." + +"Will your majesty _write_ your request for him to come to the palace? +he may be somewhat skeptical of your royal solicitude." + +"Assuredly," replied the king, as he took up a pen from the table and +drew a sheet of paper toward him; "and do you also bear him company." + +"Add, then, if your majesty pleases, that you desire the _bearer_ also +to appear." + +The king looked at her an instant, then did as she suggested. + +"And now, dame," said he, "relieve me from my durance, and allow me to +depart." + +She hastily unfastened the door, and the king passed out. "Be sure," +said he, as he lingered a moment at the threshold, "that you bring my +pretty Margaret with you; her fortunes, too, must be advanced at +court." + +The old woman, after carefully fastening the door, threw herself into +a chair, and gave vent to a hearty burst of laughter. + +"There, Nancy, you can come down," exclaimed the familiar voice of +Rochester, as the figure of the quondam Margaret appeared again upon +the stairs. "Thou art a good girl, and I will make thee a capital +actress yet. Old Rowley has again been outwitted!" + + +CHAPTER VII. + +The next morning three strangers--two old men and a young girl--were +admitted to the palace of Whitehall, on showing the king's order to +that effect, but only one of the men was immediately conducted to the +king's presence. + +The Count de Grammont, (who had made his peace for his seeming +desertion of the previous evening,) Lord Arlington, and Sir Charles +Sedly, were with the king when Colonel Boynton was announced. + +The old man knelt at the monarch's feet, and taking his hand, kissed +it fervently. + +"Rise, my gallant old friend, rise!" said Charles, assisting him as he +spoke; "it gives us joy to see one so faithful, and so long neglected, +once more near our person. Our greatest grief is that so tried a +servant, and so brave an officer as Colonel Boynton should have been +in adversity and we not know even of his existence; but you shall be +cared for, my old friend, and the future shall prove to you that +Charles knows how to be grateful to those who have served him when he +most needed services." + +"Your majesty is over bountiful to one who wronged you by supposing +you capable of injustice. For this I crave your royal pardon, and also +for another and more heinous offence." + +"Thou hast it," replied the king, "even if the offence be treason +against ourself." + +"It is the offence of having imposed upon my sovereign," exclaimed a +voice that made the king start, while Rochester, ridding himself of +his disguise, knelt before him. + +"By my life, it is Rochester!" cried the king, starting back from the +prostrate earl, while every one present, except De Grammont, was +filled with amazement at the sudden transformation of Colonel Boynton. + +Charles was at first disposed to laugh, but recollecting his outraged +dignity, he restrained himself, and addressed his banished courtier in +terms of considerable severity. + +"This presumption, my Lord Rochester," said he, "ill becomes you; nor +can the insult to your king be easily atoned for." + +"Pardon me, my liege--" Rochester commenced. + +"By what authority," said the king, interrupting him, "have you +ventured to intrude yourself upon our presence, contrary to our +express commands?" + +"Simply by this, my gracious liege," replied the earl, handing the +paper he had received the previous evening, and pointing to the word +_bearer_. + +"That, sir, was given to another, and a worthier person than the Earl +of Rochester." + +"I might, your majesty," said Rochester, lowering his voice, and +approaching nearer to the king, "defend myself from the insinuation, +but I am prevented by a powerful reason, for, when we find the wolf in +the sheepfold, we may slay him, but who dare approach the lion." + +Charles was astonished at hearing the old woman's words repeated, but +the fear of his own exposure somewhat mollified his anger. + +"So, then, thou wert thyself in masquerade?" he said; "and with whom +hast thou dealt to put this cheat upon me." + +"I deal with the stars," replied the earl, assuming as nearly as +possible the tone of the astrologer, "and they are unerring guides." + +"Odd-fish, my lord," exclaimed Charles, now laughing heartily, "and +were you the necromancer, too?" + +"And Colonel Boynton, too, my liege; and all for the purpose of +inducing your majesty to keep your royal word, which said, 'When +Rochester's wit is seductive enough to induce his king, personally, to +wait upon him three several times, or to command his presence at +court, then he may return.'" + +"I think, my lords, I have been fairly caught," said the king, +smiling, and speaking to those around him, "and to keep my word +inviolate, must permit Rochester's return." + +"To prove that I am not ungrateful for your majesty's goodness," +observed the earl, "I am prepared to produce the objects of your +solicitude--Colonel Boynton and his fair daughter--they wait your +royal pleasure." + +On the introduction of the venerable colonel and the pretty Margaret, +the king whispered to Rochester, "Surely, my lord, this is not the +girl I saw last night?" + +"No, your majesty," replied the earl, "she was a pupil of my own." + +Charles, in a few words, satisfied Colonel Boynton that the neglect of +his faithful services had been owing entirely to misapprehension. He +gave him at once a position which secured him against future reverses; +nor was it long before his interesting daughter found a husband worthy +of her choice. + +Rochester's Protean exploits afforded amusement to the court for some +time. Charles bore the raillery he heard around him philosophically, +and good humoredly admitted that he had been completely outwitted. + + + + +LOVE THY MOTHER, LITTLE ONE. + +BY RICHARD COE, JR. + + + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her tenderly; + Clasp thy little arms around her, + For a holy tie hath bound her-- + Bound her close to thee! + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her tenderly! + + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her earnestly; + Gaze into her eyes, and see there-- + All that thou couldst hope to be there-- + Warmest love for thee! + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her earnestly! + + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her fervently; + By thy couch she kneeleth nightly, + And, with hands enclasped tightly, + Prayeth, love, for thee! + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her fervently! + + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her tenderly; + Clasp thy little arms around her, + For a holy tie hath bound her-- + Bound her close to thee! + Love thy mother, little one, + Love her tenderly! + + + + +THE EARLY CALLED. + +A SKETCH. + +BY MRS. FRANCES B. M. BROTHERSON. + + + And were not these high words to flow + From woman's breaking heart? + Through all that night of bitterest wo + She bore her lofty part; + But, oh! with such a glazing eye, + With such a curdling cheek-- + Love, love! of mortal agony + Thou--only thou shouldst speak. + + MRS. HEMANS. + + + As their hearts--their way was one, + And cannot be divided. + + JOANNA BAILLIE. + + +A child of seven summers reclined upon a couch. Suffering and disease +had so enfeebled his naturally fragile frame, that his thin hand could +scarcely sustain a bunch of roses, which his young sister Lillias had +culled for him, from his own rose-tree; the tree that it had been his +joy and pride to attend to, when in health. He hard marked, delighted, +the first green leaf that in the spring-time burst from its wintry +repose, and very joyously he clapped his little hands when a streak of +crimson peered out from the first bud. He dreamed not, amid his +happiness, that the Angel of Death should steal around him before its +bright hue faded, nor that others should bud and blossom--to wither +upon his grave. Even thus it was. + +Willie M---- was a child of unusual feeling and sensibility, his young +face often shadowing forth strange, sad feelings--feelings that seldom +exist, save in the heart of maturer years. I have seen him gaze upward +to the bright blue sky with delight, as though his childish ken could +pierce the clouds, and commune with the intelligences of Heaven; and a +flower--a murmuring rill--a boundless flow of water--silvery +stars--and gentle winds--failed not to arouse enthusiastic emotions in +his young heart, at which many marveled. "None knew him but to love +him," and in his walks with "dear papa, sweet mamma, and darling +Lillias," many an eye followed him with blessings. "Ah," said an aged +one, whom he had cheered with sunny smiles and artless conversation, +"few will be the years of Willie M----; he is one of God's angels lent +to earth!" and her tears fell at the prophetic thought that even she +would live to see his winsome wee face hid beneath the coffin's lid. + + * * * * * + +A group of young children stood around his bed, gazing with fearful +wonder on the change that had been wrought in their loved playmate. He +had begged of his mamma to send for them, that he might see them once +more; and his large, spiritual eye had looked its welcome on each of +that little band. Once he had hunted with them the early violet in the +glade and dingle; once the echoes of his voice rang merrily out as +they bounded over the greensward in chase of the bright, illusive +butterfly--and his heart grew sad as he felt that he should be with +them no more. A little hand was laid caressingly upon his head--it +was Gary Lincoln, and as he turned around to look upon her he saw that +her eyes were full of tears. "Why do you cry, Gary?" said he. "Because +mamma says that you are going away to Heaven," she replied, "and I +cannot bear to think of it--don't go, Willie, don't go!" and the tears +streamed down her young face like rain. It was her first sorrow. + +Willie spoke not, but a grieved, yet tender expression rested on his +countenance, and his mamma, taking a hand of each within her own, told +her that if she were good, if they all were good children, they should +go to Willie--although he might not stay with them. She told them of +the glorious home to which he was hastening--how happy he would +be--never to suffer more--of the white robe--the starry crown and the +tiny golden harp that should be his--and how he would be their +guardian angel, through day and hush of night, and how joyfully he +would welcome each one to his happy home. + +That mother's heart was bursting, and yet her absorbing love for her +child nerved her to this, and as she told of that clime where "the +soul wears its mantle of glory," the little sufferer's eye grew so +intensely bright that it seemed unearthly. Visions of Heaven seemed +opened to his view, and with a face radiant with delight he clasped +his hands, and said, "Dear mamma, let me go now." "We must wait, my +child, till God sends his angels for you." "Yes," he murmured, "till +the angels come," and sunk exhausted into a slumber. Slowly and +quietly the children departed--and when next they looked upon him he +was shrouded for the grave. In a few moments he awoke, and as he +missed the little faces that had been around him, a sad look rested +for a moment upon his face--but in an instant, as his eye rested on +his young sister, he smiled feebly, and exclaimed--"_They_ are all +gone--yet my sweet Lillias is with me still." + +That night the angels kept vigil around his couch, and ere morn arose +upon the earth the unsullied spirit was wafted to its native Heaven. +Never--never can _that_ night of Death be effaced from the tablets of +memory--marked as it was by such holy, heavenly heroism on the part +of that fond and devoted mother. Burning tears were on the father's +cheek, and the young Lillias had sobbed herself into a feverish +slumber, but until life was over _the mother_ sat by the side of her +child, breathing sweet, low whispers of the Better Land, so soon to be +his home. She faltered not, and although her heart seemed consuming +itself, she would still trace, with an eye of faith, new rays of +comfort for the dying one. She could not bear to think that his +childish heart should shrink from the grave--nor think of it--invested +as it is so often--with dread and gloom. Thus she sustained him to the +very portals of Heaven, until he needed earthly consolation no more, +until the sheltering arms of Him received him, who hath said--"Suffer +little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is +the kingdom of Heaven." As peacefully as a child sinks to rest on a +mother's bosom, sunk he into Death's embrace. + +The agony of the hour, when it is said of a beloved one, "he is dead," +has never--nor can it be justly portrayed. Then it is that Hope plumes +her wing and soars afar--then it is the even, the clear eye of Faith +seems dimmed. When the truth burst upon the mother's heart that her +child was no more--when she felt that her grief had now no power to +afflict the childish heart that had idolized her--then did the pent up +torrents of agony rush forth, crushing every barrier, and threatening +to overwhelm her soul in their mighty depth. Yet was she +comforted--the glorious imaginings that she had so faithfully and +forcibly portrayed to the dying one had fastened upon her soul--and +when the first wild burst of grief was over, she turned from the +coffined face to the upper world, as though she would say, "not +here--but there." + + * * * * * + +Once more a childish group gathered around Willie M----. His eye +smiled no welcome, his hand returned no pressure, but as he lay +enshrouded in the garments of the grave, methought he was even more +lovely than when his face was glowing with life. A smile still +wreathed the parted lips, as though the happy spirit had returned to +the tenement of clay, breathing of the blessedness of its glorious +home. Each imprinted a kiss on the placid brow, and as the icy chill +of death met their lips, so full of life and warmth, the reality of +their loss was felt by all. Gary Lincoln lingered until she placed +within those little hands a cluster of white rose-buds--"Flowers, pale +flowers"--they were love's last gift. + +Now came the hopeless anguish of the last look--the suspension of +almost life, as the dear remains are lowered to their +resting-place--and, worse than all, the hollow, maddening sound of the +falling earth upon the coffin, sealing the doom of the bereaved, +making complete their misery. They laid him to rest amid the bloom and +shade of Mount Auburn, and his grave is a shrine around which those +who loved him come, bringing ever with them the offering of gentle +thoughts and pleasant memories of him who sleeps below. Little hands +deck it with garlands, and sweet Cary Lincoln has placed a tuft of +early violets above the sacred spot--for, said she, "Willie loved +violets so well." + +For months after his death, during the "long bright summer hours," a +child was seen almost daily to visit his grave, lingering when all had +gone. It was Lillias--and I thought if the departed spirit were +hovering near, how often it would echo those words, "_They_ are all +gone, yet _thou_, my sweet Lillias, art with me still." + +One year had elapsed, and a funeral train wound again through Mount +Auburn, pausing at the grave of Willie. Lillias was no more. She +ceased not to mourn for her brother, and during her last illness she +spoke of little, save that she should find him in heaven. Once more +that angel-mother sat by a dying child, breathing words of holy hope +and trust, and her eye grew bright, and her heart was warm, as she +spoke of a joyful reunion in heaven. + +"Mamma," said the child, "we will keep a place for you and dear papa, +and will you come soon?" + +Years have since passed, but often at the holy twilight hour those +gentle children are with me still; and when my rapt soul pierces the +azure vault, I seem to see Willie in angel robes, and listen, +entranced, to the tones of spirit-melody from his tiny golden harp--a +form as radiant as his own is ever near him, and I fancy, as I mark +the delighted look that ever greets a seraph strain from the beloved +lips, that I hear in sweet tones, "_thou, my sweet Lilias, art with me +still_." + + + + +THE CHRISTIAN HERO'S EPITAPH. + + + Say, doth the sculptor's ready tool engrave + A _mournful_ stanza o'er a _conqueror's_ grave? + Or bid the willow bend, or cypress twine? + Or doleful tokens to his fame combine? + + Then trace no saddening sentence o'er the place + Where rests the victor in a heavenward race; + Meeter the laurel and the trumpet-strain + For one who fought a fadeless crown to gain! + + Bring the memorials of a warrior true, + The "sword," the "helmet," and the "breast-plate" too; + Write on the marble that by _these_ he won, + And bid the gazer do as he hath done! + + Write of his faith; how humble, yet how bright, + Diffusing round a clear and heavenly light; + Write of his zeal; how quenchlessly it burned, + How many a wanderer to the skies it turned! + + And, mourner, when thou comest with a tear, + Love's costless tribute to remembrance dear, + Bend there thy trembling knee upon the sod, + And lift thy homage to the conqueror's God! + + + + +THE LADY OF FERNHEATH. + +BY MARY SPENCER PEASE. + + +CHAPTER I. + +ISOLETH. + +How shall I describe her? Who ever described the sun, or one of the +glorious stars, or the white, witching moon; or who, even the least +and simplest of the exquisitely, perfectly fashioned wild-flowers, +that grow upon the humblest road-side? If these are indescribable, how +much more so, in its highest perfection, is the most beautiful, most +perfect of all God's beautiful, perfect creations--woman? Who ever +depicted her one half as lovely and loving as she is? Who ever, amid +all the wild, rapturous praise that has been so profusely lavished +upon her, said one half that is her due for her truth and gentleness +and beauty, her untiring devotion, her unwearying patience, her ever +unselfish forgetfulness of self, her--,but what has been so many times +vainly attempted, _I_ cannot accomplish. How, then, shall I describe +thee, beautiful Isoleth? Loveliest, lovingest, glowing, glorious Lady +Isoleth! Bright Lady Isoleth!--wild as a hawk, and beautiful as Love. +Thy every motion was grace, thine every look was truth. Bewitching +little Isoleth! Her form was as lithe and flexible as a willow bough, +and light and graceful as a young fawn's. Her queenly little head sat +most proudly upon the daintiest, softest, whitest neck and bosom you +ever saw. Two deep wells of light and love were her eyes, revealing +every feeling of her beautiful soul. When she was sad, they looked +out, half shut, through their long shining lashes, dewy, dark and +tender; and when her mood grew merry, they danced in very joy. None +yet agreed on their color. One would have sworn they were the softest, +warmest brown--he saw them only when they were looking love, and he +was--but of him anon. Another would have told you they were pure, +clear blue--but he was the Lady Isoleth's confessor, with her when her +thoughts dwelt upon things holy. By turns were they violet and gray, +and all imaginable colors, in fact, except, indeed, green, or any +other such unrighteous shade that eyes sometimes take upon themselves. +Then her little, ripe, tempting mouth--ah! was it not just the mouth +one loves to kiss? small, dimpled, with soft, rose-red lips; and +tremulous ever--trembling with the love and gladness that filled her +young heart. Most beautiful was the Lady Isoleth of Fernheath. + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE BIRTH-DAY. + +"My lady!" exclaimed a bustling, good-natured little old body, +entering the room, which Wilhelm Gottfried, Baron of Arnhiem--the Lady +Isoleth's uncle and guardian--ever pleased himself with calling the +Lady Isoleth's menagerie, because, forsooth, the little lady delighted +herself with feeding and taming countless birds that had been brought +from all the known quarters of the globe. "My lady," spoke she, "do +you know that this is your ladyship's birth-day, that you this day +have arrived at an age which behooves you to put away childish things, +and take upon yourself the cares that belong--" + +"You wise, dear little nurse! don't put on so much of the awful; don't +talk of care, you make me shiver at the bare idea. + + + "Where the bee sucks, there lurk I: + In the cowslip's bell I lie, + There I couch when owls do cry, + On the bat's back do I fly, + After summer merrily, + Merrily, merrily!" + + +And thus merrily sung the little airy Ariel, dancing around the room, +scarce touching the floor as she sung. + +"Bless her light, little, happy heart! What a sin that love must come, +and with love, the self-loving, proud husband, that will bend that +bright will to his own; and then old age, and care, sure enough, and +wrinkles--and then that light, fairy-bounding step will be slow and +leaden, and that--alas! alas! that such perfect beauty--!" + +"What is that you are muttering about, nursey dear? You must not let +me see one sad look to-day, for am I not this day sixteen--bright, +merry sixteen!" + +"Yes, my dear lady, sixteen to-day--sixteen to-day;" and the little +dame, recovered from her momentary sadness, gave her lady a +mysterious, quizzical look, as she once more repeated, "sixteen +to-day!" + +"Well, dear nurse, what would you have me do, or what shall I leave +off from doing, now that I have grown so exceedingly old?" asked +Isoleth, smiling that precious smile of hers--ten thousand dimples +danced around it--ten thousand loves nestled in each dimple. + +"Sixteen to-day!" replied the queer little old body, with what she +meant for a very significant look. "Your guardian, the noble Baron of +Arnhiem, comes this day--" + +"As he does every year to see me, dear nurse, staying several weeks, +sometimes months, with me." + +"He comes not alone this year, my sweet lady," added the little woman, +looking still more significantly. + +"I suppose we shall have my dear prim old maiden aunt of Hansfeldt, +with her snuff and lap-dogs, or is it my dear, sweet, beautiful +cousins Blumine and Alida? Tell me, nursey, if they are coming. You +shake your head. I guess, then, my proud uncle and aunt of Allwrath, +and my aristocratic cousins, their haughty sons and daughters?" + +"None of them, sweet lady--that is, just yet." + +"My beautiful, loving-cousin, Alice of Bernstorf, who has been living +these six years alone and lonely in her castle with only her younger +son and daughters. Is she or any of hers coming here again? And when +will my cousins of Bernstorf return from those hideous wars? I have +not seen them for so many years I should not know them." + +"Now, dear lady, you are approaching nearer the fire, as the children +say in the play." + +"You dear, queer little old nurse, don't look so mystical and +mystified, my circle of acquaintance, by reason of my father's will, +is not so very extensive but that the roll might soon be gone through +with. Come, unfold thy important, mysterious budget--who is it?" + +"Who should it be, dear lady, but your noble cousin, Ferdinand, Prince +of Bernstorf! My lady, there is a clause in your father's will, that +you were not to know until your sixteenth birth-day, revealing a +compact between your noble father and your Cousin Ferdinand, the +reigning Duke of Bernstorf, that gave you as bride to your cousin, +Prince Ferdinand Of Bernstorf. There, now, my lady, 'tis out. The +secret has half-choked me these twelve years." + +"Very kind and considerate in my father; but his child does not choose +to become the bride of any one just yet, least of all of one old +enough to be her grandfather." + +"Old!" exclaimed the dame, throwing back her hands in amazement, "Old! +why, my dear lady, he is a mere boy; he will be but twenty-eight--" + +"Twenty-eight! and I sixteen! why they would have me marry my +grandfather." And the little lady threw back her head, and with it its +world of soft brown curls, and laughed in very glee. + +"He will be but twenty-eight, two--no, three days after this coming +Christmas. But, dear lady, do leave these screaming, noisy jack-daws +and mackdaws, and come and let me dress you in the beautiful new +court-dress your guardian sent you this morning." + +"You naughty nurse! to abuse my beautiful birds. I have only one +jack-daw, and these are my pretty West Indian macaws, _not_ mackdaws, +wise nursey. And those are my bright-eyed canaries, and that is--but +you will not remember their names, although I have told them to you so +often." + +"I see some are blue, and some bright red, and I know that little +Jenny, who helps you take care of them, loves them as well as you do. +But will you not come now and try on your splendid dress? I would have +you look your best and prettiest when your cousin comes." + +"I know I shall not like him, and if I do not, my guardian will not +force me to marry him." + +"But your father's will--" + +"I will not think of that now, nor will I dress, dear nursey. I will +go ride my pony, and gather some of those wild-flowers my guardian +loves so well." And away flew the bright, happy little maiden; she +herself, of all the glad, sweet wild-flowers that grew among the +shades of Fernheath, the gladdest, sweetest, merriest and wildest; +and the one of all the rest her guardian uncle loved the best. + +Little Dame Hildreth, while she flew about preparing for the reception +of Baron Arnhiem and the prince, could not help sadly bemoaning the +strange perversity of her young lady, in preferring birds and +wild-flowers and ponies to court-dresses and husbands. + +The Lady Isoleth soon forgot that she had arrived at the advanced age +of sixteen, and that she had to put away childish things, and all +about her father's will, and the awful prince. She rode her pony +through the wood down to the sea; then ran a race with him upon the +beach--the pony playfully allowing his mistress to win. She climbed +the highest rocks in search of wild-flowers, and wove the sweet +flowers into garlands; at length, recollecting how long she had been +gone from home, she mounted her pony and galloped on toward the +castle, her head wreathed with holly, and her arms full of flowers. As +she entered the avenue there stood her impatient nurse awaiting her. + +"My dear, darling young lady, what an age you have been away. We have +all been watching--" + +"Has he come?" + +"Who, the prince?" + +"My dear uncle--has he come?" + +"Yes, my dearest lady. They both came, Prince Ferdinand and your +guardian, soon after you left, and have been here for three long +mortal hours waiting for you very anxiously. The prince looks very +noble and handsome, and is dressed most magnificently. You must not be +disappointed though, dearest lady, for he is somewhat changed." + +"Changed! How changed, dear nurse? I have not seen him these six or +seven years, ever since, you remember the time, he and my cousin duke, +his father, with so many others, went to fight those horrid Turks." + +"He looks older, much older than he did--that, though, must be--yes, +it must be on account--" + +"Older! why you simple, queer little nurse, he _is_ older. Why should +he not look--I expect to see him look half as old as Methuselah at +least. How shockingly old one must feel if they live to be +twenty-eight." + +"Yes, he _does_ seem older than I expected to see him--though, to be +sure, he has been, for the last seven years engaged in the wars; yes, +that must be it. Nothing makes one grow old so fast as fighting. But, +dear lady, come, now, and dress, there's a darling. You will have just +about time enough before dinner. But where is your bonnet?" + +"Up in the branch of a tree, nursey dear. It will make some bird a +delightful nest next spring. I lost it getting this curious white +flower. Look at it. It grew in an almost inaccessible spot upon the +cliff by the sea." + +"You are a dear little kid clambering among those ugly rocks. Let me +take some of your flowers, your bundle is nearly as big as yourself. +The saints preserve us! if there are not your uncle guardian and the +prince! And you in such a tattered plight. For the love of Heaven, +dear lady, come in here among these bushes until--" + +But the little dame had to finish her speech to the winds, for the +impulsive Isoleth had sprung from her pony, and was clasped in her +guardian uncle's embrace before her nurse was half through beseeching +her to hide. + +"Why, my dear child, have you turned gipsy? You are as ragged as one, +and are as brown as a berry. But I can see through your long, thick +curls that the last year has improved you most wonderfully. Let me +introduce you to your cousin, Ferdinand of Bernstorf." + +Isoleth looked up and beheld--gracious me! He was every day as old as +her guardian, and positively had gray hairs. She was sure she saw +white hairs among his black curls. She could give him only one glance, +for his dark, handsome eyes were fastened searchingly upon her. Her +eyes fell beneath his admiring gaze, and fell upon her torn muslin +dress--the rocks and briars had paid no respect to it--rather _had_ +paid their best respects to it; and, without vouchsafing a word in +reply to her uncle or handsome cousin, she sprung, light as a fawn, +into her saddle, and was out of sight in the twinkling of an eye. + +"What say you, Cousin of Bernstorf, to such a bride as that for the +proposed alliance--a wild one, is it not?" + +"I like her exceedingly. By the holy mass! but she is the most +beautiful creature I ever saw. We will take her to court, she will +bewitch us all, old and young. By my faith, but she is--" + +"Yes, yes, she _is_," replied the baron, smiling at Ferdinand's +earnestness. I thought she would surprise you. I cannot conceive of +any thing one-half so beautiful as she." + +"Beautiful! you surprise me! Bless my soul! she is radiant with +beauty, and she is the greatest surprise I ever had in my life. We +will electrify the whole court with surprise and delight at her +wondrous grace and beauty, and--" + +"All in good time, noble cousin. You recollect her father's will--that +she should remain at Fernheath, neither going from here, nor receiving +much company, save her own kinsfolk, until after her marriage with +your noble--" + +"Yes, yes, I have not forgotten the will. 'So was it nominated in the +bond.' It delights me most exceedingly that she is so marvelously +beautiful. St. Jerome! but I feel already that I love her as dearly as +though she were my own--" + +"Good gracious, cousin! You always had a spice of enthusiasm that is +delightful and refreshing to me." And the baron laughed right heartily +because he was delighted--and the laugh seemed to refresh him. "After +all," continued he, as soon as the corners of his mouth had come +within speaking distance of each other, "after all, she is but an +untrained country-girl; she--" + +"Nature, and her own beautiful soul, have given her all the training +she needs. Her wild, unconstrained life, has developed her as no court +or city life could. That I can see, seeing her as little as I have." + +"You think just as I do, dear cousin. My brother's will was a wise +one, that kept her thus from the deadening conventionalities of a +court life." + +"By my soul! how exceedingly lovely she is. She surpasses all my +expectations. I recollect her as a little fairy thing of eight or ten. +I have not seen her until now--" + +"Since just before this last war, full seven years ago." + + * * * * * + +If Ferdinand of Bernstorf thought the little tattered gypsey Isoleth +so inconceivably lovely, his eyes were half blinded with the radiant +beauty of the young Countess of Fernheath, as she entered the +dining-hall, clad in the shining court-robe her guardian had sent her. +Her cousin's dark eyes were fastened upon her with a look of +passionate admiration, that caused the bright blood to burn on her +face and bosom. Nor did those handsome black eyes scarce leave her +during the whole long dinner. As soon as she could release herself she +hastened to her only confidante, Dame Hildreth. + +She found the little dame kneeling upon the floor, busily engaged in +unpacking boxes, while the floor was literally alive with silks, and +satins, and laces, and woman's finery. + +"See here, my lady--and here--and there! Look what your uncle guardian +of Arnheim has provided for your approaching nuptials! And, dear lady, +do but look here;" and the eager, proud little dame opened a casket of +beautiful pearls--necklace, girdle, coronet, brooch and armlets. This +noble present comes from the father of your betrothed. It is to be +followed by a still more beautiful set of diamonds." + +"These pearls may deck my burial instead of my bridal, for I never +will live to wed with _him_ below." + +"Why, my sweetest lady!" exclaimed nurse Hildreth, glancing up in +surprise at her young mistress's flushed and excited face. "For the +love of Heaven, do not talk in that way! What objection can you +possibly have to such a noble, handsome, princely prince? He is the +oldest son and heir to--" + +"Oldest, indeed! He is old enough to be my father's father." + +"Mercy on us! Lady Isoleth, you talk wild. I will wager my life he is +only twenty-eight, three days after this coming Christmas. He has been +in the wars, you know--and war is no gentle nurse. Exposure in the +wars has caused him to appear somewhat older than he is. You know, +dearest lady, that war--" + +"But he is gray--" + +"Exposure in the wars--" + +"And wrinkled--" + +"Exposure in the wars--" + +"But there is that about him I never could love, were he as young +as--I never can love him--I hate him, and I will not wed him." + +"But, my dear, dear, dearest young lady, what _will_ you do?" The +thought never entering her head that the Lady Isoleth could do any +thing but submit to the will of others; for woman in those times was +sought and given in marriage without often consulting her own +inclination. + +What will I do, dear nurse? Why I will fall on my knees at the feet of +my beloved guardian and plead with him. He never refused me any thing; +and I know he will grant--" + +"But your father's will, dearest lady--" + +"Shall be put aside, where his daughter's happiness is at stake." + +"Would it may be as you wish, sweetest lady. But I fear. Still he is a +right noble prince, and will make a right noble husband." + +"_Not_ for me." + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE SURPRISE. + +In the saddest of sad moods the Lady Isoleth betook herself to her +favorite retreat among the rocks, and there within her own little +vine-covered bower, was--not a bird, nor a squirrel, nor her tame +deer--but a man! young and wondrously handsome; with a broad, pale, +noble brow, and a host of jet-black curls shading it. There was +something in his clear, dark eye, so still and serene as it gazed +beyond this world, and something in the expression of his fine, manly +face, so tender, so almost sad, that made her forget to be afraid of +him. She approached him gently, and asked him in a soft voice, + +"What are thy meditations, beautiful stranger?" + +"I was dreaming of thee!" uttered he, awaking from his reverie, and +fixing his dark, earnest eyes full upon the glowing form before him. +His glance, so full of passion, so full of tenderness, so fervent, +went to her heart and woke it up--that precious little heart that had +been sleeping for sixteen long years. + +"Of me! How can that be?" asked Isoleth, with a deep blush. "Dost thou +know me? Dost thou--' + +"One like thee, most beautiful being!" + +"One like me--just like me? How strange! What is her name?" + +"Whatever is thy name, loveliest, most lovely lady, is hers." + +"My name is Isoleth," replied she, with a low voice, and a deep blush. + +"Art thou the Lady Isoleth of Fernheath? _Art_ thou? Stupid! that I +did not see sooner that thou art! Yes, thou art! And I am happy, most +happy, most inconceivably happy that thou art! Ah!" continued he, in a +tone of the most rapturous delight, "that my dream and my bride should +prove to be one and the same. I am most inexpressibly joyful!"--and +the large tears fell from his eyes like summer rain--"most +unutterably--and thou, wilt thou love me, and be mine, my glorious, +sweetest, loveliest cousin--my most, most beautiful bride!" + +"Thy cousin! thy bride! Alas! alas! thy cousin I may be, but thy +bride--! They are going to marry me up there at the castle to an old, +ugly, cross prince; he is there now, and you cannot know how much I +hate him. I will die--" + +"The devil they are! Forgive me, sweetest, most beautiful cousin, it +is a foolish way we learn of speaking in camps. But, loveliest, do not +talk of dying, let the old and the ugly die, but thou--First tell me +who this ugly, old, cross prince is, they shall not marry you to any +such." + +"Why he is not so very ugly--and I do not exactly know that he is +cross; but then he is old, very old--yes, very old and very +disagreeable--and I never can love him." + +"Nor shalt thou--his name, most beautiful?" + +"Ferdinand, Prince of Bernstorf." + +"Ferdinand, prince of ten thousand devils! I beseech of thee to +forgive me once again, sweetest cousin; but thou dost petrify me. +Ferdinand, Prince of ---- Ah! it must be--yes, yes, it must be so." + +"What must be? Thou speakest in riddles, stranger cousin." + +"And thou lovest him not, nor dost thou wish to wed him?" asked the +stranger, an almost provoking smile just curling his handsome mouth. + +"No, no, never--never!" + +"Nor shalt thou ever!" exclaimed he, his manner changing to one of +serious earnestness. Nor shalt thou ever, dearest, most beautiful--for +_I_ will prevent it, I--" + +"Thou? Alas! alas! I have been betrothed to him ever since I was an +infant. How could my dear father--" + +"Dearest cousin, trust to me--wilt thou not? And, dearest, sweetest +cousin, love me, and be my beautiful wife. Nay, shake not thy +loveliest head. Have I been too hasty in urging my love? I have known +thee, and loved thee, for so many years; thou hast, thy beautiful +spirit has ever, night and day, been near me, the light of my life; +but I have frightened thee by my impetuosity--and thou canst never +love me? But, no, thy beautiful eyes look tenderly upon me; and thou +wouldst not let me hold this little soft, warm hand, and imprison it +within mine, if thou didst hate me. I do not lightly ask that precious +boon, thy love. Believe me, it is as I say," continued he, earnestly +bending upon her his deep, dark, eloquent eyes--eyes that made her +little heart thrill to its very core. "It is as I tell thee, thou hast +been my dream by day and by night. See here," and he drew from his +bosom a small miniature, and handed it to her--the exact image +of--herself. "And now I will tell thee what I never before told mortal +being. Just three years ago, after a fatiguing day's fight, I lay in +my tent, awake; and thou didst come to me, just as thou now dost +appear--a vision of light and purity and glorious loveliness. Whether +it was a dream or not, or a trance, I know not; but never since has +that radiant vision left me. Thou didst lay thy little soft, white +hand upon my fevered brow, and I heard most distinctly, as thy sweet +face bent over me, these words: 'Do not love other than me, for I +alone, on earth, am destined for thee.' From my earliest boyhood have +I loved to use the pencil; and on the next morning I tried, and +succeeded in conveying to this bit of ivory the image of that most, +most beautiful vision; and I have worn it upon my heart ever since, +where I would the loved, deeply, dearly loved and beautiful original +might ever be. From then till now have I worn next to my heart that +semblance of my nightly, daily dream; but never until now have I been +blessed in seeing my dream, living, breathing before me." + +How that young heart throbbed and bounded, almost suffocating its +loving, lovely owner with the intensity of its joyous emotion, as the +earnest tones of that low, passionate voice fell, word by word, into +its inmost centre, as the glance of those deeply, deeply loving eyes +awoke it to life and love. Her hand lay within his, and by little he +drew her more and more closely and warmly to his heart, and by little +her head gradually sunk upon his manly breast, her eyes looked up +tenderly and trustingly into his and drank in his passionate gaze, as +though it were her life. Time flew by them unheeded, each pouring out +joy and life into the heart of the other. Their very being melting and +mingling each into the other, until each felt that their two lives +were one. Nor did he sully those pure, exquisite lips, with one +earthly kiss. His soul kissed hers, and her own vibrated to his in +trembling unison. + +Such moments of intense soul-rapture do not often occur to many of us +on earth, for perfect love seeks perfect fulfillment; and in the +perfect fulfillment of love is too often the satiety that deadens its +finest, most spiritual impulses. + +The castle gong sounded, booming heavily through the trees. Isoleth +started to her feet like a frightened doe. + +"I must go," exclaimed she, "my guardian--" + +"Stay one moment, sweetest, I have something to tell thee, that thou +must hear." + +"I have staid too long already," interrupted she, hastily, "my +guardian will be sending out for me--it is already growing dark. Fare +thee well;" and she gave him a farewell with her soft, brown eyes that +never left his heart--so full of unconscious love was it. + +"You will meet me here again to-morrow morning? Promise me at least so +much, dearest beloved." + +"Yes, yes," and with another glance from her soft, bright eyes, she +glided out of his sight. + + +CHAPTER IV. + +SUSPENSE. + +"I am glad to see thee safely at home, my dear child. Where hast thou +been? Thou knowest I hate to have thee rambling about the +castle-grounds after night-fall. I have already sent out to seek thee, +and was on the point of going in search of thee myself. But, dear +child, if walking at any time will bring thee home with such a +radiant, glowing color, I shall not quarrel with the cause or hour. +Thou art looking as bright and as happy and beautiful as I hope always +to see thee look." + +"I was afraid, dear uncle," replied Isoleth, blushing still more +deeply, and casting her conscious, love-full eyes to the ground, "I +was afraid thou wouldst begin to be uneasy about me, and I hastened--I +have no one, dearest uncle, when thou art away, to take such good care +of me. I go wandering about among my favorite haunts at my own good +will and pleasure, night or day, as it happens." + +"The time is coming, eh! sweet Isoleth, when thou wilt have to consult +another will save thine own," said the baron, patting her fondly on +her soft, white neck. + +Ferdinand laughed, and looked very impressed and impressive, and gazed +her out of countenance with assured, admiring eyes, as he answered for +her, + +"Yes, yes, we are waiting only for the goodly company that are to +witness the approaching nuptials. Is it not so, fairest lady?" + +"The hideous being!" thought Isoleth, without vouchsafing an audible +reply. "Is this the one with whom I am to spend my days--but no, it +shall not be." + +She did the honors of the supper-table with a suffocating throat, with +a proud rebellious heart, full of love for one she felt she ought not +to love, and full of hate for another that she knew she ought to love. +She was absent in spite of herself, and did all manner of queer things +that people do, who, for a time, take leave of absence of +themselves--answering yes, for no--and no, for yes--attempting to bite +a piece out of her little porcelain cup-plate, instead of the cook's +snowy cake; pouring her guardian's cup up with cream instead of +coffee, and sweetening it with salt instead of sugar. Many other +little pleasantries of like nature did she perform, very much to the +amusement of her guardian and the hated Ferdinand. The latter made +himself exceeding merry at her expense, at the same time showing her +every attention and gallantry that he, finished courtier, could +devise. Isoleth felt at length completely worried and tired to death, +as though she could not for one moment longer, endure the torture of +her heart's conflicting emotion. + +"You look pale and tired, my beloved child," said her guardian, +tenderly taking her little cold, white hand within his. All your +beautiful color is gone. I fear that after all your walk, or the +excitement, has been too much for you. You had best retire for the +night. Shall I ring for Dame Hildreth, or some of your maidens?" + +"No, dear uncle, with your permission, I will seek those I wish," +answered Isoleth, only too glad to escape from the hated presence into +the calm stillness of her own room. + +She found the good little dame awaiting her; and to her compassionate +ear she poured forth the sorrow and joy of her young heart. The +kind-hearted little woman sympathized cordially with her precious +foster-child, wishing over and over again that some benevolent fairy +would change the beautiful stranger cousin with the hateful old Prince +Ferdinand--she had to acknowledge that he did _look_ old--until after +the happy wedding was over. "And then how blank and black the prince +would look, and how astonished we all would be to find you had married +the handsome young man instead of the grumpy old one." + +"Now leave me, good nurse, I would be alone. I will entreat my dear +uncle on the morrow to release me from this dreaded alliance. He +never yet refused a request of mine." + +Isoleth quieted herself in the belief that her beloved guardian would +certainly grant her petition as soon as she made it known to him. In +child-like confidence, therefore, she sunk to her happy sleep, with a +pair of dark, loving eyes hovering over her and mingling with her +dreams. And never eyes gazed on more gentle sleep or lovely sleeper. + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE APPEAL. + +With a buoyant step and a sparkling eye the Lady Isoleth sought her +guardian early the next morning. He was deeply immersed in papers and +parchments, while huge, formidable-looking books were piled high +around him. He nevertheless welcomed his sweet niece with a sudden +clearing off of his thought-lined brow, and a fond, affectionate +smile. + +"Forgive me, dearest uncle, if I have disturbed thy studies; but I +would see thee alone, and I feared this might be the only opportunity, +as the carriages containing our kinsfolk are even now expected; so +nurse Hildreth informed me." + +"What would my pet bird have that she seeks her uncle thus early?" + +"A boon that you must grant, dearest uncle, for upon it depends my +heart's happiness now and forever." + +"Name it, my darling Isy--what wouldst thou have, little enthusiast?" + +"Release from one I never can love. Oh! my dearest uncle," continued +she, fondly twining her soft, white arms around his neck, and lovingly +kissing his time-worn brow, "do, for Heaven's sweet love, tell me at +once that I need not wed him, for I never can love him--never, never!" + +"Bless her little heart, what is the child raving about? Whom dost +thou mean, dear baby, by _him_?" + +"Who should I mean, dearest uncle, but my cousin, this Prince +Ferdinand. I _need_ not be his wife. I--" + +"Thy cousin, Prince Ferdinand!" + +"I hate him--I abhor him--I utterly detest him! I never can love him! +I never will be his wife! I never--" + +"Hold, hold! not so fast; why thou romantic little recluse! thou hast +lived alone too much by half. Thy little head is brim full of fancies. +Thy tongue is running wild. Thou _hatest_ him! Why what wouldst thou +have better? Is he not all a woman could desire? Is he not young +and--" + +"Young!" + +"And handsome, and--" + +"Handsome!" + +"And is he not a prince? And is he not heir to a powerful, wealthy +ducal throne? And will he not take thee to court--the gay, beautiful +court; and wilt thou not reign there a queen--a queen of beauty and +joy and light--and ere long queen of the throne?" + +"All that does not dazzle me, dearest uncle--for what are thrones and +splendor where love is not? Oh! dear, dearest uncle, do not press +this hated match upon me. Do not doom me to eternal sorrow. Do not--" + +"Hoity, toity! Why thou dost talk just as they do in those silly +romances. I wager thy head is full of them. Thou hast had bad +teachers, child, to permit thee to fill thy poor little brain with +such trash instead of useful knowledge. Or is it," said he, fixing his +gray eyes searchingly upon her, "or is it that thou hast met some +sighing Adonis in the woods? Ha! thou dost blush--have a care, child. +There, thou needest not tremble, I will not seek to know thy secret, +if secret thou hast. This much, however, know for a certainty, that +Prince Ferdinand is destined to be thy--" + +"Dearest uncle!" exclaimed the little lady, her beautiful eyes filling +with tears, "thou shalt know all--all I have to tell, if thou wilt but +deliver me from this--" + +"Have done with this folly, Lady Isoleth," and his cold gray eyes +sternly regarded her. "It was thy dead father's will that thou +shouldst marry thy cousin, Prince Ferdinand of Bernstorf; and thy +father's will must and shall be obeyed." + +"'Folly!' 'Lady Isoleth!' 'must and shall!' He never before now spoke +one unkind word to me." And the weeping Isoleth went with a breaking +heart and shut herself in her own room, alone, and locking herself in, +she gave unrestrained vent to her passionate grief. + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE LAST APPEAL. + +"I will seek _him_--yes, _he_ will not refuse my prayer. I will tell +him I hate him. He will be only too glad to release me when he knows +the depth of hatred I bear him. I will go this moment, for soon will +all my gay cousins be here, and then will be the horrid betrothal +ceremony--but I will not think of that--" + +"Ha! my shy, beautiful cousin, Lady Isoleth!" Ferdinand was in the +library, amusing himself with books and prints. "See here, beautiful +cousin, I have found a book of rare merit, and beautifully +illuminated. I suppose, though," continued he with a quizzical look, +"that all the books here and their manifold contents are familiar to +thy bright eyes--is it not so?" + +"Not exactly _all_," replied Isoleth, smiling in spite of her sorrow, +as she glanced at the endless rows of huge leather-bound tomes, that +had not even had the cobwebs dusted from them for a century at least. + +"Wilt thou not deign to look over this precious book with me, most +beauteous lady? Thy sharp wit may help my slow faculties to comprehend +its quaint poetry, and thy glorious eyes will love its finely executed +prints." + +"I came not to disturb thy meditations," replied she, shrinking from +his approaching steps. I came to crave a boon from thee." + +"It is granted thee, fairest lady, even before thou dost utter it. But +what is it, the most beautiful, most lovely of her beautiful, lovely +sex would ask? Be it even unto the half of my kingdom--" + +"It is not the half of thy kingdom, but the whole of it, together with +thy kingdom's lord, that I would be freed from." + +"Thou art pleased to be facetious, most charming Lady Isoleth. Pray +explain thyself, that my dull understanding may comprehend thy +meaning." + +"Ferdinand, Prince of Bernstorf--" + +"Yes--" + +"Is one that I never, never can love--one that I had rather should see +me in the grave ere he shall call me wife." + +"Ha! well, loveliest cousin, that is plain, and easy to be understood +even by the slowest comprehension. Thou hatest him, dost thou?" + +"Most cordially." + +"My son thanks thee, fair cousin--and I also, in his name." + +"Thy son!" + +"Ay, and here he is to thank thee himself. How now, scapegrace! Thou +art tardy in paying thy respects to this beautiful, noble lady. Thou +shouldst have been here days ago. Even now thy fair cousin was on the +point of refusing thee. I tell thee, lad, thou'lt never find a fairer. +Courting was not done in this slipshod way when I was a boy." + +All this while Isoleth was gazing in mute astonishment upon--yes, she +was not mistaken--he was the very one--the very most beautiful being +to whom she had given, only the night before, her precious little +heart. And those dark, earnest eyes were passionately regarding her, +drinking in rapturously her glowing beauty, until her eyes, abashed, +sought the floor, unable to bear the light of those intensely loving +ones. + +"Then thou'rt the _Duke_ of Bernstorf, my father's cousin?" suddenly +asked she, of Ferdinand the elder. + +"Who else, fairest cousin? Ha! thou didst then think--" a sudden light +seemed to break through the chambers of his brain. "Ha! ha! ha!" +laughed he, "Thou thoughtest that _I_ was the one. I could not wish a +fairer, more beautiful bride than thou; but--ha! ha! ha! I have one +goodly wife already, who is to be here this very day; and, between you +and I, one is more than I can manage, although she is one of the best +of her perfect, bewitching sex. Still--So, that was the reason thou +wert so shy of me, sweet flower." And the father, Ferdinand, threw +himself back in his chair, and gave way to the most uncontrollable +bursts of laughter; while Ferdinand, the son, had taken the soft, +lily-white hand of his lovely betrothed, and was talking to her in +words from his heart's heart. + +"I should have told thee all this last evening if thou couldst have +waited but one instant longer. I was to have accompanied my father and +thy guardian here; but I dreaded so much to see my affianced +bride--not dreaming until last evening that my beloved and betrothed +were one and the same--that my beautiful dream was a more beautiful +reality. If I had come and found the young Countess of Fernheath one +that I could not have loved, I should certainly have moved earth and +heaven but that I would have had the contract, made by our goodly +sires, annulled--or I would have drowned or shot myself. Don't +shudder, sweetest, I shall do neither now, unless I am shot by the +lightning of your bright eyes, and drowned in the bliss--but, dearest, +I love you too dearly to speak nonsense to thee--even love nonsense. +Strange, was it not, darling, that I should not have recognized you? +It has been many a long year since I saw you a little rosy, romping, +fairy thing of only a few bright summers. We have had troublous times +since then; war and bloodshed that would--" + +"Pardon me, most beautiful cousin, my long laughter hath been rude; +but, indeed, thy mistake was most droll. There, sweet cousin, I have +done! Thy blushes, however, are exceedingly becoming thy fair face. So +thou and my goodly son hast met before--is it not so? And he is not +the laggard in love I unjustly deemed him. And now I suppose the best +thing for me to do is to take myself off to another world, and resign +my kingdom and crown in this for one in the--however, we will arrange +all that after the wedding. Let us, meantime, enjoy the present. Ah! +here comes thy good uncle with a cloudy brow; something has gone wrong +with him--we must have no gloom to-day. And here also comes thundering +down the avenue all the goodly old carriages containing our expected +kinsfolk." + +And here also comes, + + +CHAPTER THE LAST, + +Which I know will delight you, dearest reader, as it containeth the +wedding; but most especially will it delight you because it _is_ the +last. The wedding was of course a splendid one, and better still, a +joyous one. Little Dame Hildreth would let no one but herself fasten +so much as a bridal ornament on her beautiful young foster-child. It +would be hard saying which moved fastest on the important day, her +hands or her tongue. + +"Just to think!" exclaimed she, as she clasped those same pearls, that +had once been cast aside in scorn, upon her darling--and pure and +lovely they shone among her soft, brown curls, and on her snow-white +arms and neck, and around her lithe and slender waist--"to think that +I could have mistaken Ferdinand, the reigning Duke of Bernstorf, for +Ferdinand, the Prince. Really, though, my lady, to look at them, one +does not see much difference in their appearance--they are both so +handsome and grand-looking. Oh, yes! _you_ see a vast odds in their +looks--that's natural! These old eyes, I suppose, are growing dim--but +they are bright enough to see that thou art the dearest, loveliest, +most beautiful bride that ever the sun shone upon." + + "_Sic transit gloria mundi._" + + + + +THE CITY OF MEXICO. + +WRITTEN WHILE THE WAR WAS PENDING. + +BY M. E. THROPP. + + + Pride of the South, thy glittering spires + Point to the arching sky, + While tower and palace proudly rear + Their stately forms on high; + Thy spacious squares spread far and wide + Along the valley green, + And bright above thy hundred fanes + An hundred crosses gleam. + + Bland, spring-like breezes, brilliant skies, + Birds of gay song and plume, + Cool sparkling founts, wide shaded walks, + Trees, of eternal bloom, + Bright glowing flowers, as fresh and pure + As infant's rosy mouth, + Rare, tempting fruits--all--all are thine, + Sweet City of the South. + + Around thee lime and citron bowers + In peaceful beauty rest, + While orange groves stretch far away + To blue Tezcuco's breast; + Beyond thee giant bulwarks stand, + Cordillera's mountain line, + And lift along thine azure sky + Their silver crests sublime. + + Ah! thou hast beauty, Southern Queen, + And thou hadst wealth and power; + But wealth and beauty proved to thee + "A darkly glorious dower." + Iberia on her rocky heights + Beheld thee from afar, + And rolled o'er all thy subject clime + The lurid tide of war. + + On thee the mighty torrent burst, + And with resistless sway + Bore from thy desperate, struggling sons + Their gods, their kings away. + Then followed weary, weary years, + Such as the conquered know, + When brave hearts bleed and faint ones break + Beneath their weight of wo. + + Iberia's brood with iron sway + Kept down thy fallen ones, + And bonds and stripes were freely doled + To thy degraded sons; + Then spear and lance were left to rust + Along thy bannered walls, + Thine eagle drooped and strangers dwelt + In "Montezuma's halls." + + Oppression's long dark night of pain + At length wore slowly on, + And, radiant 'mid receding gloom, + Hope heralded the dawn. + Day broke, and Freedom's glorious sun + Uprose o'er thine and thee, + While thy clear bells with silvery chime + Proclaimed a country FREE. + + And mingling with their heavenly tones + Glad triumphs swelled the breeze, + For that bright sun dispelled the gloom + Of rolling centuries. + A flood of golden light streamed down + O'er valley mount and plain, + Thy joyous eagle plumed his wing + And soared aloft again. + + Thy sons rejoiced o'er rights restored, + The joy of other years, + And gentler woman's truthful heart + Wept silent grateful tears; + And thou--bathed in thy new-born light-- + Thou ancient island-gem, + Ah! to thy proud fond children's hearts + Thou wert an Eden then. + + But thy stern oracles the while + Spoke ever deep and slow-- + "Dark hours are yet reserved for thee, + Ill-fated Mexico!" + And after years proved all too soon, + Proved to thy bitter pain, + Thy soil's vast wealth, thy sons' best blood, + Had flowed, and flowed in vain. + + How hast thou mourned the civil broils + That shook thy peaceful homes? + How hast thou mourned the broken faith + Of thy degenerate sons? + The faith thrice broken that incurred + Columbia's vengeful sword, + Till red o'er many a battle-plain + Thy blood like water poured. + + Again the stranger's echoing tread + Sounds from thy ancient halls-- + Again the flag of other lands + Waves o'er thy captured walls. + Thy peerless beauty, storied lore, + Thy buried heroes' fame, + Wealth, power--ah, what are they to thee + With thy dishonored name! + + The foe that first beheld thy towers + Beyond the lake's green shore, + And they who fondly reared thee up, + The lordly ones of yore-- + They did not dream a change like this + Could on thy pride be hurled, + Who erst amid thy mountains reigned + Queen of the new-found world. + + + + +GAME-BIRDS OF AMERICA.--NO. XI. + +[Illustration: THE RUFFED GROUSE OR PHEASANT.] + + +In the Eastern States the true partridge is known by the name of +quail, the appellation of partridge being there given to what in +Pennsylvania is called the pheasant, and which in the Ornithologies +bears the name of the Ruffed Grouse, (_Tetrao Umbellus._ WILSON.) It +inhabits a very extensive range of country, being found at Hudson's +Bay, in Kentucky and Indiana, Oregon and the Floridas. Its favorite +places of resort are high mountains covered with the balsam, pine, +hemlock and other evergreens, and as we descend from such heights to +the lower country they become more rare; and in the Carolinas, Georgia +and Florida they are very scarce. The manners of the pheasant are +solitary, they are seldom found in coveys of more than four or five +together, and more usually in pairs, or singly. They are often shot in +the mornings in the roads over the mountains bounding the Susquehanna; +where they come for gravel. On foggy mornings very considerable +numbers may be seen in these situations, moving along with great +stateliness, their broad fan-like tail expanded to its fullest extent. +The _drumming_ of the pheasant, a sound compared by Wilson to that +produced by striking two full blown ox bladders together, but much +louder; the strokes at first slow and distinct, but gradually +increasing in rapidity till they run into each other, resembling the +rumbling sound of very distant thunder dying away gradually on the +ear. This drumming is the call of the male bird to his mate, and may +be heard in a calm day nearly half a mile. Wilson thus describes the +manner in which this singular noise is produced. The bird, standing on +an old prostrate log, generally in a retired and sheltered situation, +lowers his wings, erects his expanded tail, contracts his throat, +elevates two tufts of feathers on the neck, and inflates his whole +body something in the manner of the turkey-cock, strutting and +wheeling about with great stateliness. After a few manoeuvres of this +kind he begins to strike with his stiffened wings in short and quick +strokes, which become more and more rapid until they run into each +other, as has been already described. This is most common in the +morning and evening, though Wilson states that he has heard them +drumming at all hours of the day. By means of this the pheasant leads +the gunner to the place of his retreat, though to those unacquainted +with the sound there is great deception in the supposed distance, it +generally appearing to be much nearer than it really is. Audubon +mentions having often called them within shot by imitating the sound. +This he accomplished by beating a large inflated bullock's bladder +with a stick, keeping up as much as possible the same time as that in +which the bird beats. At the sound produced by the bladder and the +stick, the male grouse, inflamed with jealousy, has flown directly +toward him, when, being prepared beforehand, he has easily shot it. +When flushed, the pheasant flies with great vigor through the woods, +beyond the reach of view, springing up at first within a few yards, +with a loud whirring noise. Noticing this peculiarity of flight, Mr. +Audubon states that when this bird rises from the ground at a time +when pursued by an enemy, or tracked by a dog, it produces a loud +whirring sound resembling that of the whole tribe, excepting the +black-cock of Europe, which has less of it than any other species. The +whirring sound is never heard when the grouse rises of its own accord, +for the purpose of removing from one place to another; nor, in similar +circumstances, is it commonly produced by our little partridge. "In +fact," he continues, "I do not believe that it is emitted by any +species of grouse, unless when surprised and forced to rise. I have +often been lying on the ground in the woods or the fields, for hours +at a time, for the express purpose of observing the movements and +habits of different birds, and have frequently seen a partridge or a +grouse rise on wing within a few yards of the spot where I lay, +unobserved by them, as gently and softly as any other bird, and +without producing any whirring sound. Nor even when this grouse +ascends to the top of a tree does it make any greater noise than other +birds of the same size would do." + +With a good dog, pheasants are easily found, and what is singular, +they will look down upon him from the branches of a tree, where they +sit, apparently stupefied, not attempting to fly, but allowing +themselves to be shot one by one until all are killed. Should one of +those on the higher branches, however, be shot first, the sight of his +fall will cause an immediate flight. A figure 4 trap is used with +success in taking them, especially when deep snow lies on the ground. +They were formerly numerous in the immediate vicinity of Philadelphia, +but the advances of the agriculturist have led them to retreat to the +interior, and but a very few can be now found within several miles. +The pheasant is in the best order in September and October, but in +mid-winter those who shoot them should be careful to draw them as soon +as possible, as the buds of laurel on which at that season they +sometimes feed, if left in the stomach of the dead bird, diffuse their +poisonous qualities over its whole body, and render it dangerous food. + +[Illustration: AMERICAN PARTRIDGE, OR QUAIL. (_Perdrix Virginianus._ WILSON.)] + +This well known bird, though not very migratory in its habits, has +extended its colonies from New England to Mexico. The spot where they +have been raised, if they can at all support life, is their home; and +there they will remain until the whole flock is destroyed by +sportsmen. This fact sufficiently disproves the asserted identity of +our partridge with the quail of the European continent, which is a +bird of passage, leaving Europe for Asia at the approach of winter, +and returning in very great numbers in the spring. Partridges assemble +in small families, varying according to circumstances from three to +thirty; and, except in the breeding season, they all live together in +a happy and mutual alliance. The quails on the other hand are +pugnacious to a proverb--"as quarrelsome as quails in a cage." + +The partridges are nearly full grown by the beginning of September, +and associated in the usual coveys of from twenty to thirty afford +considerable sport to the gunner. The notes of the males at this time +are frequent, clear and loud, and they may by skillful imitation of +the call be deceived and induced approach. Their food consists of +grain seed, insects and berries of various kinds. The buckwheat fields +suffer severely from their depredations in September and October, +affording them at that time abundant food and secure shelter. At night +they roost in the middle of a field, on high ground, sitting round in +a circle with their heads outward. In this position they place +themselves at the commencement of a fall of snow, when their mutual +warmth is the better able to resist the effects of frost, and each +forms a guard for the whole against the approach of danger. They are +not afraid of snow, for they sometimes fly to a drift for safety; it +being only when a coating of frozen sleet resists their efforts to +leave it that they experience bad effects from it. The loud whirring +sound of their flight when flushed is well known. Its steady, +horizontal flight renders it an easy prey to the sportsman, especially +when he is assisted by a sagacious dog. The flesh of the partridge is +peculiarly white, tender and delicate, in this respect unequaled by +any other American game. + +[Illustration: THE AMERICAN ROBIN. (_Turdus Migratorius._)] + +This well known bird, and universal favorite, can require but a very +few words at our hands. His unassuming familiarity of manners has +caused him to be immortalized in the Songs for the Nursery, and others +of Mother Goose's collections for the little ones. His nest is +preserved from the rude hands of boyhood by a sort of instinctive +veneration for his well known and long established character, and his +cheerful, zealous singing not unfrequently causes the older sportsman +to take down the armed gun from his shoulder, and suffer the assiduous +songster to enjoy his liberty and life. + +The robin is particularly fond of gum-berries, and it is only +necessary for the sportsman to take his stand near one of these trees +when it is covered with fruit, and load and fire his gun. One flock +after another will come to it without intermission during the whole +day. + + + + +TO A ROSE-BUD. + + + Thy leaves are not unfolded yet to the sweet light of love, + Thy bosom now is blushing like the sunset clouds above; + Thy beauteous form is perfect, thy hopes are fair and bright, + Thy dreams are sweet while sleeping in the gentle breeze of night; + And though I know a dew-drop tear hath in thy bosom been, + 'Twas only sent to nourish thee, and make thee pure within: + No canker-worm corrodes thy rest, and life is life to thee, + And as the past has ever been so may the future be. + May all thy dreams be realized, thy hopes be not in vain, + Thy life pass calm and sweetly on without a sigh of pain: + And when thy leaves shall droop and fall, as droop and fall they must, + Thy lovely form will then lie low, to mingle with the dust; + And to thy long last resting-place soft winds shall be thy bier, + While the fragrance of thy loving heart will ever linger near; + To me thy memory will come back when I am lone and sad, + And thoughts of thy pure, gentle life shall make my spirit glad. + Ah! lovely rose-bud, well I know that both of us must die, + And when death comes, may I, like you, leave earth without a sigh; + May I, like you, when youth shall fade, still yield the sweet perfume, + The incense of a worthy heart, which age can not consume: + Farewell, farewell, sweet rose-bud, were I but as pure as thee, + My soul would be contented, my spirit would be free, + Each wish would then be gratified, each longing have a home, + And joy and peace would fill my heart wherever I might roam. + + Y. S. + + + + +ERIN WAKING. + +BY WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER. + + + Light streams through a rift in the cloud + That hangs over green Innisfail-- + While voices of millions are shouting aloud + The satraps of Tyranny quail: + The collar of Shame hath been worn + Through ages of folly and wo-- + Too long hath thy neck, O Hibernia! borne + The yoke of a merciless foe, + Whose creatures, while Perfidy sharpened the dart, + Like vultures have crimsoned their beaks in thy heart. + + Hot winds from the waste of Despair + On thy blood-bedewed shamrock have breathed, + But the leaves, growing verdant in Liberty's air, + Again round her brow shall be wreathed: + And chisel of Art on the stone + Shall name of that martyr engrave + Who prayed for a sepulchre, noteless and lone, + While foot of one heart-broken slave + Polluted the green of that beautiful shore, + By steel-harnessed champions trodden of yore. + + Gone forth hath the gathering word, + And under Hesperian skies + Fond exiles the call of their mother have heard, + And homeward are turning their eyes: + They send o'er the murmuring brine + In answer a shout of applause, + And drops, that give warmth to their bosoms, like wine, + Are ready to shed in a cause + That cannot march on with a faltering stride + While Truth wears a buckler, and God is a guide. + + Land of the valiant! at last + The brow of thy future is bright; + In return for a shadowed and comfortless past + Is dawning an era of light: + The Lion of Britain in vain + + Is baring his teeth for the fray-- + Thy children have sworn that dishonoring stain + Shall be wiped from thy forehead away: + The bones of thy martyrs have stirred in the tomb, + And glimmers the starlight of Hope through the gloom. + + Invaders thy valor have rued-- + To deeds that will aye be admired + Bear witness, Clontarf! where the Dane was subdued, + And Bryan, the dauntless, expired: + Thy sons on the scaffold have died, + The block hath been soaked with their gore, + And long ago banished thy splendor and pride; + But idle it seems to deplore-- + Unbending resolve to blot out thy disgrace, + In hearts of the brave, to regret should give place. + + The Genius of Erin from earth, + Uprising, hath broken the bowl, + Whose tide to a black-crested viper gave birth, + That long dimmed the light of her soul; + And millions of high-hearted men + Who thus can wild passion restrain, + Though driven for refuge to cavern and den, + Will arm for the conflict again-- + And, venturing all on the hazardous cast, + Prove victors, though worn and outnumbered, at last. + + Thou isle, on the breast of the sea + Like an emerald gracefully set, + Though feet shod with iron have trampled on thee, + A brightness belongs to thee yet: + In bondage thy magical lyre + Hath thrilled a wide world with its strains, + And thine eloquent sons have awakened a fire + That fast is dissolving thy chains:-- + The Saxon is watching the issue in fear-- + He knows that thy day of redemption draws near. + + + + +LINES + +TO A SKETCH OF J. BAYARD TAYLOR, IN HIS ALPINE COSTUME. + +BY GEO. W. DEWEY. + +[SEE ENGRAVING.] + + + The inspiration of thy smile, + Thou minstrel of the wayside song, + Yet lingers on thy face the while + I see thee climb the Alps along; + As if thy harp's unwearied lay + Sustained thee on thy rugged way. + + There dwells within thy poet-eyes + The spirit of the ancient bards-- + A soul in which no shadow lies-- + A glance forever heavenwards; + As though the thoughts thy dreams unfurled + Hung, star-like, o'er a watching world. + + Methinks the bard who saw at night, + Amid the glacier's snow and ice, + A youth ascend the spectral height, + Unfurling there "the strange device," + Did, with a prophet's pen, foreshow + Thy form upon those mounts of snow. + + And when the mists have valeward rolled, + Below thy pathway, hard and long, + Stern Death shall find thee, pale and cold, + Upon the highest _peak_ of SONG-- + Still grasping, with a frozen hand, + The banner of _that_ ALPINE LAND! + + +[Illustration: Yours ever, Bayard Taylor +ONE OF OUR CONTRIBUTORS +Expressly engraved for Graham's Magazine] + + + + +GAUTAMA'S SONG OF REST. + +BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR. + +[The Hindoo philosopher Gautama, now worshiped under the name of +Buddha, lived in the fifth century before Christ. He taught the unity +of God and Nature, or rather, that the physical and spiritual worlds +are merely different conditions of an eternal Being. In the spiritual +state, this Being exists in perfect and blissful rest, whose +emanations and over-flowings enter the visible world, first in the +lowest forms of nature, but rising through gradual and progressive +changes till they reach man, who returns after death to the original +rest and beatitude.] + + + How long, oh! all-pervading Soul of Earth, + Ere Thy last toils on this worn being close, + And trembling with its sudden glory-birth, + Its wings are folded in the lost repose? + + Thy doom, resistless, on its travel lies + Through weary wastes of labor and of pain, + Where the soul falters, as its Paradise + In far-off mirage fades and flies again. + + From that pure realm of silence and of joy, + The quickening glories of Thy slumber shine, + Kindling to birth the lifeless world's alloy, + Till its dead bosom bears a seed divine. + + Through meaner forms the spirit slowly rose, + Which now to meet its near elysium burns; + Through toilsome ages, circling towards repose, + The sphere of Being on its axle turns! + + Filled with the conscious essence that shall grow, + Through many-changed existence, up to Man, + The sighing airs of scented Ceylon blow, + And desert whirlwinds whelm the caravan. + + On the blue bosom of th' eternal deep + It moves forever in the heaving tide; + And, throned on giant Himalaya's steep, + It hurls the crashing avalanche down his side! + + The wing of fire strives upward to the air, + Bursting in thunder rock-bound hills apart, + And the deep globe itself complains to bear + The earthquake beatings of its mighty heart! + + Even when the waves are wearied out with toil, + And in their caverns swoon the winds away, + A thousand germs break through the yielding soil, + And bees and blossoms charm the drowsy day. + + In stillest calms, when Nature's self doth seem + Sick for the far-off rest, the work goes on + In deep old forests, like a silent dream, + And sparry caves, that never knew the dawn. + + From step to step, through long and weary time, + The struggling atoms rise in Nature's plan, + Till dust instinctive reaches mind sublime-- + Till lowliest being finds its bloom in Man! + + Here, on the borders of that Realm of Peace, + The gathered burdens of existence rest, + And like a sea whose surges never cease, + Heaves with its care the weary human breast. + + Oh! bright effulgence of th' Eternal Power, + Break the worn band, and wide thy portals roll! + With silent glory flood the solemn hour + When star-eyed slumber welcomes back the soul! + + Then shall the spirit sink in rapture down, + Like some rich blossom drunk with noontide's beam, + Or the wild bliss of music, sent to crown + The wakening moment of a midnight dream. + + Through all the luminous seas of ether there, + Stirs not a trembling wave, to break the rest; + But fragrance, and the silent sense of prayer, + Charm the eternal slumber of the Blest! + + + + +MY FATHER'S GRAVE. + +BY S. D. ANDERSON. + + + It is a sweet and shady spot + Beneath the aged trees, + Where perfumed wild flowers lowly bend + Unto the passing breeze; + And joyous song-birds warble there + Rich music to the sunny air, + And many a golden-tinted beam + Fails on the spot like childhood's dream. + + The moss-clad church is standing there, + The stream goes laughing by, + Sending its gurgling music out + Along a summer sky; + The rose has found a dwelling here + Beside the coffin and the bier; + And here the lily rears its head, + Within this _Eden_ of the dead. + + The sunlight glances on the scene + With many a sombre hue, + Caught from the cypress near the stream, + Or from the funeral yew; + And, spirit-like, above each stone + Is heard the night-wind's whispered tone, + As if the spirit lingered there, + Enchanted with a scene so fair. + + The wild bee revels 'mid the flowers + That climb the ruined wall, + And, gently drooping, shroud the tomb + With Nature's fairest pall; + And dirge-like sings the trickling rill, + At evening's hour when all is still; + Whilst echo answers back again + In mimic notes the plaintive strain. + + But moonlight gilds the scene anew, + Now all is hushed and calm; + The very winds seem sunk to rest, + O'erladen with their balm; + The stars, pale watchers of the night, + Look brightly out on such a sight; + Whilst from the hill the bird's low wail + Is wafted on the evening gale. + + Be mine the lot, when life's dull day + Has drawn unto a close, + And dreams of Love, and hopes of Fame, + Have sunk to calm repose, + By all forgot, to rest my head + Unmarked beside the silent dead; + Hushed by the murmurs of the wave + That moans around my FATHER'S GRAVE. + + + + +VOICES FROM THE SPIRIT LAND. + +WORDS BY JOHN S. ADAMS. + +COMPOSED AND ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO FORTE + +BY VALENTINE DISTER. + +Presented by George Willig, No. 171 Chestnut Street.--Copyright +Secured according to Law. + +[Illustration: music sheet 1] + + + In the silence of the midnight, + When the cares of day are o'er, + In my soul I hear the voices + Of the loved ones gone before; + +[Illustration: music sheet 2] + + + And the words of comfort whisp'ring, + Tell they'll watch on ev'ry hand, + And I love, I love to list to + Voices from the spirit land, + And I love, I love to list to + Voices from the spirit land. + +2. + + In my wanderings, oft there cometh + Sudden stillness to my soul; + When around, above, within it + Rapturous joys unnumber'd roll; + Though around me all is tumult, + Noise and strife on every hand, + Yet within my soul I list to + Voices from the spirit land. + +3. + + Loved ones that have gone before me + Whisper words of peace and joy; + Those that long since have departed, + Tell me their divine employ + Is to watch and guard my footsteps: + Oh, it is an angel band! + And my soul is cheered in hearing + Voices from the spirit land. + + + + +GEMS FROM LATE READINGS. + + +BY THE AUTHOR OF KATE WALSINGHAM. + +Oh, there is many a spot in this every-day world of ours as bright and +beautiful as those of which we dream, or go miles away to visit and +admire; but we must seek for them in the right spirit, ere the dimness +will pass away from eyes blinded by the love of foreign novelties. Our +own land, ay, even our own city--the crowded mart of commerce, and the +vast haunt of poverty and crime, is rich in many a quiet nook, which, +although it might arrest the attention if depicted on the gemmed page +of the picturesque annual by some summer tourist, it is considered +plebeian to notice as we pass them in our daily walks. + +We have sat beneath the vines and blue skies of Italy, and heard from +her moonlight balconies such strains as made us hold our breath to +listen that we might not lose a note ere the perfumed breeze bore it +lingeringly away: and in after years, in those English balconies we +have described, wept, beneath the same moon, tears that had more of +joy than grief in them, at some rude and simple strain which, sung by +loved lips, made the charm of our careless and happy childhood. We +have stood awe-stricken before the walls of the Colosseum, at Rome, +and dreamt of it for evermore! But we have likewise paused opposite +the Colosseum in the Regent's Park, investing it in the dim twilight +with a thousand beauties that made it an object of interest. We can +well remember lingering in the neighborhood, before the mimic church, +or convent, as we had been taught to call it, of St. Catharine, with +the moonshine gleaming through its arches, and the flickering lights +appearing here and there in the diamond-paned windows, watching +eagerly for the appearance of those white-robed nuns with which our +childish fancy had peopled that quiet place--wondering that they never +came. And amid all the architectural glory of foreign churches and +cathedrals, since visited, have failed again to realize that simple +love of, and faith in the beautiful, which then invested every scene +with its peculiar charm. Where the mind makes its own picturesque, it +never yet failed to find materials, and is often gifted with a strange +power to charm others into seeing with its own loving eyes! So the +poet immortalizes the humble home of his boyhood, and in after years +men make pilgrimages to the time-worn stile, the + + + Rustic bridge--the willow tree; + Bathing its tresses in the quiet brook; + + +which his genius has redeemed from obscurity, and rendered hallowed +spots for evermore. + + +BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY. + + + Oh! tell me not of lofty fate, + Of glory's deathless name; + The bosom love leaves desolate + Has naught to do with fame. + + Vainly philosophy would soar-- + Love's height it may not reach; + The heart soon learns a sweeter lore + Than ever sage could teach. + + The cup may bear a poisoned draught, + The altar may be cold, + But yet the chalice will be quaffed-- + The shrine sought as of old. + + Man's sterner nature turns away + To seek ambition's goal; + Wealth's glittering gifts, and pleasure's ray, + May charm his weary soul;-- + + But woman knows one only dream-- + That broken--all is o'er; + For on life's dark and sluggish stream + Hope's sunbeam rests no more. + + +BY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON. + + +How strange it is to those who are in some sense new to the world, to +see the way in which time plasters over wounds which we should have +imagined that nothing could have healed: wounds which we should have +expected to see bleed afresh at the sight of the inflictor, as it was +said of old that those of the murdered did at the approach of the +murderer. Sometimes we almost feel as if nothing was real in that +singular existence called _the world_. Like the performers, who laugh +and talk behind the scenes after the close of some dreadful tragedy; +we see around us men who have ruined the fortunes and destroyed the +happiness of others, women who have betrayed and been betrayed, whose +existence has been perhaps devoted to misery and to infamy by the +first step they have taken in the path of guilt, and whose hearts, if +they did not break grew hard; we see the victims and the destroyers, +those who have loved and those who have hated, those who have injured +and those who have been injured, mix together in the common +thoroughfares of life, meet even in social intimacy, with offered +hands and ready smiles; not because "Blessed are the merciful, for +they shall obtain mercy;" not because "To those who forgive, shall +much be forgiven;" but because what is genuine and true, what is deep +and what is strong, takes no root in that worn-out soil on which we +tread, thrives not in that withering air which we breathe in that +fictitious region which we live in, and which we so emphatically and +so presumptuously call _the world_. + + +BY MRS. LUELLA J. CASE. + +CHARITY. + + + Speak kindly, oh! speak soothingly, + To him whose hopes are crossed, + Whose blessed trust in human love, + Was early, sadly lost; + For wearily--how wearily! + Drags life, if love depart; + Oh! let the balm of gentle words + Fall on the smitten heart. + + Go gladly, with true sympathy, + Where want's pale victims pine, + And bid life's sweetest smiles again + Along their pathway shine. + Oh, heavily doth poverty + Man's nobler instincts bind; + Yet sever not that chain, to cast + A sadder on the mind. + + +BY G. P. R. JAMES. + + +He was a fool, and not a philosopher, who said that uncertainty was +the just condition of man's mind. In trust, in confidence, in firm +conviction, and in faith, is only to be found repose and peace. +Assurance is what man's heart and understanding both require, and the +very fact of the mind not being capable of obtaining certainty upon +many points, is a proof of weakness, not of strength. + + + + +EDITOR'S TABLE. + + +THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR.--The year is closing on us--and the change +suggests reflections, which, if rather melancholy, may nevertheless be +profitable. We acknowledge that the divisions of time are rather +arbitrary--and therefore may vary, as they do vary, in different parts +of the world. But whenever we arrive at one of these important epochs, +whatever that may be, and wherever it constitutes a point in the +popular calendar, we have passed one period of our life, and have so +much the less to spend. + +If we _feel_ the rapidity of time's march in our ordinary festivity, +and regret the approaching dissolution of the pleasant assembly, by +how much the more do we feel if we pause to think that we are +approaching the time when all our associations in life must cease, and +we be remembered--not known--and that remembrance day by day growing +less and less distinct, as new objects occupy the public eye, or new +associations are taken up by those we leave. Nor would we "jump the +life to come," by neglecting to make our approximation to that an +occasion for such a solicitude as would lead to a preparation. + +But we would not have all those reflections gloomy. We would not cloud +the close of the year, nor the evening of life with moroseness, as if +all were vanity that we had enjoyed, and all were vexation of spirit +that was left. Such a use of the season would be a poor return for all +the good things which Providence has wrought in our behalf. We know at +this season of the year that the mountain summits are covered with +snow, and in some places the drooping sides are whitened with the +treasures of the clouds, but even these things, chilling as they may +appear, are good in their season, and the beauteous covering of the +hill-tops may glisten with the reflected rays of the sun, and seem to +enjoy the visiter that has descended upon them. All the trees that +yield their leaves to the season have for weeks been bare, ready to +receive the weight of snow which might fall upon them, and teaching +man that preparation is necessary to meet the evils of life and +sustain its burthens. Here and there a few evergreens retain their +foliage, and appear doubly beautiful amid the waste that is around +them. + +But it is not alone for their beauty that these objects are worthy of +consideration--they teach also. They are full of instruction. Every +leaf that glistens with winter's frost, or is crushed dry and rustling +beneath our feet, has its lesson--it is well that all do not retain +their position--they would be less monitory, less worthy our thought. +Nature, in her use of foliage, acts upon the plan which the sybil of +old adopted--she writes her lessons upon the leaves--and yet so +arranges the truths they should convey, that they become more and more +apparent, more and more valuable, as the hand of destructive time +diminishes their number. + +Elsewhere we have given reflections upon those events by which +kingdoms and empires have been shaken in the year now coming to a +close. Let us come nearer the heart, and speak of some of those +changes by which human affections and individual attachments have been +disturbed. Not, however, to quote the instance exactly--that would be +to drag up into life the hidden sorrow, and expose to observation the +grief which is sanctified for the recesses of the heart, whither in +moments of leisure the wounded retire and sit and brood in profitable +reflection over the affliction which Providence has allowed. We dare +not drag up to day and its exposure each grief that lies buried deep +in the grave of the mourner's heart. How truly beautiful, however, is +the reflection that the stone of the sepulchre may be rolled away, +and that in appropriate seasons the afflicted one makes a retreat from +the business and the pleasures of life, and "goeth unto the grave to +weep there." Sanctified--as beautiful--be the sorrow that hath not its +exponent in the public assembly, that hath no signal by which its +existence is to be denoted--no condition of countenance by which its +extent is to be measured. Perhaps the _sufferer_ had not yet obtained +permission to call the object hers--and thus is deprived of the +privilege of admitted mourning--how deep is _that_ grief--it has known +only the hope of life which takes with it all of the sunlight that +_makes_ the rainbow; without one drop of the storm from which that bow +is reflected. Perhaps the young WIFE sits solitary in the chamber +which affection has blessed, and pines amid the thousand emblems of +the taste or customs of the dead--perhaps her grief is her +inspiration, and she gives to story or to song the promptings of her +sorrow, which the world supposes is the gift of joyous inspiration. + +Perhaps the _mother_ is pausing in the midst of renewed anguish for +the departure of her gifted, her only child, and sits enumerating all +his perfections, the greatest of which, and that which sanctified all +other virtues, and hid the very shadowings of error, was his deep, +constant love for her. Oh, how the maternal heart, smitten by the +heaviest of griefs, bathes itself in the fountain of filial love; and +when, at last, the over-wrought frame yields to the undermining +sorrow, the mourner comforts herself with the reflection of the +afflicted monarch of Israel, "I shall go unto him, he shall not come +again unto me." These reflections, with all of blighted hopes which +parent, lover, friend and patriot have indulged, the falling leaves of +autumn suggest; but the evergreen tells us of the survival of +affections, of friends, of beauty, and, perhaps, of attainments, and +teaches us that while we bend, and may bend in bitter anguish--anguish +long indulged beneath the rod of affliction--it is good for us also to +kiss the rod--for it has the power of budding anew in the hand of Him +who wields it; and the same might which made it the instrument of His +afflictive dealings can make it also the means of after joy and peace. + +Perhaps, upon the leaves that we examine, the sybil, with rearward +glance, has recorded some event for joyous reflection. Have we not +been made participants of high gratifications--domestic, social, +public associations of instructive and pleasant operation? Have not +new affections warmed the heart, or old ones sent out new tendrils to +cling with a stronger hold upon us? Perhaps we have had the +acquisition of wealth without the augmentation of desires, so that we +can make ourselves happy by judicious distribution. Perhaps, above +all, and over all, we are better, by the passage of the year, better +by newly acquired, and especially newly exercised virtues--virtues +that bless others, and, through them, bless ourselves. If so, surely +we have grounds for pleasant reflections on the close of the year, and +may hope that we have not lived in vain. + +The virtues of the human heart are like the water-springs of the +earth, their worth is measured by what overflows; nay, as an +accumulation even of the purest water must become stagnant, profitless +and offensive without an outlet, so what we call the virtues of man +become useless and even injurious, unless they extend to others, by +overflowing the fountain breast. Virtue is communicable; and those who +associate with the good, find an influx of affection and piety, as the +woman of faith was cured by touching the hems of the garment, that +covered the source and example of all health and goodness. If we have +sought to acquire good for ourselves, and to do good to others during +the present year, reflections upon its approaching close need not be +painful; it should be to us a source of high gratification, that, +enjoying as we have enjoyed, and mourning as we have mourned, we are +nearer the union of the good who have gone before us, and further from +the ills that follow upon our footsteps; and as we close our year, or +close our life, may we throw back from joyous, grateful hearts, a +smile of virtuous pleasure, which shall enrich the stern clouds that +have passed us with the bow of promise of pleasures that are to come. +C. + + * * * * * + +GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE FOR 1849.--The new volume of Graham's Magazine, to +be commenced with the January number, will, beyond all doubt, be the +most elegant volume that has ever been issued of this most popular of +all the American monthlies. The ample experience and liberal +expenditure of money by the publishers, the ability of its host of +contributors, the editorial tact which will be brought into service, +and the genius and skill of the artists engaged to embellish it, must +more than sustain the high position it has heretofore held in public +estimation. The magazine literature of this country is destined to a +warmer appreciation in the public regard, as it becomes purged from +the sickly sentimentality which degrades public taste, and when the +first minds in the nation are found devoting solid thought to adorn +and elevate it. A few years since, the highest aim of contemporary +competition seemed to be to fill a given number of pages with the +silly effusions of a class of writers whose feeble powers and false +taste were gradually undermining public regard, and bringing this +branch of national literature into contempt and disgrace, but the +higher aims of the publishers of the now leading periodicals, evinced +in the engagement of the brightest intellect of the country, have +raised American periodicals to a scale second to none in the world. + +Blackwood and Frazer, in England, and The Knickerbocker and "Graham's +Magazine," in America, now stand side by side, and by paying liberally +for talent, command the very highest. It may be doubted, however, +whether in this country the _force_ of periodical writing has not been +in some degree impaired, by a diversion of the public eye and taste in +the smaller class of magazines with feeble aims, to engravings and +pictures, many of which are but the refuse of the English Annuals, and +the efforts of second rate artists in this country; and also how far +those magazines which are marked by ability, and which, as magazines +of ART as well as of LITERATURE, embracing in their object and scope, +the improvement of a very laudable branch of art--that of +engraving--as well as the adornment of the work, should be drawn aside +into a competition in the _number_ of their engravings, instead of the +_worth_ which should mark each one of them. It appears to us that this +degrading of magazines into picture-books for children, by +impoverishing the literary department to swell the number of wretched +engravings in a department of art, so called, must impair the value +and shorten the existence of any periodical thus conducted. + +For ourselves, we have marked out a course in regard to the mere +illustrations of this periodical, from which we shall not be diverted. +We shall continue to furnish to our readers the most finished and +elegant specimens of the American engraver's skill, keeping at the +same time in view the value aside from the mere _ornament_ of the +engraving, thus catching the public desire in the portrait of a person +who may have some claim upon posterity, even though the face may not +be the most beautiful; and in sketches of such scenes as deserve to +live in the pages of this magazine, either from their own great +beauty, from their grandeur, or from association which gives them +value to the American eye and mind. + + * * * * * + +THE FEMALE POETS OF AMERICA.--Messrs. Lindsay & Blakiston have +presented to the public a delightful volume prepared by Caroline May. +It embraces biographical sketches, and extracts from the productions +of many of our own native female writers, and serves to render us +familiar with those whose sweet strains have often charmed our hearts. +The style of execution of the volume in question, corresponds with the +excellent character of its contents, and the authoress, publishers and +printers have executed their respective parts with great skill and +effect. + + * * * * * + +BURNS, AS A POET AND AS A MAN.--The admirers of the gifted Scottish +bard, will find an interesting and well executed review of his +character as a Poet and a Man, in a volume, prepared by S. Tyler, +Esq., of the Maryland bar, and just issued by Baker and Schriver, of +New York. We are indebted for a copy to Messrs. Lindsay & Blakiston, +of this city, who are ever skillful in catering for the intellectual +taste of their literary friends. + + * * * * * + +[Illo: pointing finger] We lay our present number before our readers +with feelings of pride and pleasure, confident of the admission, on +their part, that a richer or more varied treat has never been +presented in the pages of any magazine. Our contributors have supplied +us with admirable articles--our artists have acquitted themselves with +great ability--our printers have acted well their part--and now, we +trust, our patrons will complete our gratification, by being as much +pleased with the number before them as we are in making the offering. + + * * * * * + +[Illo: pointing finger] We thank our editorial brethren throughout the +country for the favorable manner in which they continue to notice our +Magazine. They do us but justice when they say that all our efforts +will be put in exercise to keep our Magazine in the enviable position +we have so long occupied. Always in advance of every contemporary, we +shall show in the new volume upon which we are entering, what +enterprise, zeal and energy can accomplish in the elevation of the +standard of literature and the arts. + + * * * * * + +KATE WALSINGHAM.--This is another of Miss Pickering's delightful +novels, just issued from the press of <sc>T. B. Peterson</sc>. The story is an +interesting one, and the book abounds with brilliant and sparkling +beauties. + + * * * * * + +LAYS AND BALLADS, _by T. B. Read_.--A volume from the pen of Mr. Read, +one of the most accomplished of our contributors, has just been +published by Mr. Appleton. The lateness of the hour at which a copy +reached us prevents us from noticing it at present as we desire to do. +We shall therefore make it the subject of a paragraph in a future +number. + + * * * * * + +J. BAYARD TAYLOR, Esq.--A life-like portrait of our friend and +co-laborer, J. B. Taylor, graces this number of the Magazine. We know +our readers--our fair ones especially--will admire him; and we would +remark, _en passant_, for their information, that well-looking as he +unquestionably is, his merits in this particular are fully equaled by +his good qualities of head and heart. + + + + +REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. + + + _Principles of Political Economy, with some of their + Applications to Social Philosophy. By John Stuart Mill. + Boston: Little & Brown. 2 vols. 8vo._ + + +Mr. Mill is almost the model man of science of his age. To habits of +deep and thorough investigation, and rigid, penetrating, exhaustive +thought--pursuing a principle through all the details of its +application, and never stopping halfway to pause or digress--he adds a +calm but strong sympathy with the philanthropic movements of the age; +and the tendency of all his writings is to advance the cause of truth, +justice and benevolence. But he is a reformer in a peculiar sense, not +practically understood by many who bear the name. A comprehensive and +patient thinker, and discussing every question bearing on the +interest, happiness and elevation of mankind with a conscientious as +well as rigid logic, he indulges in no vituperation, uses none of the +weapons of passion and malice, and irresistibly conveys the impression +to the most prejudiced mind that it is truth he is seeking, not the +gratification of vanity or antipathy. The consequence is that he is +the only radical thinker in England who is read by all parties, and +who influences all parties. With more industry, mental vigor and +scientific precision than Mackintosh, he has a great deal of that +beneficence of spirit, that judicial comprehension, and that strict +impartiality of understanding, which enabled Mackintosh to reach minds +separated from his by the walls of sect and faction. Mill is one of +those rare men who make no distinction between moral and logical +honesty; who would as much disdain to utter a sophism as to tell a +lie; and who can discuss questions which array the passions of a +nation on different sides, without adopting any of the opposite +bigotries with which they are usually connected. As a matter of course +the prejudiced and the bigoted themselves, in those hours of calmness +when they really desire to know the truth and reason of the things +they are quarreling about, go to a man like him with perfect +confidence. Thus Mill, a philosophical English radical, is ever +treated with that respect which clings to a profound and conscientious +thinker, even by the most violent of his Tory opponents. One of the +late numbers of Blackwood's Magazine--a periodical accustomed to +blackguard the men it cannot answer, and in which Mackintosh himself +was ever treated with coarse invective or affected contempt--has a +long article on Mill's present work on political economy, admitting +its claim to be considered one of the greatest works of the century, +even though it takes strong ground against many of the cherished +absurdities of the Tory political creed. + +The reputation of Mr. Mill was sufficiently established before his +political economy was published. As the writer, over the signature of +A., of several articles in the Westminster Review, such as those on +Coleridge, Bentham, and the Privileged Classes, and the author of the +profoundest and most complete treatise on Logic ever written, he +needed no introduction to the public. "The Principles of Political +Economy" is a book bearing on every page the decisive marks of his +strong and accurate mind. It is a work after the model of Smith's +Wealth of Nations, in which principles are always associated with +their applications, and economical questions considered in their +relations to social philosophy, and the general well-being of man. As, +since the time of Adam Smith, political economy and social philosophy +have both made a perceptible advance, Mr. Mill's work purports to +supply the deficiency of a complete system of political economy, +including all the latest discoveries, and combining a strict +scientific exposition of the abstract principles of the subject with +their practical applications. The result is that he has produced the +most complete and satisfactory work of the kind at present in +existence, and, on the whole, the most important contribution to +political economy since the time of Adam Smith. + +We, of course, have no space to refer at any length to his treatment +of the different branches of his subject; but the book has one +characteristic which we hope will have the effect to make it generally +read. The style is so clear, vigorous, simple and lucid, and the +illustrations so apt and copious, that the work can be readily +understood by those readers who are commonly repelled by the dry and +abstract character of other treatises on the science. The author +intended that his book should be popular as well as profound, and has +exerted his full strength of mind in simplifying the more abstruse +principles of his subject; and we trust that his labor will not have +been spent in vain. Every legislator, merchant, manufacturer, and +agriculturist, every man who is in any way connected with the creation +or distribution of wealth, should read this book. + + + _An Oration Delivered Before the Society of Phi Beta + Kappa, at Cambridge, August 24, 1848. By Horace + Bushnell. Cambridge: George Nichols._ + + +Dr. Bushnell has within a year or two taken a prominent position among +New England divines, and promises to rank high among the influencing +minds of the day. To deep and scholarly culture, he unites a strong, +independent, and singularly keen and ingenious intellect, and a +beautiful and bountiful spirit of cheerfulness and charity. The +present oration is a fine poem, expressing rather a mood of mind than +a system of philosophy, but grouping together with fine art many facts +of consciousness, and applying them to the phenomena of life. Every +thing, in fact, is surveyed in the light of two ideas, Work and Play, +and though the application is sometimes more fanciful than reasonable, +the result is a series of beautiful representations, original in +conception and finely felicitous in expression. There is room for +considerable difference of opinion in the oration, but none will be +inclined to doubt the author's ability or keenness. As a specimen of +the style we extract a passage relating to war, which he calls an +imposing and plausible counterfeit of play, or inspiration. + +"Since," he says, "we cannot stay content in the dull uninspired world +of economy and work, we are as ready to see a hero as he is to be one. +Nay, we must have our heroes, as I just said, and we are ready to +harness ourselves, by the million, to any man who will let us fight +him out the name. Thus we find out occasions for war--wrongs to be +redressed, revenges to be taken, such as we may feign inspiration and +play the great heart under. We collect armies, and dress up leaders in +gold and high colors, meaning by the brave look, to inspire some +notion of a hero beforehand. Then we set the men in phalanxes and +squadrons, where the personality itself is taken away, and a vast +impersonal person called an army, a magnanimous and brave monster, is +all that remains. The masses of fierce color, the glitter of the +steel, the dancing plumes, the waving flags, the deep throb of the +music lifting every foot--under these the living acres of men, +possessed by the one thought of playing brave to-day, are rolled on +to battle. Thunder, fire, dust, blood, groans--what of these?--nobody +thinks of these, for nobody dares to think till the day is over, and +then the world rejoices to behold a new batch of heroes." + + + _Three Sisters and Three Fortunes; or Rose, Blanche and + Violet. By G. H. Lewes. New York: Harper & Brothers._ + + +Mr. Lewes is an author very little known in this country. This is the +first work of his which has been reprinted. But in England he has +considerable reputation among the higher class of readers and men of +taste for his brilliant powers of mind and extensive acquirements. His +Biographical History of Philosophy we have never seen, but we have +observed allusions to it in other publications, exalting it to a very +high rank among thoughtful books. For some time, if we are not +mistaken, he was the chief literary critic of the Westminster Review, +and many of his articles were marked by strong and deep thinking, a +little injured by vagaries of expression. In a novel by such a writer +we should naturally expect more than a mere love story, more than a +narrative of incidents and representation of passions; and he has not +disappointed expectation. Indeed one can easily see that the book is +based on a philosophical system, and that more is meant than directly +meets the eye. The characters and events all illustrate some problems +in metaphysics and ethics, and refer more to the understanding than +the imagination. The story does not lack interest, nor the personages +character, but both are o'erinformed with meditation. Fine as the +novel undoubtedly is, the author has not given it the requisite +artistical finish to produce an harmonious impression. Speculation on +matters connected with literature, art and politics, essays on the +passions and the will, appear in their naked character amid romantic +incidents and imaginative representation. The author, in short, ought +to have made his book altogether didactic or altogether dramatic, to +fulfill the requisitions of either department. Had he fused all his +abstract thought and practical speculation in the alembic of the +imagination, and accordingly represented all in the concrete form of +character and events, t +he result would have been a much better +novel. + + + _Euthanasy; or Happy Talk Toward the End of Life. By + William Mountford, Author of Martyria, &c., &c. Boston: + Crosby & Nichols. 1 vol. 12mo._ + + +The author of this volume is one of the most profoundly meditative +writers living. We are not aware that his productions have had an +extended circulation out of New England, where they are very popular, +and if they have not, we hardly know of a better service we could do +our readers than to advise them to seek his companionship. Martyria +and the present work are two books which no one can read without being +benefitted--without having a deeper sense of the "dread soul within +him," and without feeling a warmer love of his race. "Euthanasy" is +one of those volumes which win their way into the heart with a soft +unconscious persuasiveness, and abide there when they have once found +an entrance. The author's spirit is rich, sweet, thoughtful, +tender--seeking the beautiful and the good by a spontaneous instinct, +and discerning them often, with the subtilty of purity in things which +seem valueless to the common eye--and while it soars into the highest +regions of spiritual contemplation, can still survey practical life +with a wisdom and sagacity which almost seem incompatible with its +loftiness. The truth is that the author possesses one of the rarest +things ever seen in this world--a truly spiritual mind, in which there +is established no divorce between the practical and the spiritual, +the common and the ideal. Spirituality with him is a life--no hearsay +or imagination, but an experience. He consequently spiritualizes the +human and humanizes the spiritual. + +The work, in addition to its own stores of original thought, has many +a golden sentence and rhyme from the meditative poets of Germany and +England, which lend it increased richness and beauty. + + + _Ellen Middleton; a Tale. By Lady Georgiana Fullerton, + Author of Grantly Manor. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 + vol. 12mo._ + + +Grantly Manor is a novel of high and peculiar excellence, and has had +a great run. Its readers threw themselves upon the present work as +soon as it was published, their expectations whetted by the memory of +the last. The result has been comparative disappointment. The truth is +Ellen Middleton preceded Grantly Manor, and is altogether a less +pleasing production. Considered, however, as the first work of the +author, it is rich in promise and by no means insignificant in +performance. The characters are strongly drawn and well discriminated, +and the passions with which it deals are of that potent kind which +test a novelist's strength and daring. The difficulty with the book is +not its lack of power, but its lack of homely interest. The characters +and incidents are too much made up in the author's mind--enclosed, as +it were, in a peculiar domain, and colored by one peculiar experience +of life--to give that satisfaction which results from a delineation of +actual life, or from vivid and beautiful ideal creations. There is too +much agony, and anguish, and hyperbolical emotion, and splitting of +the heart, and such like rioting in spiritual misery and ruin. The +elegance, eloquence and sweetness of the author's style, and the high +moral and religious character of her mind, appear, however, in Ellen +Middleton as in Grantly Manor, and with the advantage of as good a +story would produce as agreeable an impression. + + + _History of Mary, Queen of Scotts. By Jacob Abbott. + With Engravings. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. + 16mo._ + + +This is one of a series of popular histories which Mr. Abbott is +preparing for his countrymen. The tone and object will considerably +differ from the common historical works in circulation. Mr. Abbott +considers that the situation and principles of American readers +require views of historical events different from those they would +obtain from foreigners. The present work is devoted to one of the most +romantic and thrilling stories in historical literature--the Life of +Mary, Queen of Scotts. It is elegantly and truthfully written, and the +mechanical execution of the volume is exceedingly beautiful. + + + _Macaulay's History of England._ + + +The Harpers have received from the author, in sheets, the first and +second volumes of "The History of England, from the Accession of James +II., by T. B. Macaulay." For these they pay one hundred guineas a +volume. The work itself will doubtless create as great a stir as any +book published within the last twenty years. Every body is curious +especially to discover the style which Macaulay has adopted--that of +his Essays being too brisk, brilliant and epigrammatic for an +historian. It will probably be something like that of the Preface to +the "Lays of Ancient Rome," or that of his latest article on Lord +Chatham. + + +Transcriber's Note: + +Printer's errors and typos were corrected without comment. Irregularities +or archaisms in spelling or grammar were preserved. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol XXXIII, No. 6, +December 1848, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE *** + +***** This file should be named 32369.txt or 32369.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/3/6/32369/ + +Produced by David T. 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