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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/4669-0.txt b/4669-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a72b67a --- /dev/null +++ b/4669-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13185 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 4669 *** + +TOWN & COUNTRY. + +OR LIFE AT HOME AND ABROAD, WITHIN & WITHOUT US. + +BY JOHN S. ADAMS. + +BOSTON: + +1855. + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + + + +SAVED BY KINDNESS +THE LOVE OF ELINORE +'TIS SWEET TO BE REMEMBERED +I CALL THEE MINE +THE OLD TREE AND ITS LESSON +VOICES FROM THE SPIRIT LAND +THE BEACON LIGHT +BEAR UP +A WELCOME SONG TO SPRING +THE HOPE OF THE FALLEN +THOUGHTS THAT COME FROM LONG AGO +DETERMINED TO BE RICH +THE HEAVEN-SENT, HEAVEN-RETURNED +FLOWERS, BRIGHT FLOWERS +FORGET ME NOT +WHAT IS TRUTH +THE HOMESTEAD VISIT +THE MARINER'S SONG +LOVE'S LAST WORDS +LIGHT IN DARKNESS +MT. VERNON, AND THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON +FREEDOM'S GATHERING +SONG OF THE BIRD +I CHANGE BUT IN DYING +HE IS THY BROTHER +THE WINE-DEALER'S CLERK +ANGELINA +FAREWELL, MY NATIVE LAND +UNLEARNED TO LOVE +WHAT WAS IT? +LETTERS AND LETTER-WRITING +A VISION OF REALITY +JEWELS OF THE HEART +LIGHT FROM A BETTER LAND +POOR AND WEARY +THE BANDBOX MOVEMENT +NEW ENGLAND HOMES +LOVE THAT WANES NOT. +ONWARD COURAGEOUSLY +A FOREST PIC-NIC SONG +THE WARRIOR'S BRIDE +THE ADVENT OF HOPE +CHILD AND SIRE +A BROTHER'S WELCOME +THE IMMENSITY OF CREATION +A VISION OF HEAVEN +THERE'S HOPE FOR THEE YET +SOLILOQUY OVER THE GRAVE OF A WIFE +THE FUGITIVES +THE UNIVERSAL JUBILEE +THE BATTLE OF THE RED MEN +SUNLIGHT ON THE SOUL +A SONG FROM THE ABSENT +TO THE LOVED ONE AT HOME +TWILIGHT FOREST HYMN +THE SUMMER SHOWER +AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN AUTOMATON +TO THE UNKNOWN DONOR OF A BOUQUET +TO A SISTER IN HEAVEN +I DREAMED OF THEE LAST NIGHT, LOVE +THEY TELL OF HAPPY BOWERS +MAN CANNOT LIVE AND LOVE NOT +BETTER THAN GOLD +GONE AWAY +LINES TO MY MIFE +CHEER UP +TRUST THOU IN GOD +THE MINISTRATION OF SORROW +GIVING PUBLICITY TO BUSINESS +THE MISSION OF KINDNESS +A PLEA FOR THE FALLEN +JOY BEYOND +THE SUMMER DAYS ARE COMING +THE MAN WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING +PRIDE AND POVERTY +WORDS THAT TOUCH THE INNER HEART +OUR HOME +SPECULATION AND ITS CONSEQUENCE +RETROSPECTION +NATURE'S FAIR DAUGHTER, BEAUTIFUL WATER +THE TEST OF FRIENDSHIP +WEEP NOT +RICH AND POOR +THE HOMEWARD BOUND +THE POOR OF EARTH +IF I DON'T OTHERS WILL +NOT MADE FOR AN EDITOR +HERE'S TO THE HEART THAT'S EVER BRIGHT +MORNING BEAUTY +THE RECOMPENSE OF GOODNESS +BRIDAL SONGS +THE JUG AFLOAT +GIVE, AND STAY THEIR MISERY +THE SPIRIT OF MAN +PAUSE AND THINK +LITTLE NELLY +WE SHALL ALL BE HAPPY SOON +REUNION +THE VILLAGE MYSTERY +THE WAYSIDE DEATH +BEAUTY AND INNOCENCE +NIGHT +NOT DEAD, BUT CHANGED +THE DISINHERITED +THE SEASONS ALL ARE BEAUTIFUL +SPRING +A TEXT FOR A LIFETIME +NOW CLOSE THE BOOK + + + + + + +TOWN AND COUNTRY. + +SAVED BY KINDNESS. + +A kind word is of more value than gold or precious stones. + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + + + +"THEN you are here!" said a stern, gruff voice, addressing a pale, +sickly-looking youth, whose frame trembled and whose lip quivered as +he approached one who sat at the side of a low pine table;--it was +his master, a man of about forty, of athletic form, and of power +sufficient to crush the feeble youth. + +"Well," he continued, "if you are sure that you gave it to him, go +to bed; but mind you, whisper-breathe not the secret to a living +soul, on peril of your life! You may evade my grasp, but like blood +I will track you through life, and add a bitter to your every cup of +sweet." + +The lad had no sooner left the room than a man entered, whose +carelessly arranged apparel and excited appearance indicated that +something of vast importance-at least, as far as he was +concerned-burthened his mind. + +"Harry," he said, throwing himself upon a chair, "I fear we are +betrayed-discovered--completely used up." + +"Discovered!" shouted the person addressed. "How? where? why?" + +"It is so, friend Harry. The boy you sent made a sad error." + +"Then murder the boy!" and, clutching a dagger, he motioned to leave +the room, and would have done so to plunge it in the bosom of the +lad, had not his informant interfered, and thus prevented him from +executing so rash and cruel an act. + +"What!-I will-will do it!" he shouted, endeavoring to release +himself from the hands of the other. + +"Never!" was the bold, unwavering response. "Move a step, and death +shall be thy doom. Seest thou that?" and the speaker drew from his +bosom a richly-mounted pistol. + +"Doubtless thou art right," said Harry, in a more calm manner; "the +excitement of the moment urged me to desperation, and, if any but +you had arisen in my path, the glistening steel should have met his +heart. But, Bill, how,--I am confused, my eyes swim,--tell me, how are +we discovered? Must the last act in the great drama of our +fortune-making be crushed in the bud?-and who dare do it?" + +"If you will restrain your indignation, I will tell you." + +"A hard task, yet I will try." + +"That answer will not do; you must say something more positive." + +"Then I say, I will." + +"Enough,--the boy Sim handed the note to the kitchen-girl." + +"But, Bill, think you she suspected its contents?" + +"That I cannot say, but she is inquisitive, and has been known to +unseal letters committed to her care, by some ingenious way she has +invented. She looked uncommonly wise when she handed it to me and +said, 'Mr. Bang, that's of no small importance to you.'" + +"The deuce she did! I fear she deserves the halter," said Harry. + +"What, with the h off?" + +"No, there is too much Caudleism in her to make her worthy of that; +but this is no time for our jokes. Your suspicions are too true; but +how shall we act? what plans shall we adopt?" + +"None, Harry, but this;--we must act as though we were the most +honest men on earth, and act not as though we suspected any of +suspecting us." + +"O, yes, I understand you, Bill; we must not suspect anything wrong +in her." + +"That's it," answered Bill, and, plunging his hand into his pocket, +he drew from thence a small scrap of greasy, pocket-worn paper, and +read a few words in a low whisper to his friend Harry. A nod from +the latter signified his approval. He returned the mysterious +memorandum to his pocket, and planting upon his head a poor, very +poor apology for a hat, swung his body round a few times on his +heel, and leaving the house; pushed open a small wicket-gate, and +entered the street. He hurriedly trudged along, heaping silent +curses upon the head of Harry's boy, the kitchen-girl, and sundry +other feminine and masculine members of the human family not yet +introduced to the reader. + +Bold Bill gone, Harry sat for some considerable length of time +ruminating upon the strange turn affairs had taken, and indulging in +vague speculations upon whether the next would be as unfavorable; +and at this point of our story we will divulge somewhat of his +history. + +Henry Lang had been in years past a man well-to-do in the world; he +was once a merchant respected for his strict integrity and +punctuality in business affairs; but by a false step, a making haste +to be rich, he was ruined. The great land speculation of '37 and +thereabout was the chief, and in fact the only cause of his +misfortune. On one day he could boast of his thousands, and no paper +held better credit than that signed or endorsed by him. The next, +the bubble broke, his fortune was scattered, his riches took to +themselves wings and flew away, his creditors, like vultures, +flocked around and speedily devoured what little remained of his +once large possessions. He was a man easily affected by such +occurrences, and they deeply wounded his sensitive feelings. What +should he do? He looked around upon those who once professedly loved +him; but no hand was extended, no heart sympathized with him in the +hour of trouble. He left his country, and with it a wife and one +child, a daughter, lovely, if not in personal appearance, in highly +virtuous and intellectual qualities, which, after all, will be +admitted to be of more value than that which time withers and +sickness destroys. + +With a sad heart Mr. Lang left these and the spot of earth around +which many fond recollections clustered. After twenty months of +tedious wanderings, he returned, but he was a changed man; his +ambitious spirit had been crushed, all his hopes: had departed, and +he gave himself up to the fanciful freaks of a disordered mind. +Defeated in his honest endeavors to obtain a livelihood, he was now +seeking out dishonest ways and means to retrieve his fallen fortune. +He sought for those of a kindred spirit, nor was he long in finding +such; in a short time he became acquainted, and soon after +connected, with a gang of adventurous men, about six in number, who +by various fraudulent means were each amassing much wealth. + +"And he deserted me in this my time of need! Can it be true that he +has gone? For him I would willingly have endured any privation. Did +he not know that my love was strong? Could he not believe me when I +said, that, as I joyed with him in his prosperity, I would mourn +with him in its reverse?-that I could ever be near to comfort and +console,--one with him at all times, under all circumstances?" + +"Comfort yourself, dear mother!" said a calm voice, "Remember that +these trials are for our good, and that the sorrows of earth are but +to prepare us for the joys of heaven. Cheer up, mother! let those +thoughts rejoice thy heart! Despair not, but take courage!" + +With such words did the daughter administer consolation to the +afflicted, when hearing that her husband had forsaken her and sailed +for a foreign port. It was indeed a heavy blow, and she felt it +severely. She could have endured the thought of having all her +earthly possessions taken from her,--but to be deserted, to be left +at such a time dependent upon the charities of the world for a +subsistence, such a thought she was not prepared to withstand. + +The few words of Julia having been said, a deep silence for some +moments pervaded the room. She sat and gazed up into the face of her +mother, whose tears bore witness to the deep anguish of her soul. +The silence was interrupted by the rising of the latter, who for a +few moments paced the room, and then sank helplessly into a chair. +The attentive child sprang to her relief, a few neighbors were +called in, she was laid upon her bed. That night a severe attack of +fever came upon her; for many days her life was despaired of; but at +length a ray of hope cheered the solitude of the chamber of the +sick, and at the close of six weeks her health was in a great degree +restored. + +"Time heals all wounds," is a common saying, true in some cases, but +not in all. Some wounds there are that sink deep in the heart,--their +pain even time cannot remedy, but stretch far into eternity, and +find their solace there. Others there are which by time are +partially healed;--such was that of Mrs. Lang. During her sickness, +many of the little incidents that before had troubled her passed +from her mind. She now yielded submissively to her sad allotment, +believing, as during her sickness she had often been told, that +afflictions come but for our own good, however paradoxical such a +statement might seem to be. + +The kindness of a neighbor enabled her, with her daughter, to remove +their place of residence. This neighbor-a lady of moderate pecuniary +circumstances-furnished them with needle-work, the compensation for +which enabled them to obtain supplies necessary for a comfortable +living. + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +For some time Mr. Henry Lang sat with his head resting upon his +hands, and with them upon the table. Deep silence prevailed, broken +only, at lengthy intervals, by the loud laugh following the merry +jest of some passer-by, or the dismal creaking of the swing-sign of +an adjacent tavern. + +How long Mr. Lang might have remained in that position is not for us +to determine. But it would have been much longer, had not a loud rap +at the outer door awakened him from his drowsy condition. + +He started at the sound, and, taking in his hand a dim-burning +candle, proceeded to answer the call. Opening the door, a man +closely enveloped in a large cloak and seal-skin cap, the last of +which hung slouchingly about his head and face, inquired, in a +gruff, ill-mannered voice, whether a person unfavorably known to the +police as "Bold Bill" had been there. Harry trembled, knowing his +interrogator to be one of the city watch; yet he endeavored to +conceal his fears and embarrassment by a forced smile, and remarked: + +"That is indeed a strange name, and one of which I have never before +heard. Tell me what he has been about." + +"Why do you think he has been about anything, or why think you I am +acquainted with his actions?" inquired the stranger, in a stern +voice, as though the supreme majesty of the law represented by him +was not to be spoken lightly of. His scrutinizing features relaxed +not in the least, but he looked our hero steadfastly in the face. + +"By the appearance of your dress I judge you to be a watchman, and +as such I suppose you to be in search of that odd-named person on +account of his being suspected of having broken the law." + +"You are right," answered the officer. "I am a watchman! The +authority invested in me is great. I trust I duly appreciate it. I +guard your dwelling when you are slumbering, unconscious of what +takes place around you." + +"You are very kind," remarked Harry, suddenly interrupting him, and +speaking rather ironically than otherwise. + +The watchman continued: "Life is to me nothing unless I can employ +it in doing good. Do you understand me?" + +"Perfectly." + +"Will you walk in?" inquired Mr. Lang, as a sudden gust of wind +nearly extinguished his light. + +"No, I thank you; that would be of no service to my fellow-men; and, +as I am in search of the man who committed the robbery, ten minutes +ago, upon Mr. Solomon Cash, the broker, I must-" + +"Robbery!" exclaimed Harry, appearing perfectly astonished at the +thought. "O, the degeneracy of the nineteenth century,--the +sinfulness of the age!" + +"Amen!" responded the officer; and, pulling his large, loose cloak +more closely about him, he made a motion to continue on in the +service of his fellow-men. + +"But wait, my good man," said Harry. "Am I to suppose, from what you +said, that 'Bold Bill' is the perpetrator of this base crime?" + +"Precisely so," was the laconic reply; and the man moved on in +execution of his benevolent designs. + +"He should be brought to justice," said Harry, as he turned to +enter. No sooner, however, had he closed the door, than he burst +forth in a loud laugh. This was soon changed to seriousness, for he +became confident that his friend Bill was in danger. To shield him, +if guilty, from detection, and protect him, if innocent, was now his +great object. But where should he find him? That was a problem he +could not solve. The boy was sleeping soundly; he must awaken him, +he must go out in search of his friend. + +With this intention, he dressed himself in a stout, heavy overcoat, +and, locking the door hurriedly, walked up the street. On he went, +as though his life depended upon whether he reached a certain square +at a certain time. He looked at nothing save some far-distant +object, from which, as it approached, he withdrew his eyes, and +fixed them on an object yet distant. Turning a corner, a collision +took place between him and another man, who appeared to be in as +much haste as himself. He was about to proceed, when he who had met +him so abruptly struck him very familiarly upon the shoulder, +saying, as he did so, "Harry, how are you?-good luck-tin-lots of +it-watch-haste." + +The person thus addressed was not long in discovering who it was +that spoke to him, and from his words and actions that he had reason +to be in some haste. It was he for whom he was in search; and, being +aware that the nature of the case demanded despatch, he cordially +grasped his hand, and, without another word between them, they in a +short time reached the dwelling of Mr. Lang. + +"What are the facts now?" inquired Harry, after having narrated the +incident that had occurred since he left, namely, the watchman's +visit. + +"Then you think there is no danger in my staying here?" inquired +Bill. + +"Not in the least," replied Harry; "for I positively asserted that +you was not here, and strongly intimated that I knew no person of +your name. Danger! there is none; so proceed, friend Bill,--but a +little wine." + +Wine is an indispensable with all rogues; it nerves to lawlessness, +and induces them, when under its influence, to commit acts which in +their sober moments they would scorn to perform. + +The wine-glass emptied, Bill proceeded in his narrative. + +"When I left here, I started intending in a direct course to go +home. Musingly I walked along, cursing my fate, and several other +things, too numerous to mention, and speculating upon the probable +success of our scheme, till I arrived in front of the old broker's. +He was just putting up his iron-clamped shutters. I was on the +opposite side, at some distance, yet not so far but that I plainly +saw him enter and pack snugly away in his little black trunk divers +articles of apparently great worth. I carelessly jingled the last +change in my pocket, of value about a dollar or so; and the thought +of soon being minus cash nerved me to the determination of robbing +the broker. Thus resolved, I hid myself behind a pile of boxes that +seemed placed there on purpose, till I heard the bolt spring, and +saw the broker, with the trunk beneath his arm, walk away. As he +entered that dark passage, 'Fogg-lane,' I pulled my cap down over my +face, and dogged him, keeping the middle of the passage; and, seeing +a favorable opportunity, I sprang upon him from behind, and snatched +the box; then left him to his fate. + +"I ran off as fast as my legs, urged on by the cry of 'stop thief,' +would carry me. Notwithstanding the speed at which I ran, I found +the crowd bearing down upon me; and, my hope almost failing, I had +resolved to give in and suffer the consequences, when, seeing a dark +lane, I ran into it, then dodged behind a pump. The crowd ran on; I +found I had escaped. Now, Harry, a friendly shake in honor of my +good luck." + +"As you say," answered Harry, "and it is my humble opinion you are +not entirely free from change." + +"Really, Harry, I don't know what the box contains; however, 't is +confounded heavy. It is full of gold or iron." + +"My face for a scrubber, if small change is n't pretty much the +contents; the fourpences and dimes lie pretty near together, friend +Bill." "But," continued Harry, "'t is best to secrete yourself, box +and all, till the law dogs are silenced. If they come here, I will +throw them a bone; but hark!-" + +The two remained silent; for the sound of approaching footsteps +momentarily grew more distinct. It sounded nearer, and now was in +front of the door. + +"To the closet," whispered Harry; and in a moment Mr. Lang was the +only occupant of the room. He was right in his supposition; for the +door opened; and the same man, in the same cloak, with the same +consequential air, accompanied by others, entered abruptly, and +interrogated Harry rather closely. "Positively, I know nothing about +him," said Mr. Lang. This declaration seemed to have a wonderful +effect upon each of the officers. They gazed steadfastly at him, +then at each other, and their features indicated their belief in +what he said. + +"Benevolent as I am," said the officer, "I must require a strict +search;--not that we suspect him to be on your premises, noble sir, +but my duty demands it." + +The officer, having thus far declared what he thought to be his +duty, proceeded to its performance by pushing open the doors through +which egress could be had to the street, and all others. As chance +would have it, the right door was by them unobserved. But where was +the fugitive? He had been hurried into a closet. It was not after +the manner of most closets. It was about three feet square, at one +side of which was a door communicating with the cellar, through +which any person might pass, and from thence into the street. He +could not stand long and listen to the loud converse of those +without. He felt himself in danger if he remained, and determined +upon leaving the closet. So, having passed into the cellar, he +entered the street. + +The night was dark; the hour late, and no persons stirring. Softly +he crept beneath the window, and, perceiving none in the room but +Harry, softly tapped the glass. Mr. Lang raised his arm, by which +signal Bill understood that he was aware of his having left the +closet. Then through back lanes, seldom pedestrianated, and narrow +passages, he wended his way, with his stolen treasure closely held +beneath the loose folds of his jacket. He passed on, till, reaching +a dark street, he beheld a dim light in a low oyster-cellar; he +entered. A black fellow was the proprietor, cook, &c. Bill asked for +lodgings. + +"Well, massa, dem I 'ave; but I always take pay in advance from +gemmen." + +Bill asked the price. + +"Wall, 'tis fourpance on a chest, and threepance on de floor." + +Mr. Bang availed himself of the best accommodations, and accepted +the chest. He stretched himself upon it, having settled the bill, +but slept little. His mind was continually roaming. Now he imagined +himself in the closet, with scarcely room to breathe, and an +officer's hand on the latch; now groping along untraversed paths, +till, falling into some hole, he awoke from his revery. + +'T was near the dawn of day when, from his house, accompanied by the +boy, Mr. Lang passed out in search of Bill. A light rain was +falling, and in perspective he saw a dull, drizzly sort of a day,--a +bad air for a low-spirited individual. The "blues" are contagious on +such a day. Yet he strove to keep his spirits up, and to make the +best of a bad job. + +As he passed by the office of the broker, he perceived a crowd, and +many anxious inquiries were heard respecting the robbery. It +appeared the broker had received but little injury, and was as busy +as any one in endeavoring to find out the rogue. Harry put on as +bold a face as possible, and inquired of the broker the +circumstances, which he very minutely narrated. + +"Have you any suspicions of any one?" inquired Mr. Lang. + +"Of no one," was the brief response. + +"It would be very sad if the rascal could not be found," continued +Mr. Lang. "The gallows is too good for one who would make such a +cowardly attack, and treat with such baseness one who never harmed +his fellow." + +"I am of your opinion," answered the broker; and the two, having +thus fully expressed their opinion, parted. + +Mr. Lang was not much troubled in finding his companion. He entered +the cellar just as the latter had arisen from his chesty couch, and +a cordial grasp of the hand bore witness that friends had met. + +Both were aware that the place in which they were was not of very +good repute, and made all possible haste to remove. But, to effect +this successfully, it was necessary that Mr. Lang should have a +change of dress. + +He was making this change when half a dozen men unexpectedly +entered. "You are my prisoner," said one, catching hold of Mr. Lang +by the coat-collar. "Tropes, secure the other." + +They were now both in custody, and the officers, after a little +search, discovered the broken box, and arrested the black man. + +"For what am I arrested?" inquired Mr. Lang. + +"That you will soon know," was the reply. + +"But I demand an answer now. I will not move a step till I get it." + +"What! what's that?" said a stout, rough-looking man, striking the +prisoner, and treating him more like a dog than what he was. + +"I demand an answer to my inquiry. For what am I arrested?" + +"He's a dangerous man," remarked another of the officers; "it's best +to put him in irons;" whereupon he drew from a capacious pocket a +pair of rusty manacles. Mr. Lang, and his two fellows in trouble, +found it best to coolly submit, and did so. Five minutes passed, and +the cold walls of a prison enclosed them. + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +Daylight breaks, and the dwellers upon a thousand hills rejoice in +the first rays of the morning sun. + +"Didst thou ever hear that promise, 'God will provide'? inquired a +pale, yet beautiful girl, as she bent over the form of a feverish +woman, in a small, yet neatly-furnished room. + +"Yes," was the reply; "and he who allows not a sparrow to fall +unnoticed, shall he not much more care for us? Yes, Julia, God will +provide. My soul, trust thou in God!" + +It was Mrs. Lang. The good lady who had befriended her was suddenly +taken ill, and as suddenly died. Mrs. Lang, with her daughter, left +the house, and, hiring a small room at an exorbitant rent, +endeavored, by the use of her needle, to live. She labored hard; the +morning's first light found her at her task, and midnight's silent +hour often found her there. The daughter too was there; together +they labored, and together shared the joys and sorrows of a worse +than widowed and orphaned state. Naturally of a feeble constitution, +Mrs. Lang could not long bear up under that labor, and fell. Then +that daughter was as a ministering angel, attending and watching +over her, and anticipating her every want. Long was she obliged to +labor to provide the necessaries of life; often working hard, and +receiving but ten to fifteen cents a day for that which, if paid for +as it should be, would have brought her a dollar. It was after +receiving her small pittance and having returned to her home, that +the words at the commencement of this chapter fell from her lips. +Her mother, with deep solicitude, inquired her success. + +"He says he can get those duck trousers made for three cents, and +that, if I will not make them for that, he can give me no more work. +You know, mother, that I work eighteen hours of the twenty-four, and +can but just make two pair,--that would be but six cents a day." + +"My child," said the mother, rising with unusual strength, "refuse +such a slavish offer. Let him not, in order to enrich himself, by +degrees take your life. Death's arrows have now near reached you. Do +not thus wear out your life. Let us die!" + +She would have said more; but, exhausted by the effort, she sank +back upon her pillow. Then came the inquiry, "Didst thou ever hear +that promise, 'God will provide'?" + +The question had been put, and the answer given, when a slight rap +at the door was heard. Julia opened it; a small package was hastily +thrust into her hand, and the bearer of it hasted away. It was a +white packet, bound with white ribbon, and with these words, "Julia +Lang," legibly written upon it. She opened it; a note fell upon the +floor; she picked it up, and read as follows: + +Enclosed you will find four five-dollar bills. You are in want; use +them, and, when gone, the same unknown hand will grant you more. + +"Let me break now a secret to you which I believe it is my duty to +divulge. You will recollect that your father mysteriously abandoned +you. He is now in this city, in--street jail, awaiting his trial. +I am confident that he is innocent, and will be honorably acquitted; +and I am as confident that it needs but your presence and your kind +entreaty to bring him back once again to his family and friends. I +have spoken to him, but my words have had no effect except when I +spoke of his family. Then I could see how hard he strove to conceal +a tear, and that I had found a tender chord, that needed but your +touch to cause it to work out a reformatory resolution. + +"I write because Mr. Lang was a friend of mine in his days of +prosperity. I know he has no heart for dishonesty; but, thinking +himself deserted by those who should cling to him, he madly resolved +to give himself up, and follow where fate should lead. Yours, truly, +"CHARLES B--. + +N.B. Others have also spoken with him; but their appeals have been +in vain. If you will be at the corner of L--avenue and W--street, +at three o'clock to-day, a carriage will be in readiness to convey +you to his presence. C. B. + +Anxiously did Mrs. Lang watch the features of her child as she stood +perusing the letter; and as she sat down with it unfolded, +apparently in deep thought, her inquisitiveness increased. She +inquired-she was told all. "Go," said she to her daughter, "and may +the blessings of Heaven attend you!" + +Julia stood wondering. She had doubted before; she feared it might +be the scheme of some base intriguer; but now her doubts vanished, +and hope cheered her on. + +Long seemed the intervening hours, and many were the predictions +made concerning the success of her mission; yet she determined to +go, in the spirit of Martin Luther, though every stone in the prison +should arise to persecute her. + +The appointed hour came, and, letter in hand, she left her room, and +repaired to the spot. There she found a carriage; and the driver, +who, it appeared, was acquainted with her, inquired whether she +desired to go to--street jail. Replying in the affirmative, she +entered, and the carriage drove off. When she had reached the +street, and came in full view of the prison, her timidity almost +overcame her; but, recollecting the object she had in view, she +resisted a desire that involuntarily arose to return. + +"Is the warden in?" inquired the driver of the gate-keeper. + +"He is;--another feast for the lion, eh?" and the keeper, who had +more self-assurance than manners, having laughed at his own +nonsense, pulled a bell-cord, and the warden appeared. + +"The gentleman who came this morning to see Mr. Lang wished me to +bring this young lady here, and introduce her to you as Mr. Lang's +daughter." Having said this, the hack-man let down the steps, and +aided her out. The gate-keeper retired into a sort of sentry-box, +and amused himself by peeping over the window-curtain, laughing very +immoderately when anything serious was said, and sustaining a very +grave appearance when anything having a shade of comicality +occurred. + +The warden very politely conducted Julia into his office, and soon +after into the jail. It was a long building inside of a building, +with two rows of cells one above the other, each numbered, and upon +each door a card, upon which was written, in characters only known +to the officers of the prison, the prisoner's name, crime, term of +imprisonment, and general conduct whilst confined. + +As Mr. Lang was waiting trial, he was not in one of these cells, but +in one of large dimensions, and containing more conveniences. + +As they entered, he was seated at a small table, with pen, ink and +paper, engaged in writing. He did not at first recognize his child, +but in a moment sprang to her, and clasping her in his arms, said, +"My child." + +Such a change in him needs some explanation. + +After being committed to prison, his first thought was upon the +change of his condition from what it formerly was; and his first +resolution was to reform. He thought of the deep plots he and his +companion had laid to amass a fortune; but, supposing that the +latter would be convicted, and condemned to serve a long time in +confinement, he concluded that that scheme was exploded. + +"Yet," thought he, "if there be none on earth I can call my +friends,--if my family forsake me (yet just would it be in them +should they reject my company),--of what avail would my reformation +be, except to a few dogging creditors, who would jeer and scoff at +me at every corner, and attempt to drive me back to my present +situation? It might be some satisfaction to them to see me return; +but what feelings would it arouse within me,--with what hatred would +I view mankind! No; if none will utter a kind word to me, let me +continue on; let the prison be my home, and the gallows my end, +rather than attempt to reform while those who were once my friends +stand around to drive me lack by scoffing remarks!" + +Such were the sincere thoughts of Mr. Lang. He would return, but +none stood by to welcome him. A few had visited him, most of whom +had severely reflected upon his misdeeds. They opened a dark +prospect for him in the future. "Now," said they, "you must here +remain; receive retribution for your evil deeds, and a sad warning +to others not to follow in your steps, lest they arrive at the same +goal." Was there encouragement in this? Surely not; he deemed them +not the words of friendship, and he was right in his judgment. + +"Why did you visit this dark prison?" inquired Mr. Lang. + +"Because you are here, father!" was the artless reply. + +"And could you forgive your father? How could you seek him, when he +forsook you?" Mr. Lang could not make this last observation without +becoming affected even to tears. + +Julia seemed to take courage; new energies seemed to be imparted to +her. She felt an unseen influence at her side, and a holy calmness +resting upon her soul. + +"Prison-walls cannot bar you from my heart, though in the worst +place on earth. Though friends laugh me to scorn when I seek your +presence, you are my father still, and ungrateful would I be did I +not own you as such! + +"In thinking of the present, I do not forget the past; I remember +the days of old, the years in which we were made glad;--and you, +father, when free from these walls, will you not return again to +your family, and make home what it once was? To-day I will see Mr. +Legrange; he wants a clerk, and, by a little persuasion, I am +certain I can get you the situation. Will you not reform?" + +She could say no more; yet her actions spoke louder than words could +possibly do, and her imploring attitude went home to the heart of +her parent. He, for the first time since the commencement of his +wayward course, felt that the hand of sympathy was extended to greet +him, should he make a motion to return. And why should he not grasp +it? He did. There, in that prison-cell, upon his knees, he promised +to repent and return. + +"Pleasant residence, Miss!" said the gate-keeper, as our heroine +left the yard, and then laughed as though he had committed a pun +that would immortalize him from that time forth. + +She noticed not his ill-mannered remark, but, reentering the +carriage, thought of nothing but the joy her mother would feel upon +learning her success, till the carriage stopped and the driver let +down the steps. Having related her adventure, she left her home with +the intention of seeing Mr. Legrange. + +Mr. Legrange was a merchant on Cadiz wharf; he was wealthy, and as +benevolent as wealthy. Notices were often seen in the papers of +large donations from him to worthy institutions, sometimes one and +sometimes three thousand dollars. His fellow-men looked upon him as +a blessing to the age. There was no aristocracy in him; he did not +live like a prince in the costliest house in the city, but a small, +neat tenement was pointed out as his abode. Not only was he called +the "Poor Man's Friend," but his associate and companion. He did not +despise the poor man, and wisely thought that to do him good he must +live and be upon an equality with him. + +Mr. Legrange had just opened an evening paper, when a light rap at +his counting-house door induced him to lay it aside. Opening it, a +young woman inquired if Mr. Legrange was in. + +"That is my name," was the reply. "Good-morning, Miss Lang." + +Julia was rejoiced that she was recognized. She had not spoken to +Mr. Legrange since her father's failure in business; previous to +that sad occurrence she had known him personally, yet she scarcely +thought he would know her now. + +"This is a lovely day," said Mr. Legrange, handing her a chair. +"Your mother is well, I hope." + +"As well as might be expected: she will recover fast, now." + +"Indeed! What? Some glad news?" + +"Yes, sir; father is in the city, and has reformed." + +"Thank God for that!" said Mr. Legrange. "It is one of the blessings +of this life to hope for better days." + +"He has reformed," continued Miss Lang, "yet he may be led back +unless he gets steady employment; and I heard that--" + +"--that I want a clerk," said Mr. Legrange, anticipating her in her +remarks; "and," continued he, "your father is just the man I want. I +knew him in his better days, before a fatal misstep felled him to +the ground. Miss Lang, let your father call next Tuesday; to-morrow +I start on a journey, and shall not return till then." + +With many sincere thanks, Julia left the room; her heart overflowed +with gratitude to the Giver of all things. She saw his hand and felt +his presence. + +It was well that Mr. Legrange was about to leave the city, as Mr. +Lang's examination was to be had the next day, and Mrs. Lang and her +daughter confidently expected he would be acquitted. + +The morrow came; the examination began and terminated as they had +expected. William Bang was remanded back to prison to await his +trial for robbery. Mr. Lang was acquitted, and, joining a company of +friends whom Julia had collected, left for the residence of his +family. + +What a meeting was that! Angels could but weep for joy at such a +scene, and drop their golden harps to wipe away their tears of +gladness. Long had been their separation. What scenes had the +interval disclosed! And how changed were all things! She was in +health when he left, but now in sickness; yet it was not strange. + +That day was the happiest he had spent for many months, and he +rejoiced that an angel of light, his daughter, had sought him out. +She had been, indeed, a ministering spirit of good to him, and in +the happy scene then around her she found her reward,--O, how +abundant! + +With a light and joyous step did Henry Lang repair to the store of +Mr. Legrange. The sun's rays were just peering over the house-tops, +and he thought that he, like that sun, was just rising from +degradation to assume new life, and put forth new energy. + +We need not lengthen out our the by narrating what there ensued. He +that day commenced his clerkship, and to this day holds it. He often +received liberal donations from his employer in token of his regard +for him, and by way of encouraging him in his attempts to regain his +lost fortune. + +It was on a December evening that a family circle had gathered +around their fireside. The wild wind whistled furiously around, and +many a poor wight lamented the hard fate that led him abroad to +battle the storm. "Two years ago this night," said the man, "where +was I? In an obscure house, planning out a way to injure a +fellow-man! Yea, would you believe it? the very man who has since +been my benefactor,--my employer!" + +The door-bell rang, and the conversation was abruptly terminated. + +In a few minutes none other than Mr. Legrange entered; he received a +hearty welcome, and was soon engaged in conversation. + +"Mr. Lang," said he, as he was about to depart, "your daughter +remembers receiving an anonymous letter signed 'Charles B--.' I do +not say it to please my own vanity, but I ordered my clerk to write +it, and sent it by my son. I thought of you when you little thought +you had a friend on earth who cared for you, and rejoice that I have +been the humble instrument in effecting your reformation." + +"Here," he continued, handing him a paper, "this is the deed of a +house on--street, valued at eight thousand dollars; accept it as a +present from me to you and your family, and remember this, that a +kind word is of more value than gold or precious stones. It was that +which saved you, and by that you may save others. Good-evening; I +will see you at the store tomorrow." + +Having said this, he left, waiting not to receive the thanks that +grateful hearts desired to render him. + +And now, reader, our story is ended. If you have followed us thus +far, neglect not to receive what we have faintly endeavored to +inculcate; and ever remember, while treading life's thorny vale, +that "a kind word is of more value than gold or precious stones." + + + + + + +THE LOVE OF ELINORE. + + + + + + SHE stood beside the sea-shore weeping, + While above her stars were keeping + Vigils o'er the silent deep; + While all others, wearied, slumbered, + She the passing moments numbered, + She a faithful watch did keep. + Him she loved had long departed, + And she wandered, broken-hearted, + Breathing songs he loved to hear. + Friends did gather round to win her, + But the thoughts that glowed within her + Were to her most fond and dear. + In her hand she held bright flowers, + Culled from Nature's fairest bowers; + On her brow, from moor and heath, + Bright green leaves and flowers did cluster, + Borrowing resplendent lustre + From the eyes that shone beneath. + Rose the whisper, "She is crazy," + When she plucked the blooming daisy, + Braiding it within her hair; + But they knew not, what of gladness + Mingled with her notes of sadness, + As she laid it gently there. + For her loved one, ere he started, + While she still was happy-hearted, + Clipped a daisy from its stem, + Placed it in her hair, and told her, + Till again he should behold her, + That should be her diadem. + At the sea-side she was roaming, + When the waves were madly foaming, + And when all was calm and mild, + Singing songs,--she thought he listened,-- + And each dancing wave that glistened + Loved she as a little child. + For she thought, in every motion + Of the ceaseless, moving ocean, + She could see a friendly hand + Stretched towards the shore imploring, + Where she stood, like one adoring, + Beckoning to a better land. + When the sun was brightly shining, + When the daylight was declining, + On the shore she'd watch and wait, + Like an angel, heaven-descending, + 'Mid the ranks of mortals wending, + Searching for a missing mate. + Years passed on, and when the morning + Of a summer's day gave warning + Of the sweets it held in store, + By the dancing waves surrounded, + Like a fairy one she bounded + To her lover's arms once more. + Villagers thus tell the story, + And they say a light of glory + Hovereth above the spot + Where for days and years she waited, + With a love all unabated, + And a faith that faltered not. + There's a stone that is uplifted, + Where the wild sea-flowers have drifted; + Fonder words no stone o'er bore; + And the waves come up to greet them, + Seeming often to repeat them, + While afar their echoes roar- + "DEATHLESS LOVE OF ELINORE." + + + + + + +'TIS SWEET TO BE REMEMBERED. + + + + + + 'T IS sweet to be remembered + In the turmoil of this life, + While toiling up its pathway, + While mingling in its strife, + While wandering o'er earth's borders, + Or sailing o'er its sea,-- + 'T is sweet to be remembered + Wherever we may be. + What though our path be rugged, + Though clouded be our sky, + And none we love and cherish, + No friendly one is nigh, + To cheer us in our sorrow, + Or share with us our lot,-- + 'T is sweet to be remembered, + To know we're not forgot. + When those we love are absent + From our hearth-stone and our side, + With joy we learn that pleasure + And peace with them abide; + And that, although we're absent, + We're thought of day by day;-- + 'T is sweet to be remembered + By those who are away. + When all our toils are ended, + The conflict all is done, + And peace, in sweetest accents, + Proclaims the victory won; + When hushed is all the tumult, + When calmed is all the strife, + And we, in patience, meekly + Await the end of life: + Then they who, when not present, + In spirit yet were near, + And, as we toiled and struggled, + Did whisper in our ear, + "'Tis sweet to be remembered, + And thou art not forgot," + If fortune smile upon us, + Shall share our happy lot. + + + + + + +I CALL THEE MINE. + + + + + + YES, ever such I'll call thee, will ever call thee mine, + And with the love I bear thee a wreath of poesy twine; + And when the stars are shining in their bright home of blue, + Gazing on them, thou mayest know that I like them are true. + Forget thee! no, O, never! thy heart and mine are one. + How can the man who sees its light forget the noonday sun? + Or he who feels its genial warmth forget the orb above; + Or, feeling sweet affection's power, its source-another's love? + Go, ask the child that sleepeth upon its mother's breast + Whether it loves the pillow on which its head doth rest; + Go, ask the weary mariner, when the dangerous voyage is o'er, + Whether he loves the parent's smile that meets him at the door: + But ask not if I love thee when I would call thee mine, + For words are weak to tell thee all, and I the task resign; + But send thy spirit out for love, and when it finds its goal, + 'T will be encircled and embraced within my deepest soul. + + + + + + +THE OLD TREE AND ITS LESSON. + + + + + +THERE is a story about that old tree; a biography of that old +gnarled trunk and those broad-spread branches. + +Listen. + +Many, very many years ago,--there were forests then where now are +cities, and the Indian song was borne on that breeze which now bears +the sound of the Sabbath bell, and where the fire of the work-shop +sends up its dense, black smoke, the white cloud from the Indian's +wigwam arose,--yes, 't was many years ago, when, by the door of a +rough, rude, but serviceable dwelling, a little boy sat on an old +man's knee. He was a bright youth, with soft blue eyes, from which +his soul looked out and smiled, and hair so beautiful that it seemed +to be a dancing sunbeam rather than what it really was. + +The old man had been telling him of the past; had been telling him +that when he was a child he loved the forest, and the rock, and the +mountain stream. + +Then he handed the lad a small, very small seed, and, leading him a +short distance, bade him make a small hole in the ground and place +the seed within it. He did so. And the old man bent over and kissed +his fair brow as he smoothed the earth above the seed's +resting-place, and told him that he must water it and watch it, and +it would spring up and become a fair thing in his sight. + +'Twas hard for the child to believe this; yet he did believe, for he +knew that his friend was true. + +Night came; and, as he lay on his little couch, the child dreamed of +that seed, and he had a vision of the future which passed with the +shades of the night. + +Morning dawned, and he hastened to water and to watch the spot where +the seed was planted. + +It had not come up; yet he believed the good old man, and knew that +it would. + +All day long he was bending over it, or talking with his aged +companion about the buried seed. + +A few days passed, then a little sprout; burst from the ground; and +the child clapped his hands, and shouted and danced. + +Daily it grew fairer in the sight of the child, and rose higher and +higher. And the old man led him once more to the spot, and told him +that even so would the body of his little sister rise from the grave +in which a short time before it hid been placed, and, rising higher +and higher, it would never cease to ascend. + +The old man wept; but the child, with his tiny white hand, brushed +away his tears, and, with child-like simplicity, said that if his +sister arose she would go to God, for God was above. + +Then the mourner's heart was strengthened, and the lesson he would +have taught the child came from the child to him, and made his soul +glad. + +A few weeks passed, and the old man died. + +The child wept; but, remembering the good friend's lesson, he wiped +away his tears, and wept no more; for the seed had already become a +beautiful plant, and every day it went upward, and he knew that, +like that, his sister and his good friend would go higher and higher +towards God. + +Days, weeks, months, years passed away. The plant had grown till it +was taller than he who had planted it. + +Years fled. The child was no more there, but a young man sat beneath +the shade of a tree, and held a maiden's hand in his own. Her head +reclined on his breast, and her eyes upturned met the glances of his +towards her, and they blended in one. + +"I remember," said he, "that when I was young a good old man who is +now in heaven, led me to this spot, and bade me put a little seed in +the earth. I did so. I watched the ground that held it, and soon it +sprang up, touched by no hand, drawn forth, as it would seem, from +its dark prison by the attractive power of the bright heaven that +shone above it. See, now, what it has become! It shades and shelters +us. God planted in my heart a little seed. None but he could plant +it, for from him only emanates true love. It sprang up, drawn forth +by the sunlight of thy soul, till now thou art shadowed and +sheltered by it." + +There was silence, save the rustle of the leaves as the branches +bowed assent to the young man's words. + +Time drove his chariot on; his sickle-wheels smote to earth many +brave and strong, yet the tree stood. The winds blew fiercely among +its branches; the lightning danced and quivered above and around it; +the thunder muttered forth its threatenings; the torrent washed +about its roots; yet it stood, grew strong and stately, and many a +heart loved it for its beauty and its shade. + +The roll of the drum sounded, and beneath a tree gathered crowds of +stalwart men. There was the mechanic, with upturned sleeves and +dusty apron; the farmer, fanning himself with a dingy straw hat; the +professional man and trader, arguing the unrighteousness of +"taxation without representation." + +Another roll of the drum, and every head was uncovered as a young +man ascended a platform erected beneath the tree. In a soft, low +voice, he began. As he proceeded, his voice grew louder, and his +eloquence entranced his auditors. + +"Years ago," said he, "there were an old man and a young child. And +the child loved the man, and the man loved the child, and taught him +a lesson. He took him by the hand, and, leading him aside, gave him +a seed and told him to plant it. He did so. It sprang up. It became +mighty. Independent it stood, sheltering all who came unto it. That +old man went home; but here stands the child, and here the tree, +great and mighty now, but the child has not forgotten the day when +it was small and weak. So shall the cause we have this day espoused +go on; and though, to-day, we may be few and feeble, we shall +increase and grow strong, till we become an independent nation, that +shall shelter all who come unto it." + +The speaker ceased, and immediately the air resounded with loud +shouts and huzzas. + +The struggle for independence came. Victory ensued. Peace rested +once more upon all the land, But not as before. It rested upon a +free people. Then, beneath that same tree, gathered a mighty host; +and, as oft as came the second month of summer, in the early part of +it the people there assembled, and thanked God for the lesson of the +old tree. + +An old man lay dying. Around his bedside were his children and his +children's children. + +"Remove the curtain," said he. "Open the window. Raise me, and let +re see the sun once more." + +They did so. + +"See you yonder tree? Look upon it, and listen. I was a child once, +and I knew and loved an old man; and he knew me and loved me, and he +led me aside, placed in my hand a tiny seed, and bade me bury it in +the earth, and I did so. Night came, with its shade and its dew; +day, with its sunshine and its showers. And the seed sprang +up,--but the old man died. Yet, ere he went, he had taught me the +lesson of that seed, which was, that those who go down to the earth +like that, will arise, like that, towards heaven. You are looking +upon that tree which my friend planted. Learn from it the lesson it +hath taught me." + +The old man's task was performed, his life finished, and the +morrow's light lit the pathway of many to his grave. They stood +beneath the shadow of that tree; and deeply sank the truth in every +heart as the village pastor began the burial service and read, "I am +the resurrection and the life." + + + + + + +VOICES FROM THE SPIRIT-LAND. + + + + + + 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; + And they, words of comfort whispering, + Say they'll watch on every hand, + And my soul is cheered in hearing + Voices from the spirit-land. + In my wanderings, oft there cometh + Sudden stillness to my soul; + When around, above, within it + Rapturous joys unnumbered 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. + Loved ones who have gone before me + Whisper words of peace and joy; + Those who long since have departed + Tell me their divine employ + Is to watch and guard my footsteps,-- + O! it is an angel band! + And I love, I love to list to + Voices from the spirit-land. + + + + + + +THE BEACON-LIGHT. + + + + + + DIMLY burns the beacon-light + On the mountain top to-night; + Faint as whisper ever fell, + Falls the watcher's cry,--"All's well;" + For the clouds have met on high, + And the blast sweeps angry by; + Not a star is seen this night,-- + God, preserve the beacon-light! + Lo! a man whom age doth bow + Wanders up the pathway now; + Wistfully his eye he turns + To the light that dimly burns; + And, as it less glow doth shed, + Quicker, quicker is his tread; + And he prays that through the night + God may keep the beacon-light. + Far below him, rocks and waves + Mark the place of others' graves; + Other travellers, who, like him, + Saw the beacon-light burn dim. + But they trusted in their strength + To attain the goal at length;-- + This old traveller prays, to-night, + "God, preserve the beacon-light!" + Fainter, fainter is its ray,-- + Shall its last gleam pass away? + Shall it be extinguished quite? + Shall it burn, though not as bright? + Fervently goes up his prayer; + Patiently he waiteth there, + Trusting Him who doeth right + To preserve the beacon-light. + Look you now! the light hath burst + Brighter than it was at first; + Now with ten-fold radiance glows, + And the traveller homeward goes. + As the clouds grow darker o'er him, + Brighter grows the light before him; + God, who doeth all things right, + Hath preserved the beacon-light. + Thus upon the path we tread + God a guiding light hath shed; + Though at times our hearts are weary, + Though the path we tread is dreary, + Though the beacon's lingering ray + Seems as if 't would pass away,-- + Be our prayer, through all the night, + "God, preserve the beacon-light!" + Threatening clouds may gather o'er us, + Countless dangers rise before us: + If in God we seek for strength, + He will succor us at length: + He his holy light will send, + To conduct us to the end. + Trust thy God, through day and night, + He'll preserve thy beacon-light. + + + + + + +BEAR UP. + + + + + + BEAR up, bear up, though Poverty may press thee, + There's not a flower that's crushed that does not shed, + While bowing low, its fragrance forth to bless thee, + At times, more sweet than when it raised its head; + + When sunlight gathered round it, + + When dews of even crowned it, + By nature nursed, and watched, and from its bounty fed + Bear up, bear up! O, never yield nor falter! + God reigneth ever, merciful and just; + If thou despairest, go thou to his altar, + Rest on his arm, and in his promise trust. + + There Hope, bright Hope, will meet thee; + + There Joy, bright Joy, shall greet thee; + And thou shalt rise to thrones on high from out the dust. + + + + + + +A WELCOME SONG TO SPRING. + + + + + + SHOUT a welcoming to Spring! + Hail its early buds and flowers! + It is hastening on to bring + Unto us its joyous hours. + Birds on bough and brake are singing, + All the new-clad woods are ringing; + In the brook, see Nature flinging + Beauties of a thousand dyes, + + As if jealous of the beauties + Mantling the skies. + Hail to Beauty! Hail to Mirth! + All Creation's song is gladness; + Not a creature dwells on earth + God would have bowed down in sadness! + Everything this truth is preaching, + God in all his works is teaching, + As if man by them beseeching + To be glad, for he doth bless; + + And to trust him, for he's mighty + In his tenderness. + + + + + + +THE HOPE OF THE FALLEN. + +CHAPTER I. + + + + + +IT was at the close of a beautiful autumnal day that Edward Dayton +was to leave the place of his nativity. For many years he had looked +forward, in joyous anticipation, to the time when he should repair +to the city, and enter upon the business of life. And now that that +long looked-for and wished-for day had arrived, when he was to bid +an adieu to the companions of his youth, and to all the scenes of +his childhood, it was well for him to cast a retrospective glance; +and so he did. + +Not far distant, rearing its clear white steeple far above the +trees, stood the village church, up the broad, uncarpeted aisle of +which he had scores of times passed; and, as the thought that he +might never again enter those sacred walls came to his mind, a tear +glistened in his eye that he could not rudely wipe away. + +Next was the cot of the pastor. He had grown old in the service of +his Master, and the frosts of nearly three-score winters rested +their glory upon his head. All loved and respected him, for with +them he had wept, and with them he had rejoiced. Many had fallen +around him; withered age and blooming youth he had followed to the +grave; yet he stood forth yet, and, with clear and musical voice, +preached the truths of God. + +An old gray building, upon whose walls the idler's knife had carved +many a rude inscription, was the village school. There, amid those +carvings, were seen the rough-hewn initials of many a man now +"well-to-do in the world." Some, high above the rest, seemed as +captains, and almost over-shadowed the diminutive ones of the little +school-boy, placed scarce thirty inches from the ground. + +Edward was a pet among the villagers. He had taken the lead in all +the frolickings, and many a bright-eyed lass would miss his +presence, and loud, clear laugh, at the coming "huskings." + +Young and old reluctantly bade him "good-by," and, as the stage +wound its circuitous way from the village, from many a heart +ascended a prayer that He who ruleth over all would prosper and +protect him. + +"Good luck to him, God bless him!" said dame Brandon, as she entered +the house. "He was always a kind, well-meant lad," she continued, +"and dame Brandon knows no evil can befall him; and Emily, my dear, +you must keep your eye on some of the best fruit of the orchard, for +he will be delighted with it, and much the more so if he knows your +bright eyes watched its growth and your hands gathered it." + +These words were addressed to a girl of seventeen, who stood at an +open window, in quite a pensive mood. She seemed not to hear the +remark, but gazed in the direction the stage had passed. + +The parents of Edward had died when he was quite young, and he, +their only child, had been left to the care and protection of dame +Brandon; and well had she cared for him, and been as a mother to the +motherless. + +"Now, Emi', don't fret! Edward won't forget you. I've known him +long; he has got a heart as true as steel." + +'T was not this that made her sad. She had no fears that he would +forget his Emi', but another thought pressed heavily on her mind, +and she said, + +"But, aunty, city life is one of danger. Temptations are there we +little think of, and stronger hearts than Edward's have quailed +beneath their power." + +"Well done!" quoth Mrs. B., looking over her glasses; "a sermon, +indeed, quite good for little you. But girls are timid creatures; +they start and are frightened at the least unusual sound." She +assumed a more serious manner, and, raising her finger, pointing +upwards, said, "But know you not there is a Power greater than that +of which you speak?" + +Emily seemed to be cheered by this thought. She hummed over a +favorite air, and repaired to the performance of her evening duties. + +Emily Brandon was a lovely creature, and of this Edward Dayton was +well aware. He had spent his early days with her. His most happy +hours had been passed in her company. Together they had frolicked +over the green fields, and wandered by their clear streams. Hours +passed as minutes when in each other's company; and, when separated, +each minute seemed an hour. + +Now, for the first time, they were separated; and ever and anon, as +she passed about at her work, she cast a fitful glance from the +window, as if it were possible he might return. + +How she wished she could have gone with him, to gently chide when +sinners should entice, and lead him from error's path, should gay +temptation lure him therein! She was young in years, yet old in +discretion; and had a heart that yearned for the good of all. + +"Well, aunt," said she, "I hope good luck will betide him, but sad +thoughts will come when I think of what he will have to bear up +under." + +"O, hush!" said the old lady; "simple girls have simple stories." + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +It was a late hour in the evening that the coach entered the +metropolis. Railroads were not then in vogue, and large +baggage-waggons, lumbering teams and clumsy coaches, were drawn by +two or more horses, over deep-rutted roads, and almost endless +turnpikes. + +The bells had-rang their nine o'clock peal; most of the stores were +closed; the busy trader and industrious mechanic had gone to their +respective homes, and left their property to faithful watchers, +whose muffled forms moved slowly through the streets of the great +city. + +Not all had left their work; for, by the green and crimson light +that streamed from his window, and served to partially dissipate the +darkness, it was seen that he of pestle and mortar labored on, or, +wearied with his labor, had fallen asleep, but to be awakened by the +call of some customer, requesting an antidote for one of the many +"ills which flesh is heir to." + +Other open places there were, whose appearance indicated that they +were bar-rooms, for at their windows stood decanters filled with +various-colored liquids. Near each of these stood a wine-glass in an +inverted position, with a lemon upon it; yet, were not any of these +unmistakable signs to be seen, you would know the character of the +place by a rumseller's reeling sign, that made its exit, and, +passing a few steps, fell into the gutter. + +In addition to these other signs, were seen scattered about the +windows of these places, in characters so large that he who ran +might read, "Bar-room," "Egg-pop," "N. E. Rum," etc. + +Those were the days of bar-room simplicities. "Saloons" were not +then known. The refined names which men of the present day have +attached to rum, gin and brandy, were not then in use. There were no +"Wormwood-floaters" to embitter man's life, and Jewett had not had +his "fancy." + +The coach rolled on, and in a short time Edward was safely ensconced +in a neatly-furnished room in a hotel known as "The Bull's Horn." It +was indeed a great disadvantage to him that he came to a city in +which he was a total stranger. He had no acquaintance to greet him +with a friendly welcome; and the next day, as he was jostled by the +crowd, and pushed aside by the hurried pedestrian, he realized what +it was to be a stranger in a strange land, and an indescribable +sensation came upon him, known only to those who have been placed in +similar circumstances. + +He looked around,--strange forms met his view. No one greeted him, no +hand of friendship was held forth to welcome him. All the world +seemed rushing on for something, he knew not what; and, disheartened +at the apparent selfishness that pervaded society, he returned to +his room, and wished for the quietness of his own sweet village, the +companionship of his own dear Emi'. + +The landlord of the tavern at which our hero had housed himself was +a stout, burly man, and quite communicative. From him Edward learned +much of importance. Mr. Blinge was his name. He was an inveterate +smoker, and his pet was a little black pipe, dingy and old, and by +not a few deemed a nuisance to "The Bull's Horn." This he held +between his teeth, and, seating himself behind his bar, puffed away +on the high-pressure principle. + +Edward had not been many minutes in his room before Mr. Blinge +entered with his pet in his mouth, hoped he did n't intrude, +apologized, and wished him to walk below, saying that by so doing he +might become acquainted with some "rare souls." + +By "below" was meant a large, square room, on the ground floor, of +dimensions ample enough to hold a caucus in. By some it was called a +"bar-room," by others the "sitting-room," and others the +"gentlemen's parlor." + +Entering, Edward encountered the gaze of about twenty individuals. +Old gentlemen with specs looked beneath them, and young gentlemen +with papers looked above them. A young man in white jacket and green +apron was endeavoring to satisfy the craving appetites of two +teamsters, who were loudly praising the landlord's brandy, and +cursing the bad state of the roads in a manner worthy of "our army +in Flanders." + +One young man, in particular, attracted the attention of our hero. +He was genteelly dressed, and possessed an air of dignity and +self-command, that would obtain for him at once the good will of +any. Edward was half inclined to believe his circumstances to be +somewhat similar to his own. He was reading an evening paper, but, +on seeing our hero enter, and judging from his manner that he was a +stranger, laid it aside, and, politely addressing himself to him, +inquired after his health. + +The introduction over, they engaged in conversation. The young man +seemed pleased in making his acquaintance, and expressed a hope that +a friendship so suddenly formed might prove lasting and beneficial +to each. + +"I also am from the country," said he, after Edward had informed him +of his history, "and, like you, am in search of employment. Looking +over the evening paper, I noticed an advertisement of a concern for +sale, which I thought, as I read, would be a capital chance to make +a fortune, if I could find some one to invest in it with me. I will +read it to you. + +For SALE.-The stock and stand of a Confectioner, with a good +business, well established. One or two young men will find this a +rare opportunity to invest their money advantageously. For other +particulars inquire at No. 7 Cresto-st. + +"Now, I tell you what," said the young man, before Edward had an +opportunity to utter a word, "it is a fine chance. Why, Lagrange +makes enough on his wines and fancy cordials to clothe and feed a +regiment. Just pass there, some evening, and you will see a perfect +rush. Soda-water, ice creams, and French wines, are all the rage, +and Lagrange is the only man in this city that can suit the bon +ton!" + +"You half induce me to go there," said Edward. "How far is it from +this place?" + +"Not far, but it is too late; to-morrow morning we will go there. +Here, take my card-Othro Treves is my name; you must have known my +father; a member of Congress for ten years, when he died;--rather +abused his health-attended parties at the capital-drank wine to +excess,--took a severe cold-fell ill one day, worse the next, sick +the next, and died soon after. Wine is bad when excessively indulged +in; so is every good thing." + +Edward smiled at this running account of his new-formed +acquaintance, and, bidding him "good-night," betook himself to his +chamber, intending to accompany Othro to the confectioner's in the +morning. + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +The next morning the sun shone bright and clear in a cloudless sky, +and all were made joyous by its gladsome rays. + +Edward was awakened at an early hour by the departure or +preparations to depart, of the two teamsters, who, having patronized +rather freely the young man in white jacket and green apron, were in +a delightful mood to enjoy a joke, and were making themselves quite +merry as they harnessed up their sturdy horses. + +It was near nine when Othro and Edward found themselves on the way +to the confectioner's. Edward was glad on account of finding one +whom he thought he could trust as a friend, and congratulated +himself on his good luck. + +Near the head of Cresto-street might have been seen, not many years +since, over the door of a large and fashionable store, a sign-board +bearing this inscription: "M. Lagrange, Confectioner and Dealer in +Wines and Cordials." We say it was "large and fashionable;" and +those of our readers who recollect the place of which we speak will +testify to the truth of our assertion. + +Its large windows, filled with jars of confectionary and preserves, +and with richly-ornamented bottles of wine, with the richest pies +and cake strewed around, presented a showy and inviting appearance, +and a temptation to indulge, too powerful to resist, by children of +a larger growth than lisping infants and primary-school boys. Those +who daily passed this store looked at the windows most wistfully; +and this was not all, for, at their weekly reckonings, they found +that several silver "bits" had disappeared very mysteriously during +the previous seven days. + +To this place our hero and his newly-formed acquaintance were now +hastening. As they drew near, quite a bevy of ladies made their exit +therefrom, engaged in loud conversation. + +"Lor!" said one, "it is strange Lagrange advertised to sell out." + +"Why, if I was his wife," said another, "I'd whip him into my +traces, I would; an' he shouldn't sell out unless I was willin',--no, +he shouldn't! Only think, Miss Fitzgabble, how handy those wines +would be when one has a social soul step in!" + +"O yes," replied Miss Fitzgabble, "and those jars of lozenges! How +enchantingly easy to elevate the lid upon a Sabbath morn, slip in +one's hand, and subtract a few! How I should smell of sassafras, if +I was Mrs. Lagrange!" + +The ladies passed on, and were soon out of hearing. Edward and his +companion entered the store, where about a dozen ladies and +gentlemen were seated, discussing the fashions, forging scandal, and +sipping wine. + +Mr. Lagrange was actively engaged when the two entered; but, seeing +them, and supposing them to have called on the business for which +they actually had called, he called to one of the attendants to fill +his place, and entered into conversation with Messrs. Dayton and +Treves, which in due time was terminated, they agreeing to call +again the next day. + +First impressions are generally the most lasting. Those Edward and +Othro received during their visit and subsequent conversation were +favorable to the purchase. + +On their return they consulted together for a long time, and finally +concluded to go that day, instead of waiting till the next, and make +Mr. Lagrange an offer of which they had no doubt he would accept. + +Mr. Lagrange's chief object in selling out was that he might +disengage himself from business. He had been a long time in it; he +was getting somewhat advanced in life, and had accumulated +sufficient to insure him against want, and he deemed it best to step +out, and give room to the young-an example worthy of general +imitation. + +That the business was profitable there could be no doubt. As Othro +had said, the profit on the wines was indeed immense. + +On pleasant evenings the store was crowded; and, as it was filled +with the young, gay, and fashionable of wealthy rank, not much +difficulty was experienced in obtaining these large profits. + +The return of the young men was not altogether unexpected by Mr. +Lagrange. He was ready to receive them. He set before them his best +wines. They drank freely, praised the wine, and extolled the store, +for they thought it admirably calculated to make a fortune in. + +Mr. Lagrange imparted to them all the information they desired. They +made him an offer, which he accepted, after some thought; and +arrangements were entered into by which Messrs. Dayton and Treves +were to take possession on the morning of the following Monday. + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + +No one commences business without the prospect of success. Assure a +man he will not succeed, and he will be cautious of the steps he +takes, if, indeed, he takes any. + +If he does not expect to gain a princely fortune; he expects to earn +a comfortable subsistence, and, at the same time, accumulate enough +to shelter him in a rainy day, and be enabled to walk life's busy +stage in comfort and respectability, and, as occasion may demand, +relieve the wants of his less fortunate brethren. + +For this all hope, yet the experience of thousands shows that few, +very few, ever realize it. On the contrary, disappointment, in its +thousand malignant forms, starts up on every hand; yet they struggle +on, and in imagination see more prosperous days in the future. Thus +they hope against hope, till the green sod covers their bodies, and +they leave their places to others, whilst the tale is told in these +few words: "They lived and died." + +The next Monday the citizens were notified, by the removal of his +old sign, that Mr. Lagrange had retired from business. During the +day, many of Mr. Lagrange's customers came in, that they might +become acquainted with the successors of their old friend. To these +Messrs. Dayton and Treves were introduced, and from them received +promise of support. + +A colored man, who had been for a long time in the employ of Mr. +Lagrange, was retained in the employ of the store. Ralph Orton was +his name. He having been for a long time in the store, and during +that time having had free access to the wines, had formed an +appetite for them, in consequence of which he was often intoxicated. + +His inebriation was periodical, and not of that kind whose subjects +are held in continual thraldom; yet, to use his own words, "when he +was drunk, he was drunk, and no mistake." He obeyed the old +injunction of "what is worth doing is worth doing well," and as long +as he got drunk he got well drunk. + +He had ofttimes been reasoned with in his days of soberness, and had +often promised to reform; but so many around him drank that he could +not resist the temptation to drink also, and therefore broke his +promise. This habit had so fastened itself upon him, that, like one +in the coil of the serpent, the more he strove to escape the closer +it held him. + +If there is any one habit to which if a man becomes attached he will +find more difficulty to escape from than another, it is that of +intemperance; yet all habits are so one with our nature that the +care taken to guard against the adoption of evil ones cannot be too +great. + +Behold that man! He was tempted,--he yielded. He has surrendered a +noble estate, and squandered a large fortune. Once he had riches and +friends; his eye sparkled with the fire of ambition; hope and joy +beamed in each feature of his manly countenance, and all bespoke for +him a long life and happy death. Look at him now! without a penny in +his pocket, a wretched outcast, almost dead with starvation. Habit +worked the change-an evil habit. + +Perchance some one in pity may bestow a small sum upon him. Utterly +regardless of the fact that his wife and children are at home +shivering over a few expiring embers that give no warmth, without a +crumb to appease their hunger, and although he himself a moment +before believed that if aid did not come speedily he must perish, he +hastens to the nearest groggery, and, laying down his money, calls +for that which has brought upon him and his such woe. + +If there is any scene upon earth over which demons joy, it must be +when that rumseller takes that money. + +This propensity of Ralph's was a serious objection to him as a +servant; yet, in every other respect, he was all that could be +desired. He was honest, faithful and obliging, and, knowing as they +did that he was well acquainted with the trade of the city, and +could go directly to the houses of Mr. Lagrange's customers, Messrs. +Dayton and Treves were induced to have him remain. + +At the end of a month, Edward found himself in prosperous +circumstances, and wrote to his old village friends of the fact. +They, as a matter in course, were overjoyed in the reception of such +intelligence, and no one more so than Emily Lawton. + +Edward had entered into a business in which temptations of a +peculiar nature gathered about him. Like nearly every one in those +days, he had no scruples against the use of wine. He thought no +danger was associated with its use; and, as an objection against +that would clash with the interests of his own pecuniary affairs, he +would be the last to raise it. In dealing forth to others, how +strong came the temptation to deal it to himself! Othro drank, and +pronounced a certain kind of wine a great luxury. Edward could not +(or, at least, so he thought) do otherwise; and so he drank, and +pronounced the same judgment upon it. + +"What say you for an evening at the theatre?" said Othro, one +evening, as they were passing from their place of business, having +left it in care of their servants. "At the Gladiate the play is +'Hamlet,' and Mr. Figaro, from the old Drury, appears." + +Edward had been educated in strict puritanic style, and had been +taught to consider the theatre as a den of iniquity. It is not our +purpose to defend or oppose this opinion. It was his, and he freely +expressed it. In fact, his partner knew it to be such before making +the request. + +"I suppose," said Mr. Treves, "you oppose the theatre on account of +the intoxicating drinks sold there. Now, I am for a social drop +occasionally. Edward, a glass of pure 'Cogniac,' a nice cigar, and a +seat in front of a grate of blazing coal, and I'll be joyful." + +"You may be joyful, then," replied Mr. Dayton; "but your joy might +be changed to grief, and your buoyancy of spirit be turned to +sadness of heart." + +"Indeed, Edward! Quite a lecture, I declare! Been studying theology, +eh?" + +"Not so; you are mistaken, Othro," said he. "There," he continued, +pointing to a reeling sot that passed them, "ask that man where he +first went for joy, and he may tell you of the theatre, or of social +glasses of brandy, cigars, and such like." + +They had now arrived in front of the "Gladiate," a massive stone +structure, most brilliantly illuminated. Long rows of carriages +stood in front, and crowds of the gay and fashionable were flocking +in. + +All was activity. Hackmen snapped their whips. Boys, ragged and +dirty, were waiting for the time when "checks" would circulate, and, +in fact, were in much need of checks, but those of a different +nature from those they so eagerly looked for. + +Anon, the crowd gathered closer; and the prospect of a fight put the +boys in hysterics of delight, and their rags into great commotion. +To their sorrow, it was but the shadow of a "row"; and they kicked +and cuffed each other, in order to express their grief. + +A large poster announced in flaming characters that that night was +the last but two of Mr. Figaro's appearance, and that other +engagements would prevent him from prolonging his stay, however much +the public might desire him to do so; whilst, if the, truth had been +told, the public would have known that a printer was that moment +"working off" other posters, announcing a re‰ngagement of Mr. Figaro +for two weeks. + +"Will you enter?" inquired Othro. Edward desired to be excused, and +they parted; one entering the theatre, the other repairing to his +home. + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + + +The "tavern" at which our hero boarded was of the country, or, +rather, the colony order of architecture,--for piece had been added +to piece, until what was once a small shed was now quite an +extensive edifice. + +As was the case with all taverns in those days, so also with +this,--the bar-room was its most prominent feature. Mr. Blinge, the +landlord, not only smoked, but was an inveterate lover of raw +whiskey, which often caused him to perform strange antics. The fact +that he loved whiskey was not strange, for in those days all drank. +The aged drank his morning, noon and evening potations, because he +had always done so; the young, because his father did; and the +lisping one reached forth its hands, and in childish accents called +for the "thugar," and the mother, unwilling to deny it that which +she believed could not harm it, gave. + +Those were the days when seed was being sown, and now the harvesting +is in progress. Vain were it for us to attempt its description; you +will see it in ruined families, where are gathered blasted hopes, +withered expectations, and pangs, deep pangs of untold sorrow. + +The child indulged has become a man, yet scarce worthy of the name; +for a habit has been formed that has sunken him below the brute, and +he lives not a help, but a burden, not a blessing, but a curse, to +his fellow-men. + +Although Edward was opposed to the use of intoxicating drinks, his +business led him to associate with those who held opposite opinions. + +Among the boarders was one, a bold, drinking, independent sort of a +man, who went against all innovations upon old customs with a fury +worthy of a subject of hydrophobia. + +His name was "Pump." Barrel, or bottle, would have been more in +accordance with his character; but, as the old Pump had not +foresight enough to see into the future, he did not know that he was +inappropriately naming his son. + +Every Pump must have its handle, on the same principle that "every +dog must have his day." The handle to the Pump in question was a +long one; 't was "Onendago." + +"Onendago Pump" was written with red ink on the blank leaf of a +"Universal Songster" he carried in his pocket. + +Dago, as he was called, lived on appearances; that is, he acted the +gentleman outwardly, but the beggar inwardly. He robbed his stomach +to clothe his back: howbeit, his good outside appearance often got +for him a good dinner. + +By the aid of the tailor and the barber, he wore nice cloth and +curled hair; and, being blessed with a smooth, oily voice, was +enabled, by being invited to dinner here and to supper there, to +live quite easy. + +Edward had just seated himself, when a loud rap on the door was +heard, and in a moment Mr. Onendago Pump, with two bottles, entered. +With a low bow, he inquired as to our hero's health, and proposed +spending an evening in his company. + +"Ever hear me relate an incident of the last war?" said he, as he +seated himself, and placed his two bottles upon the side-table. + +"Never," replied Edward. + +"Well, Butler was our captain, and a regular man he; right up and +down good fellow,--better man never held sword or gave an order. +Well, we were quartered at-I don't remember where-history tells. We +led a lazy life; no red coats to fire at. One of the men came home, +one night, three sheets in the wind, and the fourth bound round his +head; awful patriotic was he, and made a noise, and swore he'd shoot +every man for the good of his country. Well, Captain Butler heard of +it, and the next day all hands were called. We formed a ring; Simon +Twigg, he who was drunk the day before, stood within it, and then +and there Captain Butler, who belonged to the Humane Society, and +never ordered a man to be flogged, lectured him half an hour. Well, +that lecture did Mr. Dago Pump immense good, and ever since I have +n't drank anything stronger than brandy. + +"Never a man died of brandy!" said Mr. Pump, with much emphasis. +"Brandy's the word!" and, without saying more, he produced a +cork-screw, and with it opened a bottle. + +A couple of glasses soon made their appearance. "Now, you will take +a glass with me," said Dago; "it is the pure Cogniac, quality one, +letter A." + +"Drink, now," said he, pushing a glass towards him. "Wine is used by +the temperance society. They'll use brandy soon. Ah, they can't do +without their wine, and we can't do without our brandy! They want to +bind us in a free country, what my father bled and almost died for,-- +bind us to drink cold water!" said Mr. Pump, sneeringly. "Let 'em +try it! I go for freedom of the press,--universal, everlasting, +unbounded freedom!" + +When this patriotic bubble had exploded and the mist cleared away, +he sang a bacchanalian song, which he wished every free man in the +world would commit to memory. "What is the difference," said he, +"between this and wine? Neither will hurt a man; it is your +rum-drinking, gin-guzzling topers that are harmed;--anything will +harm them. Who ever heard of a genteel wine or brandy drinker +becoming a pest to society? Who ever heard of such an one rolling in +the mire? No; such men are able to take care of themselves. Away +with the pledge!" + +"Perhaps you are right," replied Edward; "yet we should be careful. +Although all around me drink, I have until this moment abstained +from the use of brandy; but now, at your request, I partake of it. +Remember, if I, by this act, am led into habits of intemperance, if +I meet a drunkard's grave, the blame will rest upon you." + +"Ha, ha, ha! Well done! So be it! I'll shoulder the blame, if a +respectable man like you falls by brandy." + +Edward drank the contents of a glass, and, placing it upon the +table, said "We must be careful!" + +"True!" said Mr. Pump, as he again filled the glass; "we cannot be +too much so. We must avoid rum and gin as we would a viper! How I +abhor the very name of rum! O, Mr. Dayton, think of the misery it +has brought upon man! I had a sister once, a beautiful, kind-hearted +creature. She was married to an industrious man; all was fair, +prospects bright. By degrees he got into bad company; he forgot his +home, loved rum more than that, became dissipated, died, and filled +a drunkard's grave! She, poor creature, went into a fever, became +delirious, raved day after day, and, heaping curses upon him who +sold her husband rum, died. Since then, I have looked upon rum as a +curse; but brandy,--it is a gentle stimulant, a healthy beverage, a +fine drink, and it can do no harm." + +Onendago swallowed the contents of his glass, and Edward, who, +having taken the first, found it very easy to take the second, did +the same. Yet his conscience smote him; he felt that he was doing +wrong. + +Like the innocent, unthinking bird, who, charmed by the serpent's +glistening eyes, falls an easy prey to its crushing embrace, was he +at that moment. He the bird, unconscious of the danger behind the +charm. + +This is no fictitious tale. Would to Heaven it contained less of +truth! The world has seen many men like "Mr. Pump," and many have +through their instrumentality fallen; many not to rise till ages +shall have obliterated all memory of the past, with all its +unnatural loves! Whilst others, having struggled on for years, have +at length seen a feeble ray of light penetrating the dark clouds +that overshadowed their path, which light continued to increase, +till, in all its beauty, the star of temperance shone forth, by +which they strove ever after to be guided. + +It was near midnight when Mr. Pump left. The two had become quite +sociable, and Mr. Pump saw the effect of his brandy in the unusual +gayety of Edward. + +The latter was not lost to reflection; and now that he was alone, +thoughts of home, his business, and many other matters, came +confusedly into his mind. + +Letters he had received of warning and advice. He took them in his +hands, looked over their contents, and with feelings of sadness, and +somewhat of remorse, thought of his ways. + +A bundle of old letters! A circle of loved friends! How alike! There +is that's pleasant, yet sad, in these. How vividly they present to +our view the past! The writers, some, perhaps, are dead; others are +far away. Yet, dead or alive, near or far distant, we seem to be +with them as we read their thoughts traced out on the sheet before +us. + +As Edward read here and there a letter, it did seem as though his +friends stood beside him, and spoke words of advice which conscience +whispered should be heeded. Love was the theme of not a few, yet all +warned him to flee from evil. He returned the parcel, and, as he did +so, he pledged himself that if he drank any it should be with +moderation: and that, as soon as he felt its ruinous effects, to +abstain altogether. + +The next morning Othro was late at the store; yet, when he arrived, +he was full of praise of the play. + +"Figaro acted Hamlet to a charm," said he; "and Fanny Lightfoot +danced like a fairy. But two nights more! Now, Edward, if you do not +wish to offend me, and that exceedingly, say you will go with me +to-morrow night." + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + + + +Three years had elapsed since the events of the last chapter. Edward +had often visited his native village, and, as the results of these +visits, Emily Lawton became Mrs. Dayton; and she, with Mrs. Brandon, +was removed to an elegantly furnished house in the city. Yet, with +all its elegance, Mrs. Brandon, who had been accustomed to rural +simplicity, did not feel happy except when in her own room, which +Edward had ordered to be furnished in a style answering her own +wishes. + +Messrs. Dayton and Treves had been highly successful in their +business operations; and, enjoying as they did the patronage of the +‚lite of the city, they, with but little stretch of their +imaginative powers, could see a fortune at no great distance. + +Becoming acquainted with a large number of persons of wealth, they +were present at very many of the winter entertainments; and, being +invited to drink, they had not courage to refuse, and did not wish +to act so ungenteel and uncivil. Others drank; and some loved their +rum, and would have it. Edward had taken many steps since the events +of our last chapter; yet, thought he, "I drink moderately." + +There was to be a great party. A musical prodigy, in the shape of a +child of ten years, had arrived, and the leaders of fashion had +agreed upon having a grand entertainment on the occasion. + +Great was the activity and bustle displayed, and in no place more +than at the store of Dayton and Treves. As ill-luck would have it, +Ralph had been absent a week on one of his drunken sprees, and his +employers were obliged to procure another to fill his place. + +The event was to take place at the house of a distinguished city +officer; and, as Messrs. Dayton and Treves were to provide +refreshment, their time was fully occupied. + +The papers were filled with predictions concerning it; and the +editors, happy fellows, were in ecstasies of joy on account of +having been invited to attend. Nor were Messrs. Dayton and Treves +forgotten; but lengthy eulogies upon their abilities to perform the +duty assigned them occupied prominent places, and "steamboat +disasters," "horrid murders," and "dreadful accidents," were obliged +to make room for these. + +In the course of human events the evening came. Hacks were in +demand, and the rattling of wheels and the falling of carriage-steps +were heard till near midnight. + +The chief object of attraction was a small boy, who had attained +considerable proficiency in musical knowledge, not of any particular +instrument, but anything and everything; consequently a large +assortment of instruments had been collected, upon which he played. +As music had called them together, it was the employment of the +evening, and the hour of midnight had passed when they were summoned +to the tables. + +Those gentlemen who desired had an apartment to themselves, where +wine and cigars circulated freely. Some, in a short time, became +excited; whilst others, upon whom the same cause had a different +effect, became stupid. One poor fellow, whose bloated countenance +told a sad tale, lay almost senseless; another sat dreamingly over +his half-filled glass, whilst another excited the risibilities of +not a few by his ineffectual attempts to light his cigar. + +Our hero, like his companions, was a little overcome by too frequent +potations from the bottle. It was a sad sight to a reflective mind. +The majority were young men, whose eyes had been blinded to the +danger they were in, by adhering to a foolish and injurious custom. + +As hour passed hour, they became more excited, until a high state of +enthusiasm existed. + +All the ladies had retired, except one, and she strove hard to +conceal her rising sorrow by forced smiles; yet she could not +restrain her feelings,--her heart seemed bursting with grief. In vain +did officious servants seek to know the cause. To the inquiries of +the lady of the house she made no reply. She dare not reveal the +secret which pierced her very soul; but, burying her face in her +hands, seemed resolved upon not being comforted. Finally, yielding +to the persuasive influence of Mrs. Venet, she expressed her fears +that Edward had tarried too long at the bowl. + +Mrs. Venet tried to comfort her by saying that, if what she so much +feared was true, yet it was nothing uncommon; and mentioned several +men, and not a few ladies, who had been carried away in a senseless +condition. + +These words did not comfort her; on the contrary, they increased her +fears, and led her to believe that there was more danger at such +parties than there was generally thought to be; and the fact that +Edward had often attended such parties increased her sorrow, for she +knew not but that he had been among that number of whom Mrs. Venet +spoke. + +Imagination brought to her view troubles and trials as her future +lot; and last, not least, the thought of Edward's temperament, and +of how easily he might be led astray, rested heavily upon her heart. +Mrs. Venet at length left her, and repaired to the gentleman's +apartment, in order to learn the cause of his delay. + +"Who in the devil's there, with that thundering racket?" inquired a +loud voice. + +"It is Mrs. Venet," replied the lady. + +"O, it is, is it? Well, madam, Dayton the confectioner, and a dozen +jovial souls, are having a rare time here. Put that down in your +memorandum-book, and leave us to our meditations." + +"Yes, and these to profit and loss," said another, and the breaking +of glasses was heard. + +"If Mr. Dayton is within, tell him his lady is waiting for him," +said Mrs. Venet. + +"Ed, your wife's waiting,"' said one of the party. + +"Then, friends, I-I-I must go," said the inebriated man, who, though +badly intoxicated, had not wholly forgotten her. + +His companions endeavored to have him remain, but in vain. He +unbolted the door, and, leaving, closed it upon them. + +Mrs. Venet, who was standing without, laid hold of his coat, and, +knowing the excited state of Mrs. Dayton, and fearing that the +appearance of her husband would be too much for her to bear, +endeavored to induce him not to enter the room, or, at least, to +wait until he had recovered from the effects of his drinking. + +He appeared rational for a while, but, suddenly breaking away, +shouted, "Emily, where are you?" + +The sound of his voice resounded through the building, and his +drunken companions, hearing it, made the building echo with their +boisterous laughter. + +He ran through the entries gazing wildly around, and loudly calling +for his wife. + +The servants, hearing the tumult, hastened to the spot; but neither +they nor Mrs. Venet could induce him to become quiet. + +The latter, finding she could have no influence upon him, repaired +to the room in which she left Mrs. Dayton, and found her senseless +upon the floor, and to all appearances dead. She had heard his wild +cries, and what she had so much feared she then knew to be true. + +Mrs. Venet rang for the servants, and ordered some restoratives. +These were soon obtained, and by their free use she had nearly +recovered, when her husband rushed into the room. + +Upon seeing his wife, the raging lion became as docile as a lamb. A +sudden change came over him; he seemed to realize the truth, and it +sent an arrow to his soul. + +Again the injured wife fainted, and again the restoratives were +faithfully applied; but it was evident that if Mr. Dayton remained +in her presence it would be difficult to restore her, and the man +who before would not be approached was led quietly away. In a short +time Mrs. Dayton became sensible, and her first words were to +inquire after Edward. Being told, she was induced to lie down, and, +if possible, enjoy a little sleep; but sleep she could not. Her mind +became almost delirious, and fears were entertained by her +attendants that she would lose her reason. + +The effects of Edward's carousal were entirely dissipated by the +sudden realization of the truth. + +To Mrs. Dayton this was an hour of the deepest sorrow. She looked +back upon the past, and saw happiness; in the future nothing but +misery seemed to await her. Yet a change came over her; she thanked +God for his past mercies, and wisely trusted him for their +continuance. She implored pardon for past ingratitude, and prayed +that she might be more grateful in future, and that, having tasted +of the cup of sorrow, she might not drink the bitter draught. + + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + + + +The next morning Edward repented of his crime, and in his inmost +soul felt it to be such,--a crime of deepest dye. + +Emily wept as she bent over him. + +"Cease thy tears," said he, "and forgive; it is but that word, +spoken by thee, that can send peace to my soul. Yet what peace can I +expect? I have wronged thee!"-and the wretched man wept like a +child. + +New thoughts continually sprang into existence,--the days of his +youth, the bliss of home, and his present situation. He felt +disgraced;--how should he redeem his character? + +"O, that the grave would hide me," continued Edward, "and that in +death I might forget this crime! But no! I cannot forget it; it will +cling to me through life, and the future--" + +He would have said more, but the strong emotions of his soul choked +his utterance. + +He arose and paced the room in agony of feeling which pen cannot +describe. Suddenly halting, he gazed steadfastly upon the face of +his wife. It was deadly pale, and a tear dimmed the usual lustre of +her eye. + +"Comfort thyself," said he; "no further evil shall come upon thee. +It shall never be said you are a drunkard's wife,--no, no, no, +never!" + +"Let us, then, forget the past," said Mrs. Dayton. + +"What! forget those days when I had not tasted? O, misery indeed, if +I cannot retain their remembrance!" said Edward. + +"Not so, Edward; we would remember those, but forget the evil that +has befallen us,--all will be well." + +"Do you-can you forgive?" + +"God will forgive; and shall not I?" + +"Then let this be a pledge of the future;" and, taking her hand in +his, he said; "I resolve to walk in the path of right, and never +more to wander, God being my witness and my strength." + +"'T is well thou hast pledged thyself," said she; "but know thou the +tempter is on every side. Should the wine-cup touch thy lips, dash +it aside, and proclaim yourself a pledged man." + +"I will!" was the response, and, taking a pen, he boldly placed his +name to the following pledge: + +"PLEDGE.-We pledge ourselves to abstain from the use of all +intoxicating drinks, except the moderate use of wine, beer and +cider." + +Such was the pledge to which he affixed his name, and such the +pledge by which men of those days endeavored to stay the tide of +intemperance. Did not every man who signed that pledge himself to +become a moderate drinker; and is not every moderate drinker pledged +to become a drunkard? What a pledge! Yet we should not blame the men +of former years for pursuing a course which they conscientiously +thought to be right. That was the first step. It was well as far as +it led; but it paused at the threshold of the ark of safety, and +there its disciples fell. They had not seen, as have men of late +years, the ruinous tendency of such a course; and knew not, as we +now do, that total abstinence is the only sure course. + +The pledge Edward had signed was no preventive in his case. He had +tasted; in fact, he had become a lover of strong drink; and the +temptation of having it constantly beside him, and daily dealing it +out to others, was too strong for him to resist. When he drank, he +did think, as Emily had bade him, that he was a pledged man; but +that pledge permitted him to drink wine. The remedy such a pledge +applied was of no avail. It failed to reach the fountain-head, and +strove to stop the stream by placing slight resistances in its way. + +A long time must elapse before a man can know the heart of his +fellow-man, if, indeed, it can ever be known; and it was not until +Edward had become addicted to habits of intemperance that he +discovered the professed friendship of Mr. Treves to be insincere. +Words of warning seldom came from his lips. What cared he if Edward +did fall? Such being the case, the business would come into his own +hands; and such "a consummation devoutly to be wished" it was very +evident that if Edward did not soon reform was not far distant. + +Now Emily Dayton began to experience anxious days and sleepless +nights, and Mrs. Brandon begged of Edward to reform. Often he would +do so. He would sign that pledge; but it was like an attempt to stay +a torrent with a straw. That pledge! 'twas nothing! yea, worse than +nothing! + +Six months of sorrowing passed, and what a change we behold! +Experience has shown to Edward that the use of brandy is dangerous, +and good dame Brandon has been led to believe that there are +temptations in the city which she little thought of. + +Edward, driven from his business, revels in bar-rooms, and riots at +midnight; whilst the patient, uncomplaining, enduring Emily, forced +by creditors from her former home, finds shelter from the storm in a +small tenement; where, by the aid of her needle, she is enabled to +support herself and aged aunt, whilst a prattling infant plays at +her side, and, laughing in its childish sports, thinks not of the +sorrows it was born to encounter, and knows not the sad feelings of +its mother's wounded heart. + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + + + +In a low, damp, dark cellar, behold a man washing the glasses of a +groggery. His ragged dress and uncombed hair, his shabby and dirty +appearance, do not prevent us from seeing indications of his once +having been in better circumstances, and that nature never designed +that he should be where he now is. + +Having rinsed a few cracked tumblers, he sat down beside a red-hot +cylinder stove, and, bending over till his head rested upon his +hands, he, in a half-audible voice, talked to himself. + +"Here 't is, eighteen forty-some years since I saw that Dayton cove; +eh, gone by the board? The daily papers say he was up for a common +drunkard; but, being first time, was lectured and sent home. Plaguy +poor home his, I reckon! Wonder if the lecture did him as much good +as Old Batter's did me. Ah! he liked that brandy, and said I should +bear the blame if he was ruined; but he an't that yet. Here I am, +ten times worse off than he is, and I an't ruined. No! Mr. Dago Pump +is a man yet. Well, well! what shall I say?-business awful dull, and +it's damp and dark here; I feel cold 'side of this red-faced stove." + +Mr. Onendago Pump poked the fire, and continued to do so till a +ragged little boy, without shoes, stockings or cap, came down the +slippery steps, and asked for "two cents' worth of rum, and one +cent's worth of crackers." + +The proprietor of this subterraneous establishment threw aside an +old wire that served as a poker, and demanded payment in advance. +The child handed him the three cents, received his rum and crackers, +and left. + +Mr. Pump, who for a long time had lived on appearances, could do so +no longer; for, persisting in his opinion that brandy could not hurt +him, he drank so much that bad soon supplanted good appearances, and +his company was soon discarded. + +Mr. Blinge would not have him about his premises, although the one +drank as much as the other, and a great similarity existed between +them. + +He was turned out of the tavern, and, having purchased four +shillings' worth of brandy, commenced business in the cellar we have +alluded to, replenishing his stock by daily applying to a +neighboring pump; and, for every gill of brandy he drew from the +tap, poured a gill of water in at the bung, and thus kept up a stock +in trade. + +In a short time, a collection of drinking loafers met daily at his +place, and Dago Pump could see no difference between his +respectability as proprietor of a bar-room, and his who, being owner +of thousands, fitted up "oyster saloons," which places had suddenly +sprung up in all large cities. + +Edward had fallen; he had become what was termed a "common +drunkard." His wife wept tears of anguish; she entreated; she begged +him to reform. She prayed to Heaven for its aid; yet week passed +week, month followed month, on Time's unending course, and she was a +drunkard's wife still. All friends had forsaken her. Friends! shall +we call them such? No; they did not deserve the name. Their +friendship only had an existence when fortune smiled; when a frown +mantled its countenance, or a cloud intervened, they fled. Yet God +was raising up friends for her, and from a class of society from +whom she little expected aid. God was working, in his mysterious +way, a deliverance. He had heard the prayers that for many long +years had gone up to his throne from thousands of wretched families; +and, moved to pity, he was to show them that he was a God of mercy. + +Othro Treves-where is he? Not in that elegant store; it long since +passed into other hands. Has he made his fortune, and retired? Such +we might suppose to be the case, did we not know that he trusted to +moderate drinking. Man might as well trust a leaky vessel to bear +him across the ocean, as to trust that. + +The clock struck twelve. + +"'T is midnight," said a female voice, "and he has not come. God +send repentance to his heart! Hope has almost failed me; yet I will +hope on." + +"Another glass of brandy for me," said a man, addressing Mr. Dago +Pump. + +"And rum for me," said another. + +"Gin with a hot poker in it for me," said the third; and Mr. Pump +poured out the poisons. + +Half a dozen men stood in front of some rough boards that served as +a "bar." + +One of these-a tall, well-formed man-gazed fixedly upon the glasses, +seemingly in deep thought. + +"Stop!" he suddenly exclaimed. Mr. Pump nearly dropped the bottle. +It was as an electric shock to him: an ashy paleness came over his +face. "Stop!" he again exclaimed. All eyes were fixed upon him. Some +tried to laugh, but could not. Dago set down the bottle, and the +glasses, half filled, stood upon the bench before him. + +"I have been thinking," said he who had caused this strange effect, +"is it right for us to drink that? It does us no good; it brings +upon us much evil; that's what I've been a-thinking while 'twas +being poured out." + +"So have I," exclaimed another. + +"And I," said a third. "I would have been worth fifty thousand +dollars, this day, had I never touched stuff like that. I tell you +what, coveys, let's come out." + +"Hurra!" shouted yet another; "I've spent a good fortune in +rum-shops. That's what I say; let's come out." + +"Yes," said the first speaker, "let us come out. We have been in +long enough;--in the gutter, in the grog-shop, in misery, in +disgrace, in poverty, in jail, and in ruin. I say, let us come out, +out of all these." + +"Amen!" responded all. + +"Let us come out," he continued; "but what can temperance folks do? +I have signed the pledge, and signed, and signed, but I cannot keep +it. I had no friends; temperance folks never came to me. I have +often thought that, if a friend would reach forth his hand, and help +me from the gutter when I have lain there, I would do anything for +such a friend. But when I am drunk they laugh at and jeer me. Boys +stone and cuff me, and men stand by and laugh at their hellish +sport. Yes, those calling themselves 'friends of temperance' would +laugh at me, and say, 'Miserable fool, nothing can save him! When +such are dead, we can train up a generation of temperate people.' I +am kicked and cuffed about like a dog, and not a hand is extended to +relieve me. When I first tasted, I told him who gave it me the blame +should rest on him if I fell. Where he is now, I know not; but, +wherever he is, I know his is a miserable existence. Years have +passed since then, and here I am, a miserable drunkard. My +wife-where is she? and my good old aunt-where is she? At home in +that comfortless room, weeping over my fall, and praying for my +reform. Brothers, let us arise; let us determine to be men-free +men!" + +"It is done," said one and all; and the keeper of the cellar dashed +bottle after bottle against the wall. + +"Yes, let us renounce these habits; they are hard to renounce; +temptation is hard to resist." + +"The present pledge is not safe for us," said the keeper of the +cellar, as he took a demijohn of liquor up the steps, and emptied it +in the gutter. + +"Then let us have one of our own," said the first speaker. "Let it +be called 'The Hope of the Fallen;' for we are indeed fallen, and +this, our last refuge from more fearful evils, is our only hope. May +it not disappoint us! May we cling to it as the drowning man grasps +the rope thrown out for his rescue! And not for us alone shall this +hope exist. Let us go to every unfortunate in our land, and speak +kindly to him. Al, my friends, we know the value of a kind word. Let +us lift him from the gutter, place him upon his feet, and say, +'Stand up! I myself also am a man.'" + +Having said this, he sent out for pen, ink and paper, and a pledge +was carefully drawn up, of which the following is a copy: + +"We, whose names are hereunto affixed, knowing by sad experience +that the use of wine, beer, cider, rum, brandy, gin, and all kinds +of intoxicating drinks, is hurtful to man, beast and reptile, do +hereby pledge ourselves most solemnly to abstain now, henceforth, +and forever, from the use of them in whatever shape they may be +presented; to neither eat, drink, touch, taste, nor handle them; and +in every place, and on every occasion, to use our influence in +inducing others to do the same." + +The speaker was the first to place his name to this document; and +the keeper of the cellar started when he read the name of "Edward +Dayton." + +"Is it possible!" said he, and, grasping his hand, he shook it most +heartily. + +Edward was as much astonished as he. Such a change had taken place +that they could not at first recognize each other. + +"Yes," said Edward, "you tempted me to drink. I forgive. I now tempt +you to sign this pledge." + +No words were required to induce all present to sign. + +They all spake of their past lives, related the sorrows they had +felt, the misery they had endured; and such was the interest +manifested by each in listening to these plain, unvarnished tales, +that they resolved upon meeting in that same place the next night. + +The next day, the report spread like wild-fire about the city that +drunkards themselves were reforming. Many doubted, and would not +believe such to be the case. + +"They are past reforming," said public opinion; "let them die; let +us take care of the young." + + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + + + +They met in the same place the next night, but the next they did +not. Their numbers had so increased that the cellar would not +contain them; and they engaged a large hall, and gave public notice +that a meeting would be held at which reformed drunkards would +speak. Those who before doubted did so no more; yet from many the +sneering, cold-hearted remark was heard, "They will not hold on." + +At the hour appointed, hundreds thronged to the place, and hundreds +departed, being unable to gain admittance. That night, nearly five +hundred signed the new pledge, and new additions were made daily. + +It had a power which no previous pledge had possessed; a power, with +God's, aid, to bring man from the lowest depths of woe, place him on +his feet, and tell him, "Sin no more." + +The new society increased in numbers. In other cities the same +feeling arose, and societies of the same kind were formed. The +papers were filled with accounts of their meetings, and the cause +spread, to the astonishment and grateful admiration of all. + +Days of prosperity gladdened the heart of Edward. Joy took the place +of sorrow in his family. He, like his thousands of brethren, had +been snatched as a brand from the burning, and stood forth a living +monument to the truth that there was a hope for the fallen. + +Twelve years have passed since that ever-memorable night. Millions +have become better men, and yet the pledge remains to exert its +influence, and who can doubt that God directs its course? + +'T is sending joy to the mourning, and many a wounded heart it +heals. Is there a power that can exceed this? Is there another +pledge that has effected as much good? + +Let us, then, push on the car. Let our influence be such as will +advance, and not retard, its progress. Let us do this, and ere long +we may rejoice together, and earth hold a grand jubilee, and all men +shall testify that the Pledge is the "hope of the fallen." + + + + + + +THOUGHTS THAT COME FROM LONG AGO. + + + + + + THERE are moments in our life + When are hushed its sounds of strife; + When, from busy toil set free, + Mind goes back the past to see: + Memory, with its mighty powers, + Brings to view our childhood hours; + Once again we romp and play, + As we did in youth's bright day; + And, with never-ceasing flow, + Come the hours of Long Ago. + Oft, when passions round us throng, + And our steps incline to wrong, + Memory brings a friend to view, + In each line and feature true; + Though he long hath left us here, + Then his presence seemeth near, + And with sweet, persuasive voice, + Leads us from an evil choice;-- + Thus, when we astray would go, + Come restraints from Long Ago. + Oft, when troubled and perplexed, + Worn in heart and sorely vexed; + Almost sinking 'neath our load, + Famishing on life's high road,-- + Darkness, doubt, and dark despair + Leading us we know not where,-- + How hath sweet remembrance caught + From the past some happy thought! + And, refreshed, we on would go, + Cheered with hopes from Long Ago. + What a store-house, filled with gems + Of more worth than diadems, + Each hath 'neath his own control, + From which to refresh his soul! + Let us, then, each action weigh, + Some good deed perform each day, + That in future we may find + Happy thoughts to bring to mind; + For, with ever ceaseless flow, + Thoughts will come from Long Ago. + + + + + + +DETERMINED TO BE RICH. + + + + + + RISE up early, sit up late, + Be thou unto Avarice sold; + Watch thou well at Mammon's gate, + Just to gain a little gold. + Crush thy brother neath thy feet, + Till each manly thought is flown; + Hear not, though he loud entreat, + Be thou deaf to every moan. + Wield the lash, and hush the cry, + Let thy conscience now be seared; + Pile thy glittering gems on high, + Till thy golden god is reared. + Then before its sparkling shrine + Bend the neck and bow the knee; + Victor thou, all wealth is thine, + Yet, what doth it profit thee? + + + + + + +THE HEAVEN SENT, HEAVEN RETURNED. + + + + + + PURE as an infant's heart that sin ne'er touched, + That guilt had ne'er polluted; and she seemed + Most like an angel that had missed its way + On some kind mission Heaven had bade it go. + Her eye beamed bright with beauty; and innocence, + Its dulcet notes breathed forth in every word, + Was seen in every motion that she made. + Her form was faultless, and her golden hair + In long luxuriant tresses floated o'er + Her shoulders, that as alabaster shone. + Her very look seemed to impart a sense + Of matchless purity to all it met. + I saw her in the crowd, yet none were there + That seemed so pure as she; and every eye + That met her eye's mild glance shrank back abashed, + It spake such innocence. + One day she slept,-- + How calm and motionless! I watched her sleep + Till evening; then, until the sun arose; + And then, would have awakened her,--but friends + Whispered in my ear she would not wake + Within that body more, for it was dead, + And she, now clothed in immortality, + Would know no more of change, nor know a care. + And when I felt that truth, methought I saw + A bright angelic throng, in robes of white, + Bear forth her spirit to the throne of God; + And I heard music, such as comes to us + Oft in our dreams, as from some unseen life, + And holy voices chanting heavenly songs, + And harps and voices blending in one hymn, + Eternal hymn of highest praise to God + For all the good the Heaven-sent one had done + Since first it left the heavenly fold of souls, + To live on earth, and show to lower man + How pure and holy, joyous and serene, + They may and shall assuredly become + When all the laws that God through Nature speaks + Are kept unbroken! * * * + * * * She had now returned, + And heaven resounded with angelic songs. + Before me lay the cold, unmoving form; + Above me lived the joyous, happy one! + And who should sorrow? Sure, not I; not she; + Not any one! For death,--there was no death,-- + But that which men called death was life more real + Than heart had o'er conceived or words expressed! + + + + + + +FLOWERS, BRIGHT FLOWERS! + + + + + + FLOWERS from the wild-wood, + Flowers, bright flowers! + Springing in desert spot, + Where man dwelleth not,-- + Flowers, bright flowers, + Cheering the traveller's lot. + Given to one and all, + Flowers, bright flowers! + When man neglecteth thee, + When he rejecteth thee, + Flowers, bright flowers, + God's hand protecteth thee! + Remnants of paradise, + Flowers, bright flowers! + Tinged with a heavenly hue, + Reflecting its azure blue, + Flowers, bright flowers, + Brightest earth ever knew! + Cheering the desolate, + Flowers, bright flowers! + Coming with fragrance fraught, + From Heaven's own breezes caught, + Flowers, bright flowers, + Teachers of holy thought! + Borne to the curtained room, + Flowers, bright flowers! + Where the sick longs for light, + Then, for the shades of night, + Flowers, bright flowers, + Gladdening the wearied sight! + High on the mountain-top, + Flowers, bright flowers! + Low in sequestered vale, + On cliff, mid rock, in dale, + Flowers, bright flowers, + Ye do prevail! + + + + + + +FORGET ME NOT. + + + + + + FORGET me not when other lips + Shall whisper love to thee; + Forget me not when others twine + Their chaplets for thy brow; + Forget me not, for I am thine, + Forever onward true as now, + As long as time shall be. + There may be words thou mayest doubt, + But when I tell thee "I am thine," + Believe the heart's assurance true, + In sorrow and in mirth + Forever it doth turn to you, + Confiding, trusting in thy worth. + Thou wilt, I know, be mine. + + + + + + +WHAT IS TRUTH? + + + + + +LONG, long ago, one whose life had been one of goodness-whose every +act had been that of charity and good will-was persecuted, hated and +maligned! He came with new hopes. He held up a light, whose rays +penetrated far into the future, and disclosed a full and glorious +immortality to the long doubting, troubled soul of man. + +He professed to commune with angels! He had healed the sick; he had +given sight to the blind; caused the lame to walk; opened +prison-doors, and had preached the Gospel to the poor. Those he +chose for his companions were from humble rank. Their minds had not +become enslaved to any creed; not wedded to any of the fashionable +and popular forms of the day, nor immovably fixed to any of the +dogmas of the schools. He chose such because their minds were free +and natural; "and they forsook all and followed him." + +Among the rulers, the wealthy and the powerful, but few believed in +him, or in the works he performed. To them he was an impostor. In +speaking of his labors some cant phrase fell from their wise lips, +synonymous with the "it is all a humbug" of our day. His healing of +the sick was denied; or, if admitted, was said to be some lucky +circumstance of fate. His opening of the eyes of the blind was to +them a mere illusion; the supposed cure, only an operation of the +imagination. + +All his good deeds were underrated; and those who, having seen with +their own eyes, and heard with their own ears, were honest enough to +believe and openly declare their belief; were looked upon by the +influential and those in high places as most egregiously deceived +and imposed upon. + +But, notwithstanding the opposition, men did believe; and in one day +three thousand acknowledged their belief in the sincerity of the +teacher, and in the doctrines which he taught. + +Impressed deeply with the reality and divinity of his +mission,--looking to God as his father, and to all mankind as his +brethren,--Jesus continued his way. To the scoffs and jeers of the +rabble, he replied in meekness and love; and amid the proud and +lofty he walked humbly, ever conscious of the presence of an angelic +power, which would silence the loudest, and render powerless the +might of human strength. + +He spoke as one having authority. He condemned the formalism of +their worship; declared a faith that went deeper than exterior rites +and ceremonies; and spoke with an independence and fearlessness such +deep and soul-searching truths, that the people took up stones to +stone him, and the priests and the rulers held council together +against him. + +At length the excited populace, beholding their cherished faith +undermined, and the new teacher day by day inculcating doctrines +opposed to those of Moses and the prophets, determined to take his +life, and thus terminate his labors and put a stop to his heresies. + +They watched his every movement. They stood by and caught the words +as they fell from his lips, hoping thus to get something by which to +form an accusation against him. In this they failed. Though what he +said was contrary to their time-worn dogmas, yet nothing came from +his lips but sentiments of the purest love, the injunctions of +reason and justice, and the language of humanity. Failing in this +plan to ensnare him, justice was set abide, and force called in to +their aid. + +See him now before a great tribunal, and Pilate, troubled in soul, +compelled to say, "I find no fault in this man." + +Urged to action by the mad crowd around him, balancing his decision +between justice, the prisoner's release, and injustice, the call to +crucify him, he knows not what to do. In an agony of thought, which +pen cannot describe or human words portray, he delays his +irrevocable doom. + +In the mean time, the persecutors grow impatient; and louder than +ever, from the chief priests and the supporters of royalty, goes up +the infamous shout, "Crucify him, crucify him!" At this moment, the +undecided, fearful Pilate casts a searching glance about him. As he +beholds the passionate people, eager for the blood of one man, and +he innocent, and sees, standing in their midst, the meek and lowly +Jesus, calm as an evening zephyr over Judea's plains, from whose eye +flows the gentle love of an infinite divinity,--his face beaming in +sympathy with every attribute of goodness, faith and humanity,--all +this, too, before his mad, unjust accusers, from whose eyes flash in +mingled rays the venom of scorn and hate,--his mind grows strong with +a sense of right. His feelings will not longer be restrained, and, +unconscious of his position, forgetting for the moment the dignity +of his office, he exclaims, with the most emphatic earnestness, +"WHAT IS TRUTH?" + +Eighteen hundred years have intervened between that day and this; +and now the same inquiry is heard, and often with the same +earnestness as then. Men ask, and often ask in vain, "what is +truth?" and yet the great problem to millions remains unsolved. + +Generations pass on, and leave to others the great question for them +to ask, and they, in turn, to leave unanswered. The child, ere it +can speak in words, looks from its wistful eye, "What is truth?" +Youth comes, and all the emotions of the soul are awakened. It +arises from the playfulness of childhood, forgets its little games, +and, finding itself an actor in the drama of life, looks over the +long programme of parts from which it is to choose its own, and +anxiously inquires "What is truth?" Manhood feels the importance of +the question; and Age, though conscious of its near approach to the +world of revealed truth, repeats it. + +The present is an era of thought. Men begin to assume a spirit of +independence, and to look less upon human authority, and more upon +that light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world. And +it is well that it is so. It is well that we begin to look upon +liberty in another light than a mere absence of iron bonds upon our +hands and feet; that we begin to discern that "He is a freeman whom +the truth makes free, And all are slaves beside." We are pressing on +to know the truth. We have grown weary of darkness, and are seeking +the light. We should remember, in our researches, that, to find out +truth, we must not be pledged to any form, any opinion, or any +creed, however old or dearly cherished such limitations may have +been with ourselves or others. We must come to the task like little +children, ready to learn. We must leave our beliefs behind us. We +must not bring them, and attempt to adapt our discoveries in the +realms of eternal truth to them; but we must build up the structure +with the material we find in the universe of God; and then, when +reared, if we find that in doing so we have a stone from our old +temple nicely adjusted in the new, very well;--let it remain, and +thank God for it. + +Men have trusted too much in the views of past ages, and taken for +truth many an error, because some one back in by-gone ages +introduced it as such, and it has been believed in and held most +sacred. + +Let our course be our own course, and not that of others. Let us +seek for truth as truth. Let us be honest and press on, trusting in +God the rewarder of all, who will bless all our efforts to ascertain +his truths, and our duty to him, to our fellow-men, and to +ourselves. + + + + + + +THE HOMESTEAD VISIT. + + + + + +He had wandered far and long, and when, on his return to the scenes +of his early life, he came in full view of the old house, in which +and around which those scenes were clustered, he throw down his +oaken staff, raised his hands, and clapped them like a child. Then a +tear would roll down his face; then a smile illumine it; then he +would dance with joy. As he approached the building, he observed +that the door was open; and the large, hospitable-looking room was +so inviting, and there being no one present, he entered, and +indulged in thoughts like these: + + I STAND where I have stood before: + The same roof is above me, + But they who were are here no more, + For me to love, or love me. + I listen, and I seem to hear + A favorite voice to greet me; + But yet I know that none are near, + Save stranger forms, to meet me. + I'll sit me down,--for I have not + Sat here since first I started + To run life's race,--and on this spot + Will muse of the departed. + Then I was young, and on my brow + The rays of hope were shining; + But Time hath there his imprint now, + That tells of life's declining. + How great the change!-though I can see + Full many a thing I cherished- + Yet, since beneath yon old oak tree + I stood, how much hath perished. + Here is the same old oaken floor, + And there the same rough ceiling + Each telling of the scenes of yore, + Each former joys revealing. + But, friends of youth-they all have fled; + Some yet on earth do love us; + While others, passed beyond the dead, + Live guardian ones above us. + Yet, o'er us all one powerful hand + Is raised to guard forever, + And all, ere long, one happy band + Be joined, no more to sever. + I've trimmed my sail on every sea + Where crested waves are swelling; + Yet oft my heart turned back to thee, + My childhood's humble dwelling. + I've not forgot my youthful days, + The home that was my mother's, + When listening to the words of praise + That were bestowed on others. + See, yonder, through the window-pane, + The rock on which I rested; + And on that green how oft I've lain- + What memories there are vested! + The place where once a sister's hand + I held-none loved I fonder; + But she's now with an angel band, + Whilst I a pilgrim wander. + There was a pretty, blue-eyed girl, + A good old farmer's daughter; + We used the little stones to hurl, + And watch them skip the water. + We'd range among the forest trees, + To gather woodland flowers; + And then each other's fancy please + In building floral bowers. + Within this room, how many a time + I've listened to a story, + And heard grandfather sing his rhyme + 'Bout Continental glory! + And oft I'd shoulder his old staff, + And march as proud as any, + Till the old gentleman would laugh, + And bless me with a penny. + Hark! 't is a footstep that I hear; + A stranger is approaching; + I must away-were I found here + I should be thought encroaching. + One last, last look-my old, old home! + One memory more of childhood! + I'll not forget, where'er I roam, + This homestead and the wild-wood. + + + + + + +THE MARINER'S SONG. + + + + + + O THE sea, the sea! I love the sea! + For nothing on earth seems half as free + As its crested waves; they mount on high, + And seem to sport with the star-gemmed sky. + Talk as you will of the land and shore; + Give me the sea, and I ask no more. + I love to float on the ocean deep, + To be by its motion rocked to sleep; + Or to sit for hours and watch the spray, + Marking the course of our outward way, + While upward far in a cloudless sky + With a shriek the wild bird passeth by. + And when above are the threatening clouds, + And the wild wind whistles 'mid the shrouds, + Our masts bend low till they kiss the wave, + As beckoning one from its ocean cave, + Then hurra for the sea! I love its foam, + And over it like a bird would roam. + There is that's dear in a mountain home, + With dog and gun 'mid the woods to roam; + And city life hath a thousand joys, + That quiver amid its ceaseless noise; + Yet nothing on land can give to me + Such joy as that of the pathless sea. + When morning comes, and the sun's first rays + All around our gallant topmast plays, + My heart bounds forth with rapturous glee, + O, then, 't is then that I love the sea! + Talk as you will of the land and shore; + Give me the sea, and I ask no more! + + + + + + +LOVE'S LAST WORDS. + + + + + + THEY knew that she was going + To holier, better spheres, + Yet they could not stay the flowing + Of their tears; + And they bent above in sorrow, + Like mourners o'er a tomb, + For they knew that on the morrow + There'd be gloom. + There was one among the number + Who had watched the dying's breath, + With an eye that would not slumber + Until death. + There, as he bent above her, + He whispered in her ear + How fondly he did love her, + Her most dear. + "One word, 't will comfort send me, + When early spring appears, + And o'er thy grave I bend me + In my tears. + A single word now spoken + Shall be kept in Memory's shrine, + Where the dearest treasured token + Shall be thine." + She pressed his hand-she knew him- + With the fervor of a child; + And, looking fondly to him, + Sweetly smiled. + And, smiling thus, she started + For her glorious home above, + And her last breath, as it parted, + Whispered "Love." + + + + + + +LIGHT IN DARKNESS. + + + + + + SOMETIMES my heart complaineth + And moans in bitter sighs; + And dreams no hope remaineth, + No more its sun will rise. + But yet I know God liveth, + And will do all things well; + And that to me he giveth + More good than tongue can tell. + And though above me linger + At times dark Sorrow's shroud, + I see Faith's upraised finger + Point far beyond the cloud. + + + + + + +MT. VERNON, AND THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON. + + + + + +THE heat of noon had passed, and the trees began to cast their +evening shadows, when, in company with a friend, I seated myself in +a carriage, and drove off in the direction of Mount Vernon. We +crossed the long bridge, and found ourselves in the old State of +Virginia. + +It was a delightful afternoon; one just suited to the purpose to +which we had devoted it. The trees were clad in fresh, green +foliage, and the farms and gardens were blooming into early life. To +myself, no season appears so beautiful as that of spring. All +seasons to me are bright and glorious, but there is a charm about +spring that captivates the soul. Then Nature weaves her drapery, and +bends over the placid lake to jewel herself, as the maiden bends +before her mirror to deck her pure white brow with diamonds and +rubies. All is life, all animation, all clothed with hope; all +tending upward, onward to the bright future. "The trees are full of +crimson buds, the woods are full of birds, And the waters flow to +music, like a tune with pleasant words." + +In about one hour we reached the city of Alexandria. Between this +place and Washington a steamboat plies, going and returning four +times a day. The road from Washington to Alexandria is about decent; +but the road from thence to Mount Vernon is in the worst possible +condition,--so bad, in fact, that we dismounted and walked a +considerable distance, it being far less tiresome to walk than to +ride. The road winds in a very circuitous route through a dense +forest, the lofty trees of which, rising upon either hand, cast +their deep shadows upon us. The place, that would otherwise have +been gloomy, was enlivened by the variable songs of the +mocking-birds, and the notes of their more beautiful-plumed though +less melodious companions. + +Occasionally we passed the hut of a negro, and met a loaded team +from some Virginian farm, drawn by three or four ill-looking, yet +strong and serviceable horses. These teams were managed by +negroes,--never less than two, and in some cases by three or four, +or, as in one instance, by an entire family, man, wife and children, +seated on their loads, whistling and singing, where also sat a large +black-and-white mastiff. Long after we passed and they had receded +from our view, we could distinctly hear their melodious voices +singing their simple yet expressive songs, occasionally interrupted +by a "gee, yawh, shau," as they urged on their dilatory steeds. + +The homes of the negroes were in some cases built of stone; mostly, +however, of boards, put loosely together, and in some instances of +large logs, the crevices being filled with mud, which, the sun and +wind having hardened, were white-washed, presenting a very strong +though not very beautiful appearance, the architecture of which was +neither Grecian nor Roman, but evidently from "original designs" by +a not very fastidious or accomplished artist. + +Groups of women and children were about these houses; some seated on +the grass, in the shade of the tall trees; others standing in the +doors, all unemployed and apparently having nothing to do but to +talk, and this they appeared to engage in with a hearty good will. + +We continued our way over stones, up steep, deep-rutted hills, +covered partly with branches and brambles, and down as steep +declivities, through ponds and brooks, now and then cheered by the +pleasing prospect of a long road, evidently designed to illustrate +the "ups and downs of life." + +After a tiresome journey, partly walked, partly ridden, which was +somewhat relieved of its tediousness by the romantic and beautiful +scenery through which we passed, we came in view of Mount Vernon. + +An old, infirm, yet good, sociable negro met us at the gate, and +told us that there was another road to the Mount, but that it was +not as good as the one we came over, and also that there was a +private road, which was not as good as either of the others! We +smiled, threw out a hint about a‰rial navigation. He smiled also, +and, thinking we doubted his word, said, "Indeed, it is not as good; +I would n't tell you a lie about it." Mercy on pilgrims to Mount +Vernon! If you ever go there, reader, do provide yourself with a +conscience that can't be shaken out of you. + +Having been kindly furnished with a letter from Mr. Seaton, the +editor of the Intelligencer, and Mayor of Washington city, to the +proprietor of the estate, we inquired whether he was at home, and +with pleasure learned that he was. + +We passed into what we deemed an almost sacred enclosure, so linked +is it with the history of our country, and the glorious days that +gave birth to a nation's freedom. It seemed as though we had entered +an aviary, so many and so various the birds that floated in the air +around us, and filled it with the rich melody of their songs. + +At a short distance stood a beautiful deer, as if transfixed to the +spot, his large, black, lustrous eyes turned towards us, his ears +erect, till, suddenly starting, he darted away, and leaped down the +steep hill-side to the water's brink. + +The house I need not describe, as most persons are acquainted with +its appearance, from seeing the numerous engraved representations of +it. It shows many evidences of age and decay. Time is having his own +way with, it, as the hand that would defend it from his ravages, and +improve its looks, is kept back, that it may remain as nearly as +possible in the same condition as when occupied by our first +president. We entered and passed through several rooms, endeavoring +to allay our curiosity by asking more questions than our attendant +could conveniently answer and retain his senses. + +We saw the massive key of that old French prison-house, the Bastile, +presented to General Washington by that friend of freedom and +humanity, General Lafayette, soon after the destruction of that +monument of terror. We noticed that depredations had been committed +by visitors upon the costly marble fire-frame, which was a gift to +Washington. + +Mr. Washington being called to the farm, we availed ourselves of the +services of the old negro before mentioned, who led us around the +estate. On our way to the tomb, we passed through what we judged to +be a kitchen. The floor was brick, and a fireplace occupied nearly +all of one side of the room; one of those old-fashioned contrivances +which were in vogue in those days when people went more for comfort +than appearance. Half a score of negroes were in the room, who gazed +at us as we entered, covered with dust and dirt, the real free soil +of Virginia. They seemed to think our intentions more of a warlike +than a peaceable nature. We soon inclined them to the latter belief, +however, by gently patting a curly-headed urchin upon the head, and +distributing a few pennies among the crowd. + +Five minutes' walk, and we were at the tomb. + +"There is the old General," said the aged negro, as he touched +lightly the sarcophagus with his cane; "that, yonder, is his wife," +pointing to a similar one at the left. + +Silently I stood and gazed at the marble coffin that held the mortal +remains of him whom, when he lived, all people loved, and the memory +of whom, now that he has passed from our material vision, all people +revere. A few branches of cypress lay upon it, and at its base a few +withered flowers. + +The sarcophagus that holds the dust of Washington is placed upon a +low pedestal, formed of brick. A brick wall is at the sides, and an +iron slat fence or gateway in front. Over this gateway a white stone +is set in the brick-work, and bears this inscription: + +WITHIN THIS ENCLOSURE ARE + +THE REMAINS + +OF + +GENERAL GEORGE WASHINGTON. + +Short, indeed, but how full of food for thought! + +"General George Washington!" He needs no long and fulsome epitaph +carved in marble to tell his worth. Did his memory depend upon that +alone, the marble would crumble into dust, mingle with his, and his +name pass away with the stone that man vainly thought would preserve +it. No; his monument is a world made free, and his memory as lasting +as immortal mind. Wherever the light of freedom shall penetrate, it +will bear on its every glistening ray his cherished name; and +whenever and wherever men shall struggle with oppression, it shall +inspire them with vigor, and cheer them on to victory. + +Marble will perish, and monuments of adamant will crumble to dust; +but the memory of Washington will live as long as there is a heart +to love, or a mind to cherish a recollection of goodness. + +"He was a good old man," said the negro, "and he has gone to his +rest." + +"We are all going," he continued, after a pause. I thought a tear +stole down his wrinkled face; but he turned his back to me, and left +me to my own reflections. + +Deep silence was about us. We heard not even the notes of a bird. +Not a zephyr moved the air, not a rustling leaf was there. In front, +far below, lay the Potomac. Not a breath of wind moved the surface +of its waters, but calmly, peacefully, undisturbed, the river moved +on, as though conscious of the spot it was passing. On its glassy +surface were reflected the branches that bent over and kissed it as +it flowed, and the last rays of a declining sun tinted with their +golden light the hills on the opposite shore. + +I stood at the tomb of Washington: on my right stood a distinguished +Indian chief; on my left, "Uncle Josh," the old African, of +three-score years and ten. We represented three races of the human +family, and we each were there with the same feelings of love, +honor, and respect to departed worth. + +Night was hastening on. I clambered up the embankment, and plucked a +few green leaves from a branch that hung over the tomb; gazed once +more, and yet again, within the enclosure; then turned away, and +hastened to overtake my companions, who were far in advance. + +If our country is ever called to pass through another struggle, may +God, in his wisdom, raise up for it another Washington! + +The sun had passed the horizon, and the cool evening air, laden with +the fragrance of shrubbery and flowers, gathered about us. A lively +squirrel sprang across our path; a belated bird flew by; and, amid +the pleasant, quiet scenes of rural life, we wended our way +homeward. + + + + + + +FREEDOM'S GATHERING. + + + + + + I SEEMED to live beyond the present time; + + Methought it was when all the world was free, + And myriad numbers, from each distant clime, + + Came up to hold their annual jubilee. + From distant China, Afric's sunburnt shore, + + From Greenland's icebergs, Russia's broad domain, + They came as men whom fetters bound no more, + + And trod New England's valley, hill, and plain. + They met to hold a jubilee, for all + Were free from error's chain, and from the oppressor's thrall. + Word had gone forth that slavery's power was done; + + The cry like wild-fire through the nations ran; + Russia's tame serf, and Afric's sable son, + + Threw off their chains-each felt himself a man. + Thrones that had stood for ages were no more; + + Man ceased to suffer; tyrants ceased to reign; + And all throughout the world, from shore to shore, + + Were loosed from slavery's fetter and its chain; + And those who once were slaves came up as free, + Unto New England's soil, to keep their jubilee. + New England! 't was a fitting place, for it + + Had sent its rays upon them, as a star + Beams from the glorious heaven on slaves who sit + + In chains, to lure them where free seraphs are; + The light it had shed on them made them start + + From their deep lethargy, then look and see + That they of Freedom's boon might have a part, + + Their nation glorious as New England be. + And then like men they struggled till they won, + And Freedom's high-born light shone as a noonday sun. + Men gathered there who were men; nobly they + + Had long and faithful fought 'gainst error's night, + And now they saw the sunlight of that day + + They long had hoped to see, when truth and right + Should triumph o'er the world, and all should hold + + This truth self-evident, that fellow-men, + In God's own image made, should not be sold + + Nor stalled as cattle in a market-pen. + Praises they sang, and thanks they gave to God, + That he had loosed the chain, and broke the oppressor's rod. + They gazed o'er all the past; their vision's eye + + Beheld how men in former years had groaned, + When Hope's own flame burned dim, and no light nigh + + Shone to disperse the darkness; when enthroned + Sat boasting Ignorance, and 'neath its sway + + Grim Superstition held its lurid lamp, + That only darkened the obstructed way + + In which man groped and wandered, till the damp, + Cold, cheerless gateway of an opening tomb + Met his extended hand, and sealed his final doom. + Perchance one mind, illumined from above, + + Did strive to burst the heavy bonds it wore, + Pierce through the clouds of error, and, in love + + With its new mission, upward seek to soar. + Upon it shone truth's faintest, feeblest ray; + + It would be free; but tyrants saw and crushed + Man's first attempt to cast his chains away, + + The first aspirings of his nature hushed. + Thus back from men was Freedom's genius driven, + And Slavery's chains in ten-fold strength were riven. + In gazing o'er the past, 't was this they saw- + + How Evil long had triumphed; but to-day + Man bowed to nothing but God's righteous law, + + And Truth maintained its undisputed sway. + Right conquered might; and of this they were proud, + + As they beheld all nations drawing near,-- + Men from all lands, a vast, unnumbered crowd, + + While in their eyes full many a sparkling tear + Trembled a while, then from its cell did start, + Witness to the deep joys of an o'erflowing heart. + There came up those who'd crouched beneath the lash, + + Had bowed beneath the chains they scarce could bear, + Till Freedom's lightning on their minds did flash, + + And roused them as a lion in his lair + Is roused when foes invade it, then, with strength + + Near superhuman, one bold effort made + To break their cruel bondage, till at length + + Beneath their feet they saw their fetters laid. + 'T was then they lifted their freed hands on high, + And peans loud and long resounded through the sky. + Up, up they came, and still the bannered host + + Far in the distance met my wondering eye; + On hill and dale, on all New England's coast, + + White banners waved beneath a cloudless sky. + The aged sire leaned on his oaken staff, + + Manhood stood up in all its strength and pride, + And youth came dancing with a joyous laugh, + + With woman, lovely woman, at their side; + Bright eyes, glad hearts, and joyous souls, were there, + Free as the light that shone, unfettered as the air. + The mind, that spark of Deity within + + That hath its nurture from a higher world, + No longer bound by tyranny and sin, + + Beheld its highest, noblest powers unfurled. + No more did Error bind it to its creed, + + Or Superstition strive to blind its sight; + It followed only where God's truth did lead, + + And trusted him to guide its course aright. + The inner as the outer man was free, + And both united held this glorious jubilee. + --'T was all a vision, and it passed away, + + As dreams depart; yet it did leave behind + Its deep impressions, thoughts that fain would stay + + And hold communion with the tireless mind. + I wished that it were real; alas! I heard + + The clank of Slavery's fetters rend the air; + And feelings of my heart were deeply stirred, + + When I beheld my brethren, who dare + Proclaim all "equal," yet in chains of steel + Bind men, who, like themselves, can pain and pleasure feel. + God in his wisdom meant all should be free, + + All equal: each a brother unto man. + Presumptuous mortal! who His great decree + + Durst strive to change to suit thy selfish plan! + Know thou that his fixed purpose will be done, + + Though thou arrayest all thy puny strength + In war against it! All who feel the sun + + Shall own his goodness, and be free at length. + God cares for mortals, though he reigns on high; + Freedom is His own cause, and it shall never die! + My country! if my heart one wish doth hold, + + For thee and for thy good, it is that thou + No more permit thy children to be sold! + + Forbid that they as slaves to man shall bow! + For them our fathers nobly fought and bled; + + For them they poured their life-blood forth as rain; + Shall it in foreign lands of us be said, + + We bind our brothers with a galling chain? + While the Old World is struggling to be free, + America! shall this foul charge be laid to thee? + We all may err; may oft be led astray; + + Let him who'd free the slave be careful he + Is not a slave himself to some fond way + + He would adopt to set his brother free! + All seek one end; for all one good would gain; + + Then, on as brothers, hand in hand proceed! + Paths that seem intricate will all be plain, + + If we but follow where God's truth would lead. + + Trust Him for strength in darkness and in light; + His word will cheer us on,--His presence give us might. + + + + + + +SONG OF THE BIRD. + + + + + + ON the topmost branch of the highest tree + I sit and sing, I am free! I am free! + When the lightnings flash, when the thunders roar, + I plume my wings and away I soar! + But soon on the branch of a lofty tree + Gayly I sing, I am free! I am free! + A huntsman he came by my nest one day, + And thought that with gun my song he would stay; + But I left my nest when he thought me there, + And I roamed about in my native air. + Then, when he was gone, on the highest tree + Gayly I sung, I am free! I am free! + It is I, 't is I, that at dawn of day + Go to meet the sun at its earliest ray. + I love its heat; so I cheer it along + With chirping notes and melodious song; + And all the day on the highest tree + Gayly I sing, I am free! I am free! + When the dusky shades of the night appear, + In my nest on high I have naught to fear; + Sweetly I slumber till dawning of day, + Then to the East, for the sun, I'm away, + Till, borne on its rays to the highest tree, + Gayly I sing, I am free! I am free! + O, I love my nest, and my nest loves me! + It rocks like a bark on the dancing sea; + Gently it bows when I wish to retire; + When in, it rises higher and higher. + O, I love my nest, and I love the tree, + Home and the haunt of the bird that is free! + + + + + + +I CHANGE BUT IN DYING. + + + + + + I CHANGE but in dying,--I am faithful till death! + I will guard thee with care from pollution's foul breath; + I promise that ne'er in neglect thou shalt pine; + I change but in dying,--say, wilt thou be mine? + I come not with riches; good fortune ne'er blest me; + Yet one of less worth hath often carest me; + The light of true love o'er thy pathway shall shine; + I change but in dying,--say, wilt thou be mine? + I change but in dying,--no holier vow + From lips mortal e'er came than I breathe to thee now; + It comes from a heart with love for thee sighing; + Believe me, 't is true,--I change but in dying! + + + + + + +HE IS THY BROTHER. + + + + + + GO, break the chains that bind the slave; + Go, set the captive free; + For Slavery's banners ne'er should wave, + And slaves should never be. + Yet not in anger. Hasty words + Should not to thee belong, + They will not loose a single link, + But bind them yet more strong. + O, while ye think to him in chains + A brother's rights are due, + Remember him who binds those chains! + He is thy brother, too! + + + + + + +THE WINE-DEALER'S CLERK. + +CHAPTER I. + + + + + +"WILL you sign the pledge?" asked one young man of another. + +"No!" was the ready response; and, after a moment's pause, "You are +wrong, and I am right. You wish to deprive me of a social glass, +free companionship with those I love, life's best enjoyments, and to +live bound down to the contracted limits of a temperance-pledge.-Me +sign! No! Go ask leave of the soaring eagle to clip his wings; of +the oriole to tarnish his bright plumage; of the bounding deer to +fetter his free limbs,--but do not ask me to sign a pledge!" + +The young men parted. Each went his way; one to his counting-room, +the other to his home. + +The proprietors of the store with which the former was connected had +been for a number of years busily engaged in the importation, +adulteration and sale of wines and brandies. From the cellar to the +attic of their large warehouse, pipes, puncheons, and barrels of the +slow poison were deposited, with innumerable bottles of wine, +reputed to be old as a century, if not older. A box or two of +Flemish pipes relieved the sameness of the scene,--barrels on +barrels. + +From the counting-room of the establishment a large number of young +men had gone forth to become either wholesale or retail dealers in +the death-drugged merchandise. The ill-success which attended these, +and the lamentable end to which they arrived, would have been +singular and mysterious, had it followed in the wake of any other +business. But, as it was, effect followed cause, and such is the law +of nature. + +One, a young man of promise in days gone-by, recently became the +inmate of an alms-house in a distant city; another, urged to madness +by frequent potations, died as the fool dieth; and a third, who had +been the centre light of a social circle, as he felt the chill of +death come upon him, called all his friends near, and said to them, +"Deal not, deal not in the arrows of death, lest those arrows pierce +thine own heart at last!" + +All these facts were known to the public; yet they countenanced the +traffic in which Messrs. Laneville & Co. were engaged. They were +merchants, they were wealthy; for these reasons, it would seem, the +many-headed public looked up to them with a feeling bordering on +reverence, somewhat awed by their presence, as though wealth had +made them worthy, while many a less rich but ten-fold more honest +man walked in the shadow of the mighty Magog, unseen,--uncared for, +if seen. Messrs. Laneville & Co. knew that the law was against their +business; they knew, also, that public opinion, if not actually in +favor of it, willingly countenanced it. + +Perchance the cry of some unfortunate widow might at times reach +their ears; but it was speedily hushed by the charmed music of the +falling dollar, as it was exchanged for their foul poison. +Forgetting they were men, they acted as demons, and continued to +deal forth their liquid death, and to supply the thousand streams of +the city with the cause of the crime it was obliged to punish, and +the pauperism it was obliged to support. + +The "Vincennes" had just arrived at the wharf as James entered the +store. It had been the custom of the owners, on the annual arrival +of this vessel, to have a party on board. On this occasion, they +made the usual arrangements for the festivity. Cards of invitation +were speedily written, and distributed among members of the city +government, editors, clergymen, and other influential persons. James +was free to invite such of his friends as he chose, and in doing so +the question arose whether he should ask George Alverton to be +present. It was known to him that George was a teetotaller, and had +that morning invited him to sign the pledge. He knew that at the +entertainment wine would circulate. He knew that some would indulge +rather freely, and that the maintenance of a perfect equilibrium by +such would be very difficult. Suppose he, himself,--that is, +James,--should be among these last mentioned, and that, too, before +his friend George; would it not demolish his favorite argument, +which he had a thousand times advanced, that he knew right from +wrong,--when to drink and when to stop drinking? yet, thought he, I +may not indulge too freely. Yes; I will maintain my position, and +show by practice what I teach by preaching. Besides, it would be +very impolite, as well as uncourteous, in me, not to invite one +whose character I value so highly as his,--one whose friendship I so +much esteem. I will invite him. He shall be present, and shall see +that I can keep sober without being pledged to do so. + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +George Alverton was the son of a nobleman. Start not, republican +reader, for we mean not a stiff-starched branch of English nobility, +but one of America's noblemen,--and hers are nature's! He was a +hard-working mechanic; one of God's noblest works,--an honest man! +Americans know not, as yet, the titled honors of the Old World; and +none, save a few, whose birth-place nature must have mistook, would +introduce into a republican country the passwords of a monarchical +one. + +"An invite for you," said the laughing Josephine, as George entered +at dusk. "And ten to one it's from that black-eyed Kate, who is +bewitching all the young men within a twenty-mile circuit with her +loving glances-eh? A match, ten to one!" + +"Always gay," said George, as he turned half aside to avoid the +mischievous look of his sister; "but, by the way, Jos, to be +serious, an invite did you say? How do you know that?" + +"O, by the way 'tis folded; we girls have a way of knowing a +love-letter from bills of exchange, and an invitation from bills of +lading. Just look at it; see how pretty 'tis enveloped, how +handsomely directed,--George Alverton, Esq., Present. It's no use, +George; you needn't look so serious. You are a captured one, and +when a bird's in a net he may as well lie still as flutter!" + +Josephine handed the note to her brother, slyly winking as she did +so, as much as to say, "The marriage-bells are ringing, love." + +George, observing the superscription, was convinced that it was from +James Clifton, and remarked, + +"Don't be too hasty; it is from James; the direction must be wrong; +it was doubtless intended for you. Look out, Jos; you may be the +captured one, after all!" + +Josephine was not to be thus thrown from her ground; so, turning to +her brother with a laugh, she said, + +"For me! Well, if so 't is so; but I judge from what I see. +Notwithstanding your insinuation that James writes to no one but +myself, I'll venture a bright gold dollar that this is for yourself, +even though it be from James. Open the budget, and prove the truth +of what I say." + +George untied the white ribbon that bound it, and, opening the +envelope, found an invitation to a gentleman's party to be held that +evening on board the "Vincennes." Josephine laughed merrily over +what she deemed her brother's defeat, and George as heartily over +what he deemed his victory. He was advised to go; not, however, +without an accompanying hint of its being a dry affair, as ladies +were to be excluded. Josephine was puzzled to know the reason of +their exclusiveness, and what festivity was to be engaged in of +which they could not partake. + +"I scarcely know what to do," said George, "as wines will be +circulated, and I shall be asked, a dozen times or more, to drink of +them." + +"Go, by all means," said his sister; "stand your own ground, be +firm, be resolute, refuse if asked to partake; but do so in a manner +that, while it shows a determination to resist temptation, will not +offend, but rather induce him you respect to think whether it will +not he best for him also to refuse." + +"I will. I am aware of the situation in which James is placed. He +has a generous, a noble heart, that needs but to know the right to +do it. I will go; and if by example, persuasion or otherwise, I can +prevail upon him to sign the pledge, I will do so, and thank God for +it. I will speak to him kindly, and in reason. Others will drink, if +he does not; others will fall, if he escapes; and such examples are +the most convincing arguments that can be used to prove that an +unpledged man, in these days of temptation, is unsafe, and unmindful +of his best and dearest interests." + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +Notwithstanding the short interval between the reception of the +cards and the hour of festivity, the time appointed saw a goodly +number assembled in the well-furnished, richly-decorated cabins of +the ship. + +It was evident that some individuals had been busy as bees, for all +was clean and in the best of order. Wreaths of evergreen and +national flags decorated the vessel, and bouquets of bright and +fragrant flowers, conspicuously arranged, loaded the air with their +sweet perfumes. There were card-tables and cards, scores of +well-filled decanters, and glasses almost without number. At one end +of the cabin stood a table filled with fruits of the most costly +kind. There were oranges fresh from the land that gave them growth, +and other products of sunny Italy and the islands beyond the seas. +The captain was as lively as a lark, and as talkative as wit and +wine could make him. He spoke of his quick voyage, praised his ship +till praise seemed too poor to do its duty, boasted of its good +qualities, said there was not a better craft afloat, and finished +his eulogy by wishing success to all on board, and washing it down +with a glass of Madeira, which, he said, was the stuff, for he made +it himself from grapes on the island. + +Messrs. Laneville & Co. were in high glee. They drank and played +cards with men worth millions; spoke of the inclemency of the +season, and expressed great surprise that so much poverty and +wretchedness existed, with one breath, and with the next extolled +the wines and administered justice to the eatables. Editors were +there who had that morning written long "leaders" about the +oppression of the poor by the rich, and longer ones about the +inconsistencies of their contemporaries, who ate and drank, and +dreamt not of inconsistency in themselves, though they guided the +press with temperance reins, and harnessed themselves with those who +tarried long at the wine. + +James drank quite often, and George as often admonished him of his +danger. But the admonitions of a young man had but little if any +influence, counteracted as they were by the example of the rich and +the great about him. There was Alderman Zemp, who was a temperance +man in the world, but a wine-drinker in a ship's cabin. He had +voted for stringent laws against the sale of liquors, and had had +his name emblazoned on the pages of every professedly temperance +paper as a philanthropist and a righteous man; and on the pages of +every anti-temperance publication, as a foe to freedom, and an enemy +to the rights of humanity. But he drank; yes, he had asked James to +take a glass of the water of Italy, as he called it. Clergymen, so +called, disgraced themselves, and gave the scoffers food for +merriment. Judges who that day might have sentenced some unfortunate +to imprisonment for drinking, drank with a gusto equalled only by +lawyers who would talk an hour in court to prove a man discreditable +evidence because he was known to visit bar-rooms! It was the +influence of these, and such like, that made James drink, and caused +the labor of George to prove all unavailing. It is the example of +the rich that impedes the progress of temperance,--they who loll on +damask sofas, sip their iced champagnes and brandies, and never get +"drunk," though they are sometimes "indisposed." + +The clock struck twelve, then one, and the morning hours advanced, +light-foot messengers of the coming day. The gay and the jocund +laugh was hushed, and the notes that told of festive mirth were +silenced. Nature, either fatigued by exertion or stupefied by wine, +had sank to repose; and those who had lingered too long and indulged +too freely were lying on the cabin-floor helpless. George retired +at a seasonable hour. James remained, and fell, as others, before +the enchanting wine-cup's power! + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + +The next morning George called at the store of Laneville & Co. No +one was in save a small lad, who, to his inquiry, replied that all +were sick. The youth was a short, porpoise-shaped lad, who appeared +quite independent for his age and station, and told George that he +had better call the next day, as the folks would n't be down. In an +instant George suspected the cause of their absence. Though he knew +James would be mortified to be seen, yet he determined upon visiting +him, thinking it a favorable opportunity to submit to him the +expediency of taking that step which he had urged upon him on the +morning previous. + +Conscious of being engaged in an act of duty, he ascended the steps +that led to the door of the house. He rang; a servant-girl answered +his call. + +"Holloa!" shouted a voice at the head of the stairs. "Who's +there?-what cow's got into my pasture now? Another glass, +friends,--once more! Now drink, 'Death to the temperance cause, and +ill-luck to fanatics!' Holloa! down below,--come aloft!" + +"Hush! be quiet," said a female voice, in a whisper. "James, do +respect yourself." + +"Hush! who says hush? My soul's in arms; come on, John Duff! bring +liquor here, and cursed be he who says, I've had enough!" + +The closing of a door put an end to this extemporaneous address. +George stood like a statue; he knew not which course to +take,--whether to go up to his friend's room, or go down to the +street. He soon determined, and sent word that he wished to speak to +James. In a moment the latter was again to be heard declaiming +disconnected sentences on all manner of subjects, until, learning +the wish of George, he shouted, + +"Yes, tell him to come up and revel in the groves of Madeira, or +dance with peasant-girls at the grape-gatherings in Sicily! Yes, +George, up here, and see how a man can live a temperance life +without signing the pledge, and be as independent as he pleases!" + +As George entered, James grasped his hand,--swung him round rather +familiarly, and pushed him towards a chair. + +The furniture and all that was in the room was in the greatest +confusion, not excepting James Clifton himself. There was a +boot-jack and a vase of flowers side by side on the mantel; a pair +of boots on the centre-table, with two or three annuals on them, as +though to keep them from being blown away; a nice hat stood on the +hearth filled with coal-ashes, while an inkstand upside down on a +pile of linen bosoms had left an impression not easily effaced; the +paintings that were in the room were turned face towards the +wall,--some freak of James', as though ashamed to have them see the +performances. + +"Now, George," said Mr. Clifton, "you can be convinced of the truth +of my doctrine. I did n't sign the pledge, and I'm as sober, sober +as a brandy-smasher! You recollect what a great poet says,--Drink +till the moon goes down. I can improve that; I say,--Drink till +yourselves go down. What an age this is, when temperance fanatics +dance through the world to smash decanters, and make one pledge +himself to be a fool! Independence is my motto! I go for +independence now, independence forever, and as much longer as +possible. Who says I am not right? Deluded mortals, who wink at sin, +and kick at brandies! Magnificent monstrosities, making manliness +moonshine; metaphysical Moors murdering Munchausen-" + +"But hold, James," said George, interrupting him in his remarks; +"keep within bounds,--let us reason." It was not with much hope of +success that George asked his friend to "reason," for his condition +was one not in the least degree favorable to such a performance. + +"Reason?" exclaimed James. "I'm not a reasonable,--reasoning, I +mean,--I'm not a reasoning being! Go ask the pigs to reason!" + +Notwithstanding all this, George seemed inclined to argument, for he +immediately said, + +"Don't you see the ill effects of last night's indulgence in the +confusion around you, and feel them in your own mind and body?" + +"Now you talk like a man. Let us send the 'James-town' to Ireland +with bread and butter. 'T is a vote! passed unanimously by both +houses of Congress. We'll fire a full broadside of gingerbread at +the old Green Isle, and teach the people to eat for a living." + +This rambling from the inquiry George had made induced him to +relinquish all hope of influencing him at that time. He saw how he +had fallen; and he needed no prophet's ken to behold his future +course, unless he turned from the path he was now so +enthusiastically following. + +Seeing that no good could be effected by his remaining, George arose +to depart, when James caught his arm, and told him not to be in such +haste. + +"I want you to take a glass of wine;" and, ringing the bell, a +servant was at the door before Mr. Alverton had an opportunity to +say or do anything. + +"You know I don't drink wines," said George; "why do you ask me?" + +"Don't drink?" + +"You look surprised, but you know I do not." + +"Everybody drinks." + +"Not all, if I am one of that extensive number." + +"Well, my employer sells liquors, my minister drinks his wine, and +my friends all drink, except you; and you are a sort of nondescript, +a sort of back-action member of human society, a perfect ginger-cake +without any ginger in it. Say, got a pledge in your pocket? I have; +here it is:" and he pulled forth a slip of paper, on which he had +written some half-legible lines. + +"See how you like it;--it is what is called the Independent Pledge. +I'll read it. + +"'We the undersigned, believing the use of wines and other liquors +beneficial to ourselves in general, and the dealers in particular, +pledge ourselves to act as we please in all matters of politics and +phrenology.'" + +The servant, who yet stood at the door waiting orders, burst forth +into a loud laugh, as the reading of this was finished, while +George, though inwardly sorrowing over the situation of his friend, +could not refrain from smiling at his ridiculous appearance and +doings. There was a good humor running through the method of his +madness, that made him far from being disagreeable. + +Mr. Alverton passed to the door, and, motioning the servant aside, +entreated her not to bring him wine. + +"Well, sir, that be's just as he says," said she, in a loud voice, +and in a manner that convinced Mr. Alverton that she cared not as to +what might follow. + +"Good!" shouted James. "Why, she's my confidential; she's as true to +me as a book. Sal, bring up two decanters of that best." + +The girl laughed, and bounded out of the room to do as he requested. + +The wine came; a long talk ensued, as unmeaning and useless as that +we have above related, and George left with a heavy heart, promising +to call on the morrow. + +As he entered the street, and the cool, fresh air of an autumn +morning greeted him, he felt somewhat revived, and, quickening his +step, he soon reached his home. He dare not mention his adventure to +Josephine, though he wanted to. She was the betrothed of James. In +one month they were to be married! Dark and frowning were the clouds +that gathered in their blackness over the mind of George, as he +mused on what had been and what was to be. Should he tell her all? +It was his duty. Should he shrink from the performance of his duty? +No. + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + + +"Never!" exclaimed the young lady, as she wiped her eyes, and a +smile of joy and hope burst through her tears. "George, I know he +will not go too far,--O, no! As an eagle may touch the earth, yet, +soaring again, float in its own element in the light of the sun, so +may he, though he has this once fallen, soar upward, and higher than +ever, planning not another descent so low." + +"I hope it may be so," said George. + +"And why not hope? You know each has an opinion of his own, but that +opinion may be changed. Though he now opposes the pledge, and the +cause of which it is the representative, yet he may think +differently, and may, through your influence, become one of its most +zealous advocates. Don't mention to him that I know of his act," +exclaimed Josephine, springing to catch the arm of her brother, as +he opened the door to leave. + +She was answered in the negative, and in the examination of a few +articles that were being prepared for her bridal-day she gradually +forgot all unpleasant misgivings, and nothing but happiness could +she see before her. + +It was not until the next day that George had an opportunity of +seeing his friend. He then met him at the store, and James laughed +over the doings of the day previous as a "good joke," as he called +them. On that occasion, as on several subsequent ones, he urged him +to sign and become a total-abstinent; but, with such influences as +those which surrounded him, it was not strange that these efforts +proved ineffectual. + +Weeks passed, and the hour of marriage drew nigh. The festivity was +to be one of unusual splendor and gayety. For a long time had +preparations been in progress. + +It was painful for George to refer to a matter which he would not +have spoken of had it not so much concerned the welfare of a sister +whom he loved as his own self. When he mentioned the circumstances +attending the party on board the "Vincennes," she, in the fulness of +her love, excused James, and brought up a host of arguments to prove +the impossibility of a reoccurrence of any similar event. + +Love is stronger than death; and, mastering all things, overlooks or +decreases the evil and enlarges the goodness of its object. It was +so in this case. Josephine's attachment to James led her to +sacrifice all other feelings and opinions to her deep affection for +him, and made her willing to stand by him or fall with him, as the +vine to the tree, bright and fresh, though the once sturdy oak lies +fallen and blighted. + +The evening came, and with it many a bright and joyous heart to the +home of George Alverton. A more beautiful bride never pronounced the +bridal-vow than she who there, encircled with bright eyes and +smiling faces, gave all to James Clifton. And when it was over, when +they joined the bright galaxy that were about them and mingled with +others in the festive mirth of the hour, a life of joy and social +comfort was predicted for the hearts which that night were made +one! Music was there with its charms, Terpsichore with her graceful +motions, and everything from commencement to close was conducted in +so happy and agreeable a manner, that not a few young folks, as they +rode home, agreed to go through the same performance at their +earliest convenience. + +After the usual "calls" had been attended and a few weeks had +elapsed, James and his young wife located themselves in a +dwelling-house, which was furnished in an elegant though not in an +extravagant manner. He was to continue with Messrs. Laneville & Co. +They reposed the utmost confidence in him, and considered him the +best judge of liquors in the city. On the day of his marriage they +increased his salary one third, so that his income was by no means +to be complained of. It was such as to enable him to live well, and +to lay aside quite a large amount quarterly. His prospects were +good, and no young man ever had better hopes of success. + +We cannot close this chapter without referring again to the fact +that he dealt in that which made widows of wives, orphans of +children, and sent down the stream of life a rivulet of death. This +fact was like a cloud hanging over his path; and, though it was but +as a speck far up in sky, who could tell what it might become? + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + + + +For a year the young couple were most happy. The moments flew too +quickly by; so laden were they with joy, they would have them endure +forever. "Little Jim" was a smart one, if he was n't as old as his +father, and the handsomest piece of furniture in the house! Nobody +doubted that; at least, it would n't have been well for them to have +expressed their doubts in a very audible manner, if they held any. + +Tasting, trying and judging of liquors, led to a loving, sipping and +drinking of them. We may hate temperance; but it is certain we +cannot hate a good without loving a bad thing. In offering for sale +an article of food or beverage, the influence of our using it +ourselves, or not using it, goes a great ways towards our disposing +of it, or our not disposing of it. James knew this, and acted +accordingly. He always had the best of liquors in his house, as it +was often the case that, after selling a man a large amount, he +invited him home to dine. They, in turn, invited him out in the +evening, and it was often a late hour when he returned. At home the +presence of his wife prevented him from indulging too freely; but +away from home, and surrounded by gay companions, he went as full +lengths as any. + +Such indulgences could not continue long without showing their +effects. George saw these, and remonstrated with him; but Josephine +could not or did not observe them. If he did not arrive home at the +customary hour, she ever had an excuse for his delay. + +The arrival of another cargo of wines, etc., for Messrs. Laneville & +Co., was duly acknowledged by another carousal in the cabins of the +vessel, which ended in results far more destructive to the +reputation of James, and to the happiness of himself and friends, +than the former. + +At a late hour Josephine sat waiting and watching, when the ring of +the door-bell, the movement of the servant, the mingling of several +suppressed voices, and the shuffle of footsteps on the entry-floor, +aroused her from that listless inaction which fatigue had brought +upon her. She sprang to the door of her room, and, opening it, was +about to descend, when her brother met her and requested her not to +do so. + +"Why?" she inquired. + +He gave no definite answer to her inquiry, but requested her to +retire for the night, saying that James would probably be home in +the morning, bright and early as the dawn. + +"And not before?" she inquired, in a tone of voice that startled her +attentive brother. Then, as a stray thought of the former ship's +party and its unfortunate results came into her mind, she exclaimed, +"I must see him now! Let me know the worst. Nothing can keep me from +him. James, my James!" and, bursting from her brother's embrace, she +ran down stairs, and, notwithstanding the remonstrance of her +friends, opened the door where half a dozen men and her husband had +gathered. + +James lay upon a sofa, nearly unconscious of what was transpiring +around him. Josephine caught the hand that hung loosely at his side, +threw herself on the floor beside him, smoothed back his dishevelled +hair, and kissed his flushed cheek. + +"James, James!" exclaimed she. He opened his eyes, gazed for a +moment listlessly upon her, then closed them again. "O, James! don't +you know me? James! say,--wake thee, dearest!" + +She pressed his hand in her own, and, as the tears fell freely from +her eyes, so unused to weep, she continued her calls upon him who +lay insensate before her. She whispered in his ear the breathings of +her heart, or in louder tones gave vent to the grief that wounded +it. + +Vainly did friends beseech her to retire; vainly did they tell her +she could not hasten his restoration to reason. She declared her +determination to remain with him till morning. + +Day dawned. There, at the side of her husband, sat the faithful +wife, as neglective of her own wants as she was attentive to his. +James began to realize his condition, but not fully. He had vague +ideas of being in his own house, but his mind was at times +wandering, and his words betrayed its condition. + +"Here I am," said he, "in a paradise, with an angel at my side, and +beauty and rich fragrance all around me. See you how that diamond +sparkles at the bottom of this brook flowing at my feet! Watch that +dove as it comes down from the sky! See, it nestles in my angel's +bosom. See how it folds its wings! See how she smooths down its +ruffled plumage, and, hark ye, listen to its plaintive cooing! My +angel, my sweet one, come near me, let me whisper in thine ear. Go, +bring me that bunch of luscious grapes which is suspended on that +sapphire cloud, and make me wine of them that gods might envy! Ah, +see, she goes,--she wings her flight,--she grasps the rich fruit,--she +comes! She presses the grapes, and here is wine,--from where? From +paradise! Droop not, droop not, droop not, spirit of light! Do not +weep! What are you weeping for? Here, let me wipe those tears away. +Ah, they are pearls, they are not tears! I thought they were +tears.-Going so soon?-Gone?" + +He sank into a quiet sleep. Josephine had wept as she caught his +words partly uttered in a whisper so low as to be scarcely +distinguishable. Now, as he slept, she watched his breathings, and +hoped that when he awoke he would be of a sane mind, and that a +realization of what had occurred might influence his future career +for the better. + + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + + + +"News!" exclaimed Capt. Thorndyke, as he shook the hand of his +friend Basyl. "Have you not heard it? Why, it's common talk. Young +Clifton imbibes rather too freely. You know him,--Laneville & Co.'s +clerk,--best judge of liquors in the states; strange that he will +imbibe." + +"Strange indeed, very strange, if he is really a judge and knows +what they're made of," said Basyl; "and stranger yet that he will +sell. For my part, I consider a man that will sell liquor, in these +days of light and knowledge, as bad as a highwayman, and no better +than a pirate." + +"Rather plain spoken." + +"I know it, but, look ye, there's Follet, a fine man, a first-rate +man, once worth half a million, but now not worth a guinea-pig. The +man that sold him good wine in his better days sells him poor +whiskey now; and the confounded dealer in fancy poisons has taken +the houses of Mr. Follet, brick by brick, and piled them up in his +own yard, so to speak. Why, no longer ago than yesternight, he took +a fine black coat of Dick Pherson, and gave him in return a coarse, +brown one and a glass of sin-gin, I mean. Fudge! talk about +consistency! That rumseller is nominated for an alderman, and he'll +be elected. He's rich; and all your say-so temperance men will vote +for him, and when elected he'll go hand-in-hand with some lone star, +who deems it advisable that men should be licensed to corrupt the +morals of the community, in order to make it wise and virtuous!" + +The captain acknowledged that his friend had a right view of the +matter, and, as he bade him good-day, promised to take care of his +vote at the coming election. + +We doubt whether any man ever felt more deeply sensible of the wrong +committed than did James, as he, the next morning, awaking from his +long sleep, beheld his wife standing at his side, now weeping over +him, now joyous and smiling at his returned consciousness, and +closely attentive to his every want. He felt himself unworthy of +such kindness, and for the first time in his life saw the evil of +the doctrine he had all his lifetime advocated, namely, that a man +can drink enough and not too much; in other words, that he can guide +his evil passions as he will, and command them to stop in their +course, nor trespass on forbidden ground. + +But James even yet was opposed to the pledge, and, though George +presented it with strong arguments, he refused to sign it, and +laughed at the idea of his ever getting the worse for liquor again. + +The employer of James Clifton had his name on the same ticket with +that of the rumseller before mentioned, as a candidate for mayor. +Election-day came. The two political parties had their tickets in +the hands of scores of distributors. There was a third party, with +its ticket, the caption of which-"Temperance Men and Temperance +Measures"-was bandied about with gibes and sneers by the prominent +men of both other parties. + +Among the vote-distributors was a young man of exceedingly +prepossessing appearance, and who, by means of the winning manner he +possessed, disposed of a large number of tickets, even to men of the +opposing party. "Vote for Laneville! vote for Laneville!" was his +constant cry, save when he, in well-chosen words, proclaimed the +ability and worthiness of his candidate. Some said he was urged on +by selfish motives; that, as he was a clerk of Laneville's, the +election of that candidate would be much to his pecuniary benefit. +But James Clifton cared for none of these insinuations. + +"Well, deacon, my dear, dear deacon, who do you vote for?" inquired +a stanch teetotaller, as an old gentleman approached. The person +addressed, after a little hesitation, during which a few nervous +twinges of the mouth betrayed his nervousness of conscience, and the +debate going on in his heart between consistency and principles on +the one side, and party names and measures on the other, replied, +"Well, well,"-then a pause,--"well, I don't know; go for the best +man, I s'pose." + +"Here's the ticket, sir! the best man, sir, is Laneville! vote for +Laneville!" shouted James, as he thrust his ticket into the hands of +the old gentleman, and, laying hold of his arm, led him into the +room, and saw him deposit the vote of a temperance advocate for a +rumseller! James laughed well over his victory, while the +distributors of the temperance tickets felt somewhat ill at ease in +seeing him whom they thought their truest friend desert them in the +hour of need, and give his vote and influence for the other party. + +The day ended; the votes were counted, and Laneville was proclaimed +elected by a majority of one! + +The night was one of carousal. The betting on both sides had been +considerable, and the payment of these debts caused the small change +to circulate pretty freely among the dispensers of eatables and +drinkables. + +This night James yielded more easily than ever before to the +cravings of an appetite that began to master him. + +Poor fellow! Deluded man! A fond, a devoted, a trusting wife waiting +at home, watching the hands of the clock as they neared the mark of +twelve, and listening for thy footfall! Thou, trusting in thine own +strength, but to learn thy weakness, lying senseless among thy +drinking mates in the hall of dissolute festivity! + +Tom Moore may sing in praise of "wine and its sparkling tide;" but +the sighing of wronged women and their tears shall toll the requiem +of its praise. + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + + + +Notwithstanding the entreaties of George, added to those of +Josephine, James continued in the way he had begun to walk, and +which was leading him to ruin. The arguments of the one, and the +tears of the other, were equally unavailing. + +So far had he proceeded in a downward course that his employers +remonstrated; and the same arguments they had used upon their former +clerks were urged upon his consideration. Fearing the loss of +situation, he repented, but it was only to fall again before the +power of that appetite with which he had tampered as with a torpid +viper, which now felt the warmth of his embrace, and became a +living, craving creature within his bosom. + +His old companions perceived the change he was undergoing, and, like +butterflies that hovered about his path in sunshine, left him as +clouds overshadowed his way. But he had friends who would not leave +him. He had a wife who clung to him with all the affection of +woman's love, and a brother whose hand was ever extended to aid him. + +James saw the evil that threatened to overwhelm him; yet, strangely +infatuated, he would not come to a fixed determination to reform so +far as to sign the pledge. + +The sun never shone with a brighter effulgence than it did on the +morning of the 24th of July, 1849. The streets of Boston were filled +with busy crowds, and banners and flags streamed from balconies and +windows. Delegates of men from the suburbs poured into the city, and +the sound of music filled the air. Men, women, and children, the +rich and the poor, the merchant and the mechanic, the American and +the foreigner, joined in the movement; and a stranger could not long +remain ignorant of the fact that some great event was to transpire +that day in the capital of the Old Bay State. Crowds gathered at the +corners, and lined the principal thoroughfares. + +"He has blist his own country, an' now he will bliss ours," said a +well-dressed Irishman. + +"An' that he will," was the response; "an' God bliss Father Mathew!" + +"Amen," said half a dozen voices. + +"He's coming!" exclaimed another. The sound of distant music was +heard, and far up the street was seen approaching a dense mass of +people. White banners mingled with the stars and stripes. Nearer +they approached, and more distinct became, to the Irishman and his +friends, the peals of music and the hurras of the multitude. + +THEOBALD MATHEW, the friend of Ireland, was making his entry into +Boston! Never man was more gladly welcome. Never was man more +enthusiastically received. It seemed as though all men strove to do +him homage, for they looked upon one who was the instrument, under +God, of saving five millions of human beings from the greatest curse +sin brought into the world; lifting them, and bidding them stand up +as their Maker intended they should. + +The "apostle" was seated in an open barouche, with his head +uncovered, bowing to the crowds of stout men and fair women that +filled the windows on either side, often shaking hands with those +who pressed near him to do so. + +A young man stood upon the side-walk watching its approach; and when +the carriage in which he was seated came near where he stood, he +took off his hat, pressed through the assemblage, and, urging his +way towards it, grasped the hand that was extended to him. The +carriage stopped. Father Mathew arose, and, as his hand lay upon the +head of the young man, he repeated the words of a pledge, which the +latter, in a distinct tone, repeated after him. At its close, the +words "I do!" were heard far and near, and James Clifton had taken +the pledge! + +This was done from no sudden impulse. During the previous week he +had indulged rather freely, and when its effects were over he began +for the first time to give serious thought upon the question whether +it was not required of him to become a pledged man. He was becoming +convinced that he was unsafe. He knew how often he had fallen, how +liable he was to fall again, and that it might be never to rise. He +found his companions did not look upon him with as much respect as +formerly; and he determined to break down the pride of opinion, +rather than have it break him down. + +As he thought of his situation at Messrs. Laneville & Co.'s, he for +a moment drew back, yet it was but for a moment. He resolved to +leave it, and beg rather than continue to disgrace himself and bring +ruin upon his relatives and friends. He was cheered by the thought +that he had those around him who would furnish him with employment +suited to his mind, and in the steady pursuit of which he might live +well. This resolution was made a few days previous to the twenty- +fourth, but he communicated it to no one. + +James hurried from the crowd that gathered around him, and hastened +to his home. The glad news preceded him, and his wife, meeting him +at the door, caressed, blessed and welcomed him. George grasped his +hand, and James, with tears in his eyes, asked pardon for the past, +and promised much for the future. + +"Once," said he, "I refused to sign. I trusted to my own self, and +thought because I was young and strong I could resist temptation. I +said I would not make myself a slave to a pledge, and clung to my +promise till I found myself a slave to an appetite. I ask your +pardon, George, for the manner in which I treated your request." + +"I grant it." + +"Then I am happy, we are happy, and the future shall redeem the +past." + +The door opened, and a bright-eyed boy, bounding into the room, +sprang upon his father, and, with a smile, said, "Father, I'm a +Cadet of Temperance! We formed a little society this morning, 'cause +Father Mathew has come to Boston. We've got six names, and we are to +have more." + +James kissed his child, and encouraged him to go on in the cause he +had so early espoused. + +Messrs. Laneville & Co. engaged a new clerk,--a young man of +seventeen, hopeful, promising. He had heard of the fate of his +predecessors, of the narrow escape of him whose place he was being +trained to fill; but, like them and him, he thought himself stronger +than the tempter at his side. That firm is in the home-desolating +business to-day, though James has used much endeavor to induce them +to relinquish it. The young man is there to-day, open to temptations +which have conquered many strong men, have destroyed many mighty. +The pledge is with us to-day, open for those who have fallen, for +those who yet stand,--an instrument of God, in human hands, to rescue +the one and to preserve the other. + + + + + + +ANGELINA. + + + + + + BLUE-EYED child, with flaxen ringlets, + 'Neath my window played, one day; + And its tiny song of gladness, + Sounded like an angel's lay. + Roses bright in beauty blossomed + Round the path the cherub trod + Yet it seemed that child was fairest, + Freshest from the hand of God. + Watched I her till hour of sunset + Told me of the coming night, + And the sun o'er rock and mountain + Shed its flood of golden light. + Yet she gambolled, though the dew-drops + Fell upon her thick and fast; + Fearing ill, I went and told her,-- + Dearest child, the day hath past: + "Haste thee to thy home,--there waiting + Is thy parent, thee to bless." + Then she hasted from the play-ground, + To her mother's fond caress. + Stars shone forth in all their splendor, + And the moon with silver light + Rose in beauty, and presided + Queen o'er all the hosts of night. + Days had passed; I had not seen her, + Had not heard her merry laugh, + Nor those joyous tones that told me + Of the joy her spirit quaffed. + Vain I asked whence Angelina + Had departed,--none could tell; + Feared I then that sorrow gathered + O'er the child I loved so well. + Funeral train passed by my window,-- + Banished were all thoughts of mirth; + And I asked of one who lingered, + "Who hath passed to heaven from earth?" + In his eye a tear-drop glistened, + As he, turning, to me said, + "Heaven now holds another angel,-- + Little Angelina's dead!" + I could scarce believe the tidings, + Till I stood above her grave, + And beheld those flaxen ringlets, + That so late did buoyant wave, + Lie beside a face whose features + Still in death did sweetly smile + And methought angelic beauty + Lingered on her cheeks the while. + At the pensive hour of twilight, + Oft do angel-footsteps tread + Near her grave, and flowers in beauty + Blossom o'er the early dead; + And a simple marble tablet + Thence doth unassuming rise, + And these simple words are on it,-- + "Here our Angelina lies." + Oft at night, when others slumber, + One bends o'er that holy spot; + And the tear-drops fall unnumbered + O'er her sad yet happy lot. + Friends, though oft they mourn her absence, + Do in meek submission bow; + For a voice from heaven is whispering, + "Angelina's happy now." + + + + + + +FAREWELL, MY NATIVE LAND. + + + + + +Written for KAH-GE-GA-GAI-BOWH, a representative from the Northwest +Tribes of American Indians to the Peace Convention in Frankfort-on-the- +Maine, Germany; and recited by him on board the British steamship +Niagara, at the hour of sailing from Boston, July 10th, 1850. + + THE day is brightening which we long have sought; + I see its early light and hail its dawn; + The gentle voice of Peace my ear hath caught, + And from my forest-home I greet the morn. + Here, now, I meet you with a brother's hand- + Bid you farewell-then speed me on my way + To join the white men in a foreign land, + And from the dawn bring on the bright noon-day. + Noon-day of Peace! O, glorious jubilee, + When all mankind are one, from sea to sea. + Farewell, my native land, rock, hill, and plain! + River and lake, and forest-home, adieu! + Months shall depart ere I shall tread again + Amid your scenes, and be once more with you. + I leave thee now; but wheresoe'er I go, + Whatever scenes of grandeur meet my eyes, + My heart can but one native country know, + And that the fairest land beneath the skies. + America! farewell, thou art that gem, + Brightest and fairest in earth's diadem. + Land where my fathers chased the fleeting deer; + Land whence the smoke of council-fires arose; + Land whose own warriors never knew a fear; + Land where the mighty Mississippi flows; + Land whose broad surface spreads from sea to sea; + Land where Niagara thunders forth God's praise;-- + May Peace and Plenty henceforth dwell with thee, + And o'er thee War no more its banner raise! + Adieu, my native land,--hill, stream, and dell! + The hour hath come to part us,--fare thee well. + + + + + + +UNLEARNED TO LOVE. + + + + + + HE hath unlearned to love; for once he loved + A being whom his soul almost adored, + And she proved faithless; turned in scorn upon + His heart's affections; to another gave + The love she once did pledge as all his own. + And now he doth not love. Within his heart + Hate dwells in sullen silence. His soul broods + Over its wrongs, over deluded hopes. + Fancy no more builds airy castles. + Amid the crowd he passes on alone. + The branches wave no more to please his eye, + And the wind singeth no sweet songs to him. + The murmuring brook but murmurs discontent, + And all his life is death since Love hath fled. + O, who shall count his sorrows? who shall make + An estimate of his deep, burning woes, + And place them all in order, rank on rank? + Language is weak to tell the heart's deep, wrongs. + We think, and muse, and in our endless thought + We strive to grasp, with all the mind's vast strength, + The undefinable extent of spirit grief, + And fail to accomplish the herculean task. + + + + + + +WHAT WAS IT? + + + + + + IT was a low, black, miserable place; + Its roof was rotting; and above it hung + A cloud of murky vapor, sending down + Intolerable stench on all around. + The place was silent, save the creaking noise, + The steady motion of a dozen pumps, + That labored all the day, nor ceased at night. + Methought in it I heard a hundred groans; + Dropping of widows' tears, and cries of orphans; + Shrieks of some victim to the fiendish lust + Of men for gold; woe echoing woe, + And sighs, deep, long-drawn sighs of dark despair. + Around the place a dozen hovels stood, + Black with the smoke and steam that bathed them all; + Their windows had no glass, but rags and boards, + Torn hats and such-like, filled the paneless sash. + Beings, once men and women, in and out + Passed and repassed from darkness forth to light; + And children, ragged, dirty, and despised, + Clung to them. Children! heaven's early flowers, + In their spring-time of life, blighted and lost! + Children! those jewels of a parent's crown, + Crushed to the ground and crumbled to the dust. + Children! Heaven's representatives to man, + Made menial slaves to watch at Evil's gate, + And errand-boys to run at Sin's command. + I asked why thus it was; and one old man + Pushed up the visor of his cap, and said: + "That low, black building is the cause of all." + And would you know what 't was that wrought such ill, + And what the name of that low building was? + Go to thy neighbor, read to him these lines, + And if he does not tell thee right, at first, + Then come to me and you shall know its name. + + + + + + +LETTERS AND LETTER-WRITING. + + + + + +THERE is nothing from which more real enjoyment can be derived than +the art of letter-writing. All praise to the inventive genius that +gave to man a written language, and with it the implements with +which to talk across the world! Did you ever think, reader, what a +world this would be without pen, ink, and paper? Then, the absence +of friends were painful, and, as we grasped the friendly hand, bade +our acquaintances "good-by," and saw the last, far-distant wave of +the parting signal, we might turn aside to weep, as we thought we +should never hear from them till we met face to face-perhaps never. +But, as it is, when friends leave, we expect a message from their +hearts soon, to solace our own. How we watch, and how we hope! What +a welcome rap is the postman's! With what eagerness we loosen the +seal; with what pleasure we read, from date to signature, every +word! + +It may not be uninteresting, nor wholly uninstructive, to examine +the various modes of letter-writing, and to spend a brief half-hour +with those who have by their letters made grave or gay impressions +on the public mind. + +Some write letters with great ease; others, with great difficulty. +Miss Seward was an inveterate letter-writer. There have been +published six large volumes of letters written by her; besides +these, she left twelve quarto volumes of letters to a publisher of +London, and these, it is said, are but a twelfth part of her +correspondence. It seems as though she must have written nothing but +letters, so many and various were they; but her fame as an authoress +will convince any one that her industry overcame what might seem an +impossibility, and that her genius in this particular resembled that +of the steam-writing machine, Dumas, of the present time. + +Lord Peterborough had such a faculty for this kind of composition, +that, when ambassador to Turin, according to Pope, who says he was a +witness of the performance, he employed nine amanuenses, who were +seated in a room, around whom Lord Peterborough walked and dictated +to each what he should write. These nine wrote to as many different +persons, upon, perhaps, nine times as many subjects; yet the +ambassador retained in his mind the connection of each letter so +completely as to close each in a highly-finished and appropriate +manner. + +These facts show the ease and rapidity of some writers. In +contradistinction to these are the letters of many eminent Latin +writers, who actually bestowed several months of close attention +upon a single letter. Mr. Owen says: "Such is the defect of +education among the modern Roman ladies, that they are not troubled +to keep up any correspondence; because they cannot write. A princess +of great beauty, at Naples, caused an English lady to be informed +that she was learning to write; and hoped, in the course of time, to +acquire the art of correspondence." + +There are many persons with whom it is the most difficult task of +their existence to write a letter. They follow the old Latin +writers, and make a labor of what with others is a recreation. They +begin with the stereotyped words, "I take my pen in hand," as though +a letter could be written without doing so. Then follows, "to inform +you that I am well, and hope this will find you the same." There is +a period-a full stop; and there are instances of persons going no +further, but closing with, "This from your friend, JOHN SHORT." + +This "difficulty" arises not from an inability, but from an +excessive nicety-a desire to write a prize essay, instead of a good, +sociable, familiar letter. To make a letter interesting, the writer +must transfer his thoughts from his mind to his paper, as truly as +the rays of the sun place the likeness of an object in front of the +lens through which it acts upon the silvered plate. Seneca says, "I +would have my letters be like my discourses when we sit or walk +together, unstudied and easy." + +Willis' letters are of a kind always "free and easy." His "Letters +from Under a Bridge" are admirable specimens of letters as they +should be; and his "Pencillings by the Way" owe much of their +popularity to their easy, familiar, talkative style. The letters of +Cicero and Pliny, of ancient, and Swift, Pope, Arbuthnot, Madame de +S‚vign‚, and Lady Mary Wortley Montague, of modern times, are +generally received as some of the best specimens extant of +epistolary composition. The letters of Charles Lamb are a series of +brilliances, though of kaleidoscope variety; they have wit without +buffoonery, and seriousness without melancholy. He closes one of +them by subscribing himself his friend's "afflicted, headachey, +sorethroaty, humble servant, CHARLES LAMB." + +Some men, and women too, of eminence, have written curiosities in +the form of correspondence. The letter of the mother of Foote is a +good example of this kind of correspondence. Mrs. Foote became +embarrassed, and, being unable to meet a demand, was placed in +prison; whereupon she wrote to Mr. Foote as follows: + +"DEAR SAM: I am in prison for debt; come, and assist your loving +mother, E. FOOTE. + +It appears that "Sam" was equally entangled in the meshes of the +law, for he answered as follows: + +"DEAR MOTHER:-So am I; which prevents his duty being paid to his +loving mother by her affectionate son, + +"SAM FOOTE. + +"P. S.-I have sent my attorney to assist you; in the mean time, let +us hope for better days." + +These laconic epistles are well matched by that of a French lady, +who wrote to her husband this missive of intelligence, affection, +&c., &c.: + +"I write to you because I have nothing to do; I end my letter +because I have nothing to say." + +But these are left far in the rear by the correspondence of two +Quakers, the one living in Edinburgh, the other in London. The +former, wishing to know whether there was anything new in London, +wrote in the corner of a letter-sheet a small interrogation note, +and sent it to his friend. In due time he received an answer. He +opened the sheet and found, simply, O, signifying that there was +none. + +In the London Times of January 3d, 1820, is the following, +purporting to be a copy of a letter sent to a medical gentleman: + +"CER: Yole oblige me uf yole kum un ce me. I hev a Bad kowld, am +Hill in my Bow Hills, and hev lost my Happy Tight." + +William Cowper, the poet, being on very familiar terms with the Rev. +Mr. Newton, amused himself and his friend with a letter, of which +the following is a copy: + +"MY VERY DEAR FRIEND: I am going to send, what, when you have read, +you may scratch your head, and say, I suppose, there's nobody knows, +whether what I have got be verse or not; by the tune and the time, +it ought to be rhyme; but if it be, did you ever see, of late or of +yore, such a ditty before? + +"I have writ Charity, not for popularity, but as well as I could, in +hopes to do good; and if the reviewers should say, 'To be sure the +gentleman's muse wears methodist shoes, you may know by her pace, +and talk about grace, that she and her bard have little regard for +the taste and fashions, and ruling passions, and hoydening play, of +the modern day; and though she assume a borrowed plume, and now and +then wear a tittering air, 't is only her plan to catch, if she can, +the giddy and gay, as they go that way, by a production on a new +construction; she has baited her trap, in hopes to snap all that may +come, with a sugar-plum.' His opinion in this will not be amiss; 't +is what I intend my principal end; and if I succeed, and folks +should read, till a few are brought to a serious thought, I shall +think I am paid for all I have said, and all I have done, though I +have run, many a time, after rhyme, as far as from hence, to the end +of my sense, and, by hook or crook, write another book, if I live +and am here, another year. + +"I heard before of a room, with a floor laid upon springs, and such +like things, with so much art, in every part, that when you went in, +you was forced to begin a minuet pace, with an air and a grace, +swimming about, now in and now out, with a deal of state, in a +figure of eight, without pipe or string, or any such thing; and now +I have writ, in a rhyming fit, what will make you dance, and, as you +advance, will keep you still, though against your will, dancing +away, alert and gay, till you come to an end of what I have penned; +which that you may do ere madam and you are quite worn out with +jigging about, I take my leave; and here you receive a bow profound, +down to the ground, from your humble me, + +"W. C." + +At one of those famous coteries, so fashionable in the time of +George Selwyn, Selwyn declared that a lady never closed a letter +without a postscript. One of his fair auditors defended her sex by +saying that her next letter should prove he was wrong. Soon after, +Selwyn received a letter from the lady, in which, after the name, +was "P. S. Who is right now, you or I?" + +"We have met the enemy, and they are ours" is an example for naval +letters. Commodore Walton's letter, by which he gave information of +his capture of a number of Spanish vessels of war, was as follows: + +"We have taken or destroyed all the enemy's ships or vessels on the +coast, as per margin." + +General Taylor's letters are of the same class,--brief and to the +point. + +As a specimen of ultra-familiarity, see the Duke of Buckingham's +letter to King James the First, which he commences as follows: + +"DEAR DAD AND GOSSIP," + +and concludes thus:-- + +"Your Majesty's most humble slave and dog, + +"STINIE." + +Some letters have been distinguished for a play upon words. The +following is supposed to have been written by one Zebel Rock, a +stone-cutter, to a young lady for whom he cherished a love somewhat +more than Platonic: + +"DIVINE FLINT: Were you not harder than Porphyry or Agate, the +Chisel of my love, drove by the Mallet of my fidelity, would have +made some impression on thee. I, that have shaped as I pleased the +most untoward of substances, hoped by the Compass of reason, the +Plummet of discretion, the Saw of constancy, the soft File of +kindness, and the Polish of good words, to have modelled you into +one of the prettiest Statues in the world; but, alas! I find you are +a Flint, that strikes fire, and sets my soul in a blaze, though your +heart is as cold as marble. Pity my case, pray, madam, for I know +not what I say or do. If I go to make a Dragon, I strike out a +Cupid; instead of an Apothecary's Mortar, I make a Church Font for +Baptism; and, dear Pillar of my hopes, Pedestal of my comfort, and +Cornice of my joy, take compassion upon me, for upon your pity I +build all my hope, and will, if fortunate, erect Statues, Obelisks +and Pyramids, to your generosity." + +As a specimen of alliteration the following may be considered a fair +off-hand epistle of love: + +"ADORED AND ANGELIC AMELIA: Accept An Ardent And Artless Amorist's +Affections; Alleviate An Anguished Admirer's Alarms, And Answer An +Amorous Applicant's Avowed Ardor. Ah, Amelia! All Appears An Awful +Aspect; Ambition, Avarice, And Arrogance, Alas, Are Attractive +Allurements, And Abuse An Ardent Attachment. Appease An Aching And +Affectionate Adorer's Alarms, And Anon Acknowledge Affianced +Albert's Alliance As Agreeable And Acceptable. Anxiously Awaiting An +Affectionate And Affirmative Answer, Accept An Ardent Admirer's +Aching Adieu. ALBERT." + +The custom of espionage among some nations, which led the government +officials' to open all letters supposed to contain matters at +variance with the plans and purposes of their masters, induced the +inventive to contrive various means of correspondence. + +One of the most singular of these was that adopted by Histaus, the +Milesian, as related by Herodotus. Histaus was "kept by Darius at +Susa, under an honorable pretence, and, despairing of his return +home, unless he could find out some way that he might be sent to +sea, he purposed to send to Aristagoras, who was his substitute at +Miletum, to persuade his revolt from Darius; but, knowing that all +passages were stopped and studiously watched, he took this course: +he got a trusty servant of his, the hair of whose head he caused to +be shaved off, and then, upon his bald head, he wrote his mind to +Aristagoras; kept him privately about him, till his hair was +somewhat grown, and then bid him haste to Aristagoras, and bid him +cause him to be shaved again, and then upon his head he should find +what his lord had written to him." + +A volume might be written of the Curiosities of Letter-writing, and +it would be by no means an uninteresting production. Years ago, when +New England missionaries first taught the wild men of the South Sea +Islands, it so happened that one of the teachers wished to +communicate with a friend, and having no pen, ink and paper at hand, +he picked up a chip and wrote with a pencil his message. A native +conveyed it, and, receiving some article in return, he thought the +chip endowed with some miraculous power, and could he have obtained +it would doubtless have treasured it as a god, and worshipped it. +And so would seem to us this invaluable art of letter-writing, were +we in like ignorance. We forget to justly appreciate a blessing +while we have it in constant use; but let us be for a short time +deprived of it, and then we lament its loss and realize its worth. +Deprive mankind of pen, ink and paper, obliterate from the human +mind all knowledge of letter-writing,--then estimate, if you can, +thee loss that would accrue. + +The good resulting from a general intercommunication of thought +among the people has brought about a great reduction in the rates of +postage. We look forward to the time when the tens of millions now +expended in war, and invested in the ammunition of death, shall be +directed into other channels, and postage shall be free. What better +defence for our nation than education? It is better than forts and +vessels of war; better than murderous guns, powder and ball. Hail to +the day when there shall be no direct tax on the means of education! + + + + + + +A VISION OF REALITY. + + + + + + I HAD a dream: Methought one came + And bade me with him go; + I followed, till, above the world, + I wondering gazed below. + One moment, horror filled my breast; + Then, shrinking from the sight, + I turned aside, and sought for rest, + Half dying with affright. + My guide with zeal still urged me on; + "See, see!" said he, "what sin hath done; + How mad ambition fills each breast, + And mortals spurn their needed rest, + And all their lives and fortunes spend + To gain some darling, wished-for end; + And scarce they see the long-sought prize, + When each to grasp it fails and dies." + Once more I looked: in a lonely room, + On a pallet of straw, were lying + A mother and child; no friends were near, + Yet that mother and child were dying. + A sigh arose; she looked above, + And she breathed forth, "I forgive;" + She kissed her child, threw back her head, + And the mother ceased to live. + The child's blue eyes were raised to watch + Its mother's smile of love; + She was not there,--her child she saw + From her spirit-home above. + An hour passed by: that child had gone + From earth and all its harms; + Yet, as in sleep, it nestling lay + In its dead mother's arms. + I asked my guide, "What doth this mean?" + He spake not a word, but changed the scene. + I stood where the busy throng + Was hurrying by; all seemed intent, + As on some weighty mission sent; + And, as I asked what all this meant, + A drunkard pass‚d by. + He spake,--I listened; thus spake he: + "Rum, thou hast been a curse to me; + My wife is dead,--my darling child, + Who, when 't was born, so sweetly smiled, + And seemed to ask, in speechless prayer, + A father's love, a father's care,-- + He, he, too, now is gone! + How can I any longer live? + What joy to me can earth now give? + I've drank full deep from sorrow's cup,-- + When shall I drink its last dregs up? + When will the last, last pang be felt? + When the last blow on me be dealt? + Would I had ne'er been born!" + As thus he spake, a gilded coach + In splendor pass‚d by; + And from within a man looked forth,-- + The drunkard caught his eye. + Then, with a wild and frenzied look, + He, trembling, to it ran; + He stayed the rich man's carriage there, + And said, "Thou art the man! + "Yes, thou the man! You bade me come, + You took my gold, you gave me rum; + You bade me in the gutter lie, + My wife and child you caused to die; + You took their bread,--'t was justly theirs; + You, cunning, laid round me your snares, + Till I fell in them; then you crushed, + And robbed me, as my cries you hushed; + You've bound me close in misery's thrall; + Now, take a drunkard's curse and fall!" + A moment passed, and all was o'er,-- + He who'd sold rum would sell no more + And Justice seemed on earth to dwell, + When by his victim's hand he fell. + Yet, when the trial came, she fled, + And Law would have the avenger dead. + The gilded coach may rattle by, + Men too may drink, and drunkards die, + And widows' tears may daily fall, + And orphans' voices daily call,-- + Yet these are all in vain; + The dealer sells, and glass by glass + He tempts the man to ruin pass, + And piles on high his slain. + His fellows fall by scores,--what then? + He, being rich (though rich by fraud), + Is honored by his fellow-men, + Who bend the knee and call him "lord." + + Again I turned; + + Enough I'd learned + Of all the misery sin hath brought; + I strove to leave the fearful spot, + And wished the scene might be forgot, + 'T was so with terror fraught. + + I wished to go, + + No more to know. + I turned me, but no guide stood there; + Alone, I shrieked in wild dismay, + When, lo! the vision passed away,-- + I found me seated in my chair. + The morning sun was shining bright, + Fair children gambolled in my sight; + A rose-bush in my window stood, + And shed its fragrance all around; + My eye saw naught but fair and good, + My ear heard naught but joyous sound. + I asked me, can it be on earth + Such scenes of horror have their birth, + As those that in my vision past, + And on my mind their shadows cast? + Can it be true, that men do pour + Foul poison forth for sake of gold? + And men lie weltering in their gore, + Led on by that their brethren sold? + Doth man so bend the supple knee + To Mammon's shrine, he never hears + The voice of conscience, nor doth see + His ruin in the wealth he rears? + Such questions it were vain to ask, + For Reason whispers, "It is so;" + While some in fortune's sunshine bask, + Others lie crushed beneath their woe. + And men do sell, and men do pour, + And for their gold return men death; + Though wives and children them implore, + With tearful eyes and trembling breath, + And hearts with direst anguish riven, + No more to sell,--'t is all in vain; + They, urged to death, by avarice driven, + But laugh and turn to sell again. + + + + + + +JEWELS OF THE HEART. + + + + + + THERE are jewels brighter far + Than the sparkling diamonds are; + Jewels never wrought by art,-- + Nature forms them in the heart! + Would ye know the names they hold + Ah! they never can be told + In the language mortals speak! + Human words are far too weak + Yet, if you would really know + What these jewels are, then go + To some low, secluded cot, + Where the poor man bears his lot! + Or, to where the sick and dying + 'Neath the ills of life are sighing. + And if there some one ye see + Striving long and patiently + To alleviate the pain, + Bring the light of hope again! + One whose feet do lightly tread, + One whose hands do raise the head, + One who watches there alone, + Every motion, every tone; + Unaware an eye doth see + All these acts of charity. + Know that in that lonely cot, + Where the wealth of earth is not, + These bright jewels will be found, + Shedding love and light around! + Say, shall gems and rubies rare + With these heart-shrined gems compare? + Constancy, that will not perish, + But the thing it loveth cherish, + Clinging to it fondly ever, + Fainting, faltering, wavering, never! + Trust, that will not harbor doubt; + Putting fear and shame to rout, + Making known how, free from harm, + Love may rest upon its arm. + Hope, that makes the future bright, + Though there come a darksome night; + And, though dark despair seems nigh, + Bears the soul up manfully! + These are gems that brighter shine + Than they of Golconda's mine. + Born amid love's fond caresses, + Cradled in the heart's recesses, + They will live when earth is old, + Marble crumble, perish gold! + Live when ages shall have past, + While eternity shall last; + Be these gems the wealth you share, + Friends of mind, where'er you are! + + + + + + +LIGHT FROM A BETTER LAND. + + + + + + HERE at thy grave I stand, + But not in tears; + Light from a better land + Banishes fears. + Thou art beside me now, + Whispering peace; + Telling how happy thou + Found thy release! + Thou art not buried here; + Why should I mourn? + All that I cherished dear + Heavenward hath gone! + Oft from that world above + Come ye to this; + Breathing in strains of love + Unto me bliss! + + + + + + +POOR AND WEARY! + + + + + + IN a low and cheerless cot + Sat one mourning his sad lot; + All day long he'd sought for labor; + All day long his nearest neighbor + Lived in affluence and squandered + Wealth, while he an outcast wandered, + And the night with shadowy wing + Heard him this low moaning sing: + "Sad and weary, poor and weary, + Life to me is ever dreary!" + Morning came; there was no sound + Heard within. Men gathered round, + Peering through the window-pane; + They saw a form as if 't were lain + Out for burial. Stiff and gaunt + Lay the man who died in want. + And methought I heard that day + Angel voices whispering say, + "No more sad, poor and weary, + Life to me no more is dreary!" + + + + + + +THE BANDBOX MOVEMENT. + + + + + +"THERE! Mr. McKenzie, I declare! You are the most oncommon, oncivil +man I ever sot eyes on!" + +"Peace, my lady! I'll explain." + +"Then do so." + +"You must know, then, that I have a perfect hatred of bandboxes,--so +great, in fact, that if I see one on the walk, I involuntarily raise +my foot and kick it." + +"So it appears," chimed in Mrs: McKenzie, with a significant hunch +of the right shoulder. + +"Therefore,--" + +"Well, go on! what you waitin' for?" + +"Therefore, when I saw Arabella's bandbox in the entry, as I came +down, sitting, as it did, directly at the foot of the stairs, I +jumped on it, thinking I would come over it that time--" + +"An' crushed a new spring bonnet, that cost-let me see!" + +"No matter!" said Mr. McKenzie; "that will be in the bill." + +Mr. McKenzie, having said thus much, placed his hat on his head and +rushed from the house, fearful of another onslaught of "oncommon +oncivilities." + +A little shop at the North End,--seven men seated round said shop,--a +small dog growling at a large cat, a large cat making a noise +resembling that produced by root-beer confined in a stone bottle by +a cork bound down with a piece of twine. Reader, imagine you see and +hear all this! + +[Enter Mr. McKenzie.] "Gentlemen, something must be done to demolish +the idea held by the 'rest of mankind' that they, the women, cannot +exist without owning as personal property an indefinite number of +bandboxes. I therefore propose that we at once organize for the +purpose; that a committee be appointed to draft resolutions, and +report a name for the confederacy." + +Voted unanimously; whereupon, a committee being appointed, after a +short session, reported the following "whereas, etc." + +"Whereas, WE, in our perambulations up and down the earth, are +frequently, oftentimes, and most always, beset with annoyances of +various kinds; and, as the greatest, most perplexing, most +troublesome and iniquitous of these, generally assumes the shape of +a bandbox, in a bag or out of one; and, whereas, our wives, our +daughters, our sisters, and our female acquaintances generally and +particularly, manifest a determination to put said boxes in our way, +at all times, and under all circumstances, therefore + +"Resolved, That-we-wont-stand-it-any-longer!!! + +"Resolved, That we form ourselves into a society for the purpose of +annihilating this grievous evil, and all bandboxes, of every size +and nature. + +"Resolved, That this society be known by the name of 'The Bandbox +Extermination Association.'" + +The chairman of the committee made a few remarks, in which he stated +that, in the performance of the duties which would devolve upon the +members, they would, doubtless, meet with some opposition. "But, +never mind," said he; "it is a glorious cause, and if we get the +tongs at one time, and the hearth-brush another time, let 'em come!" +He defined the duties of members to be,--first and foremost, to pay +six and a quarter cents to defray expenses; to demolish a bandbox +wherever and whenever there should be one; (for instance, if a fat +woman was racing for the cars, with a bandbox in her arms, that box +should be forcibly taken and burned on the spot, or whittled into +such minute particles that it could no more be seen; if, in an +omnibus warranted to seat twelve, fifteen men are congregated, and +an individual attempts to enter with a bandbox, the box shall have +notice to quit.) + +"The manner of demolition," he said, further, "might be variously +defined. If the owner was a nervous lady, to kick the box would +wound her feelings, and it were best to apparently unintentionally +seat yourself on it; then beg a thousand pardons, and, as you, in +your efforts to make it better, only make it worse, give it up in +despair, and console the owner by a reference to spilt milk and the +uselessness of crying. As to the contents of the boxes, they must +look out for themselves. If they get injured, hint that they should +keep out of bad company." + +The chairman sat down, and, the question being put, it was more than +unanimously voted (inasmuch as one man voted with both hands +That was McKenzie. ) to adopt the resolutions, the name, and all the +remarks that had been made in connection with them. Members paid +their assessments, and with a hearty good will. + +Thus we see how "oaks from acorns grow." Mrs. McKenzie's fretfulness +on account of her husband's patriotism led to the formation of a +society that will make rapid strides towards the front rank of the +army now at work for the amelioration of the condition of mankind. + + + + + + +NEW ENGLAND HOMES. + + + + + + I've been through all the nations, have travelled o'er the earth, + O'er mountain-top and valley, far from my land of birth; + But whereso'er I wandered, wherever I did roam, + I saw no spot so pleasant as my own New England home. + I've seen Italia's daughters, beneath Italian skies + Seen beauty in their happy smiles, and love within their eyes; + But give to me the fairer ones that grace New England's shore, + In preference to the dwellers in the valley of Lanore. + I've watched the sun's departure behind the "Eternal Hills," + When with floods of golden light the vaulted heaven it fills; + But Italy can never boast, with its poetic power, + More varied beauties than those of New England's sunset hour. + I love my own New England; I love its rocks and hills; + I love its trees, its mossy banks, its fountains and its rills; + I love its homes, its cottages, its people round the hearth; + I love, O, how I love to hear New England shouts of mirth! + Tell me of the sunny South, its orange-groves and streams, + That they surpass in splendor man's most enraptured dreams; + But never can they be as fair, though blown by spicy gales, + As those sweet homes, those cottages, within New England vales. + O, when life's cares are ending, and time upon my brow + Shall leave a deeper impress than gathers on it now; + When age shall claim its sacrifice, and I no more shall roam, + Then let me pass my latter days in my New England home! + + + + + + +LOVE THAT WANES NOT. + + + + + + O, WHEN should Love's true beacons glow the brightest, + If not when darkness shrouds the path we tread? + When should its tokens, though they be the slightest, + Be given, if not when clouds are overhead? + When light is 'round us, and when joys are glowing, + Some hand may press our own, and vow to cherish + A love for us which ne'er shall cease its flowing,-- + And yet that love, when darkness comes, may perish. + But there is love which will outlive all sorrow, + And in the darkest hour be nigh to bless,-- + Which need not human art or language borrow, + Its deep affection fondly to express. + The mother o'er the child she loveth bending + Need not in words tell others of her love; + For, on the wings of earnest prayer ascending, + It rises, and is registered above. + O, such is love-all other is fictitious; + All other's vanquished by disease and pain; + But this, which lives when fate is unpropitious, + Shall rise to heaven, and there an entrance gain. + + + + + + +ONWARD COURAGEOUSLY. + + + + + + BEND thee to action-nerve thee to duty! + Whate'er it may be, never despair! + God reigns on high,--pray to him truly, + He will an answer give to thy prayer. + Shrinketh thyself from crosses before thee? + Art thou so made as to tremble and fear? + Confide in thy God; he will watch o'er thee; + Humbly and trustingly, brother, draw near! + Clouds may be gathering, light may depart, + Earth that thou treadest seem crumbling away; + New foes, new dangers, around thee may start, + And spectres of evil tempt thee astray. + Onward courageously! nerved for the task, + Do all thy duty, and strength shall be thine; + Whate'er you want in humility ask, + Aid shall be given from a source that's divine. + Do all thy duty faithful and truly; + Trust in thy Maker,--he's willing to save + Thee from all evil, and keep thee securely, + And make thee triumphant o'er death and the grave. + + + + + + +A FOREST PIC-NIC SONG. + + + + + + WITHIN these woods, beneath these trees, + We meet to-day a happy band; + All joy is ours,--we feel the breeze + Blow gently o'er our native land. + How brightly blooms each forest flower! + What cheerful notes the wild bird sings! + How nature charms our festive hour, + What beauty round our pathway springs! + The aged bear no weight of years; + The good old man, the matron too, + Forget their ills, forget their fears, + And range the dim old forests through + With youth and maiden on whose cheek + The ruddy bloom of health doth glow, + And in whose eyes the heart doth speak + Oft more than they would have us know. + How pleasant thus it is to dwell + Within the shadow of this wood, + Where rock and tree and flower do tell + To all that nature's God is good! + Here nature's temple open stands,-- + There's none so nobly grand as here,-- + The sky its roof; its floor, all lands, + While rocks and trees are worshippers. + There's not a leaf that rustles now, + A bird that chants its simple lays, + A breeze that passing fans our brow, + That speaks not of its Maker's praise. + O, then, let us who gather here + Praise Him who gave us this glad day, + And when the twilight shades appear + Pass with his blessing hence away! + + + + + + +THE WARRIOR'S BRIDE. + +CHAPTER I. + + + + + +ROME was enjoying the blessings of peace; and so little employment +attended the soldier's every-day life, that the words "as idle as a +soldier" became a proverb indicative of the most listless +inactivity. + +The people gave themselves up to joy and gladness. The sound of +music was heard from all parts of the city, and perfumed breezes +went up as an incense from the halls of beauty and mirth. + +It was, indeed, a blessed time for the city of the seven hills; and +its people rejoiced as they had not for many a long, long year-ay, +for a century. + +"Peace, sweet peace, a thousand blessings attend thy glad reign. See +you how quietly the peasant's flocks graze on our eternal hills? The +tinkling bell is a sweeter sound than the trumpet's blast; and the +curling smoke, arising from the hearth-stones of contented +villagers, is a truer index of a nation's power than the sulphurous +cloud from the field of battle. What say you, Alett,--is it not?" + +Thus spake a youth of noble mien, as he stood with one arm +encircling the waist of a lady, of whose beauty it were useless to +attempt a description. There are some phases of beauty which pen +cannot describe, nor pencil portray,--a beauty which seems to hover +around the form, words, and motions of those whose special +recipients it is; a sort of ethereal loveliness, concentrating the +tints of the rainbow, the sun's golden rays, and so acting upon the +mind's eye of the observer as almost to convince him that a visitant +from a sphere of perfection is in his presence. + +Such was that of Alett. She was the only daughter of a distinguished +general, whose name was the terror of all the foes, and the +confidence of all the friends, of Italy-his eldest daughter; and +with love approaching idolatry he cherished her. She was his +confidant. In the privacy of her faithful heart he treasured all his +plans and purposes. Of late, the peaceful security in which the +nation dwelt gave him the opportunity of remaining at home, where, +in the companionship of a wife he fondly loved, children he almost +idolized, and friends whose friendship was not fictitious, he found +that joy and comfort which the camp could never impart. + +Alett was ever in the presence of her father, or the young man whose +apostrophe to peace we have just given. + +Rubineau was not the descendant of a noble family, in the worldly +acceptation of the term. It was noble, indeed, but not in deeds of +war or martial prowess. Its nobleness consisted in the steady +perseverance in well-doing, and a strict attachment to what +conscience dictated as right opinions. The general loved him for the +inheritance he possessed in such traits of character, and the love +which existed between his daughter and the son of a plebeian was +countenanced under such considerations, with one proviso; which was, +that, being presented with a commission, he should accept it, and +hold himself in readiness to leave home and friends when duty should +call him to the field of battle. + +We have introduced the two standing on a beautiful eminence, in the +rear of the general's sumptuous mansion. + +The sun was about going down, and its long, golden rays streamed +over hill and dale, palace and cot, clothing all in a voluptuous +flow of rich light. + +They had stood for several moments in silence, gazing at the quiet +and beautiful scene before them, when the musical voice of Rubineau +broke forth in exclamations of delight at the blessings of peace. + +Alett was not long in answering. It was a theme on which she +delighted to dwell. Turning the gaze of her large, full eyes up +towards those of Rubineau, she said, + +"Even so it is. Holy Peace! It. is strange that men will love the +trumpet's blast, and the smoke and the heat of the conflict, better +than its gentle scenes. Peace, peace! blessings on thee, as thou +givest blessings!" + +Rubineau listened to the words of his Alett with a soul of +admiration. He gazed upon her with feelings he had never before +felt, and which it was bliss for him to experience. + +She, the daughter of an officer, brought up amid all the glare and +glitter, show and blazonry, of military life,--she, who had seen but +one side of the great panorama of martial life,--to speak thus in +praise of peace, and disparagingly of the profession of her +friends-it somewhat surprised the first speaker. + +"It is true," he replied; "but how uncertain is the continuance of +the blessings we now enjoy! To-morrow may sound the alarm which +shall call me from your side to the strife and tumult of war. +Instead of your gentle words, I may hear the shouts of the +infuriated soldiery, the cry of the wounded, and the sighs of the +dying." + +"Speak not so," exclaimed Alett; "it must not be." + +"Do you not love your country?" inquired the youth. + +"I do, but I love Rubineau more. There are warriors enough ready for +the battle. It need not be that you go. But why this alarm? We were +talking of peace, and, behold, now we have the battle-field before +us-war and all its panoply!" + +"Pardon me, my dearest Alett, for borrowing trouble; but at times, +when I am with you, and thinking of our present joy, the thought +will arise that it may be taken from us." No more words were needed +to bring to the mind of Alett all that filled that of Rubineau. They +embraced each the other more affectionately than ever, and silently +repaired to the house of the general. + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +"To remain will be dishonor; to go may be death! When a Roman falls, +the foe has one more arrow aimed at his heart; an arrow barbed with +revenge, and sent with unerring precision. Hark! that shout is music +to every soldier's ear. Hear you that tramp of horsemen? that +rumbling of chariot-wheels?" + +Twelve months had passed since the time of the last chapter, and, +after repeated threatening, war had actually begun. Instead of idle +hours, the soldiers had busy moments, and every preparation was made +to meet the opposing array in a determined manner, and with a +steadiness of purpose that should insure success. + +The general watched for some time the fluctuating appearance of +public affairs, and it was not until war was not only certain, but +actually in progress, that he called upon Rubineau to go forth. + +A week hence Rubineau and Alett were to be united in marriage; and +invitations had been extended far and near, in anticipation of the +event. It had been postponed from week to week, with the hope that +the various rumors that were circulated respecting impending danger +to the country might prove untrue, or at least to have a foundation +on some weak pretence, which reasonable argument might overthrow. + +Day by day these rumors increased, and the gathering together of the +soldiery betokened the certainty of an event which would fall as a +burning meteor in the midst of the betrothed and their friends. + +The call for Rubineau to depart was urgent, and its answer admitted +of no delay. + +"To remain," said the general, "will be dishonor; to go may be +death: which will you choose?" + +It was a hard question for the young man to answer. But it must be +met. The general loved him, and with equal unwillingness the +question was presented and received. + +"I go. If Rubineau falls--" + +"If he returns," exclaimed the general, interrupting him, "honor, +and wealth, and a bride who loves and is loved, shall be his-all +his." + +It was a night of unusual loveliness. The warm and sultry atmosphere +of the day had given place to cool and gentle breezes. The stars +were all out, shining as beacons at the gates of a paradise above; +and the moon began and ended her course without the attendance of +one cloud to veil her beauties from the observation of the dwellers +on earth. + +Rubineau and Alett were seated beneath a bower, cultivated by the +fair hand of the latter. + +The next morning Rubineau was to depart. All the happy scenes of the +coming week were to be delayed, and the thought that they might be +delayed long-ay, forever-came like a shadow of evil to brood in +melancholy above the place and the hour. + +We need not describe the meeting, the parting. + +"Whatever befalls me, I shall not forget you, Alett. Let us hope for +the best. Yet a strange presentiment I have that I shall not +return." + +"O that I could go with you!" said Alett. "Think you father would +object?" + +"That were impossible. Nothing but love, true and enduring, could +make such a proposal. It would be incurring a two-fold danger." + +"Death would be glorious with you,--life insupportable without you!" + +In such conversation the night passed, and when the early light of +morning came slowly up the eastern sky, the sound of a trumpet +called him away. + +The waving of a white flag was the last signal, and the general, all +unused to tears as he was, mingled his with those of his family as +the parting kiss was given, and Rubineau started on a warfare the +result of which was known only to Him who governs the destinies of +nations and of individuals. + +And now, in the heat of the conflict, the war raged furiously. +Rubineau threw himself in the front rank, and none was more brave +than he. It seemed to his fellow-officers that he was urged on by +some unseen agency, and guarded from injury by some spirit of good. + +To himself but one thought was in his mind; and, regardless of +danger, he pressed forward for a glorious victory, and honor to +himself and friends. + +Those whose leader he was were inspirited by his courageous action, +and followed like true men where he led the way. + +They had achieved several victories, and were making an onset upon +numbers four-fold as large as their own, when their leader received +a severe wound, and, falling from his noble horse, would have been +trampled to death by his followers, had not those who had seen him +fall formed a circle around as a protection for him. + +This serious disaster did not dampen the ardor of the soldiers; +they pressed on, carried the point, and saw the foe make a rapid +retreat. + +The shouts of victory that reached the ears of Rubineau came with a +blessing. He raised himself, and shouted, "On, brave men!" But the +effort was too much for him to sustain for any length of time, and +he fell back completely exhausted. + +He was removed to a tent, and had every attention bestowed upon him. +As night approached, and the cool air of evening fanned his brow, he +began to revive, but not in any great degree. + +The surgeon looked sad. There was evidently reason to fear the +worst; and, accustomed as he was to such scenes, he was now but +poorly prepared to meet it. + +"Rubineau is expiring," whispered a lad, as he proceeded quietly +among the ranks of soldiers surrounding the tent of the wounded. + +And it was so. His friends had gathered around his couch, and, +conscious of the approach of his dissolution, he bade them all +farewell, and kissed them. + +"Tell her I love, I die an honorable death; tell her that her +Rubineau fell where the arms of the warriors clashed the closest, +and that victory hovered above him as his arm grew powerless; and, +O, tell her that it was all for her sake,--love for her nerved his +arm, and love for her is borne upward on his last, his dying prayer. +Tell her to love as I--" + +"He is gone, sir," said the surgeon. + +"Gone!" exclaimed a dozen voices. + +"A brave man has fallen," remarked another, as he raised his arm, +and wiped the flowing tears from his cheek. + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +At the mansion of the old general every arrival of news from the war +sent a thrill of joy through the hearts of its inmates. Hitherto, +every despatch told of victory and honor; but now a sad chapter was +to be added to the history of the conflict. + +Alett trembled as she beheld the slow approach of the messenger, +who, at all previous times, had come with a quick step. In her soul +she felt the keen edge of the arrow that was just entering it, and +longed to know all, dreadful though it might be. + +Need we describe the scene of fearful disclosure? If the reader has +followed the mind of Alett, as from the first it has presumed, +conjectured, and fancied,--followed all its hopes of future bliss, +and seen it revel in the sunshine of honor and earthly fame,--he can +form some idea, very faint though it must be, of the effect which +followed the recital of all the facts in regard to the fallen. + +In her wild frenzy of grief, she gave utterance to the deep feelings +of her soul with words that told how deep was her sorrow, and how +unavailing every endeavor which friends exerted to allay its pangs. + +She would not believe him dead. She would imagine him at her side, +and would talk to him of peace, "sweet peace," and laugh in clear +and joyous tones as she pictured its blessings, and herself enjoying +with him its comforts. + +Thus, with enthroned reason, she would give vent to grief; and, with +her reason dethroned, be glad and rejoice. + +And so passed her lifetime. + +Often, all day long, attired in bridal raiment, the same in which +she had hoped to be united indissolubly to Rubineau, she remained +seated in a large oaken chair, while at her side stood the helmet +and spear he had carried forth on the morning when they parted. At +such times, she was as calm as an infant's slumberings, saying that +she was waiting for the sound of the marriage-bells; asked why they +did not ring, and sat for hours in all the beauty of loveliness-the +Warrior's Bride. + + + + + + +THE ADVENT OF HOPE. + + + + + + ONCE on a time, from scenes of light + An angel winged his airy flight; + Down to this earth in haste he came, + And wrote, in lines of living flame, + These words on everything he met,-- + "Cheer up, be not discouraged yet!" + Then back to heaven with speed he flew, + Attuned his golden harp anew; + Whilst the angelic throng came round + To catch the soul-inspiring sound; + And heaven was filled with new delight, + For HOPE had been to earth that night. + + + + + + +CHILD AND SIRE. + + + + + + "KNOW you what intemperance is?" + I asked a little child, + Who seemed too young to sorrow know, + So beautiful and mild. + It raised its tiny, blue-veined hand, + And to a church-yard near + It pointed, whilst from glistening eye + Came forth the silent tear. + + "Yes, for yonder, in that grave, + Is my father lying; + And these words he spake to me + While he yet was dying: + "'Mary, when the sod lies o'er me + And an orphan child thou art,-- + When companions ask thy story, + Say intemperance aimed the dart. + When the gay the wine-cup circle, + Praise the nectar that doth shine, + When they'd taste, then tell thy story, + And to earth they'll dash the wine.' + "And there my dear-loved mother lies,-- + What bitter tears I've shed + Over her grave!-I cannot think + That she is really dead. + And when the spring in beauty blooms, + At morning's earliest hour + I hasten there, and o'er her grave + I plant the little flower. + "And patiently I watch to see + It rise from out the earth, + To see it from its little grave + Spring to a fairer birth. + For mother said that thus would she, + And father, too, and I, + Arise from out our graves to meet + In mansions in the sky. + "O, what intemperance is, there's none + On earth can better tell. + Intemperance me an orphan made, + In this wide world to dwell; + Intemperance broke my mother's heart, + It took my father's life, + And makes the days of man below + With countless sorrows rife." + "Know you what intemperance is?" + I asked a trembling sire, + Whose lamp of life burned dim, and seemed + As though 'twould soon expire. + He raised his bow‚d head, and then + Methought a tear did start, + As though the question I had put + Had reached his very heart. + He raised his head, but 't was to bow + It down again and sigh; + Methought that old man's hour had come + In which he was to die. + Not so; he raised it up again, + And boldly said, "I can! + Intemperance is the foulest curse + That ever fell on man. + "I had a son, as fair, as bright + As ever mortal blest; + And day passed day, and year passed year, + Whilst I that son carest. + For all my hopes were bound in him; + I thought, from day to day, + That when old age should visit me + That son would be my stay. + "I knew temptations gathered near, + And bade him warning take,-- + Consent not, if enticed to sin, + E'en for his father's sake. + But in a fearful hour he drank + From out the poisonous bowl, + And then a pang of sorrow lodged + Within my inmost soul. + "A year had passed, and he whom I + Had strove in vain to save + Fell, crushed beneath intemperance, + Into a drunkard's grave. + O, brother, I can tell to thee + What vile intemperance is, + When one in whom I fondly hoped + Met such an end as his! + "This was not all; a daughter I + Was blest with, and she passed + Before me like an angel-form + Upon my pathway cast. + She loved one with a tender love, + She left her father's side, + And stood forth, in her robes of white, + A young mechanic's bride. + "She lived and loved, and loved and lived, + For many a happy year; + No sorrow clouded o'er her path, + But joy was ever near. + Ay, those were pleasant hours we spent, + Were joyful ones we passed; + Alas! too free from care were they + On earth to always last. + "Then he was tempted, tasted, drank, + And then to earth he fell; + And ever after misery + Within that home did dwell. + And soon he died, as drunkards die, + With scarce an earthly friend, + Yet one bent o'er him tenderly + Till life itself did end, + "And when life's chord was broken, when + His spirit went forth free, + In all her anguish then she came + To bless and comfort me. + Yet she, too, died, ere scarce twelve months + Had passed o'er her head, + And in yon much-loved church-yard now + She resteth with the dead. + That little child you spoke to is + The child she left behind; + I love her for her mother's sake, + And she is good and kind. + And every morning, early, to + Yon flowery grave she'll go; + And I thank my God she's with me + To bless me here below. + "I had a brother, but he died + The drunkard's fearful death; + He bade me raise a warning voice + Till Time should stay my breath. + And thousands whom in youth I loved + Have fallen 'neath the blast + Of ruin which intemperance + Hath o'er the wide world cast." + He spoke no more,--the gushing tears + His furrowed cheeks did leap; + The little child came quick to know + What made the old man weep. + He, trembling, grasped my hand and said + (The little child grasped his), + "May you ne'er know, as I have known, + What sad intemperance is!" + And since that hour, whene'er I look + Around me o'er the earth, + And see the wine-cup passing free + 'Mid scenes of festive mirth, + I think how oft it kindleth up + Within its raging fire, + And fain would tell to all the truths + I heard from "Child and Sire." + + + + + + +A BROTHER'S WELCOME. + + + + + + WELCOME, brother, welcome home! + Here's a father's hand to press thee; + Here's a mother's heart to bless thee; + Here's a brother's will to twine + Joys fraternal close with thine; + Here's a sister's earnest love, + Equalled but by that above; + Here are friends who once did meet thee, + Gathered once again to greet thee. + Welcome, brother, welcome home! + Thou hast wandered far away; + Many a night and many a day + We have thought where thou might'st be, + On the land or on the sea; + Whether health was on thy cheek, + Or that word we dare not speak + Hung its shadowy wing above thee, + Far away from those who love thee. + Welcome, brother, welcome home! + Here, where youthful days were spent + Ere life had its labor lent, + Where the hours went dancing by, + 'Neath a clear, unclouded sky. + And our thanks for blessings rendered + Unto God were daily tendered, + Here as ever pleasures reign, + Welcome to these scenes again! + + + + + + +THE IMMENSITY OF CREATION. + + + + + +IT is well for man to consider the heavens, the work of God's hands; +the moon and the stars, which he has created. To look forth upon the +universe, of which we form a part, fills us with high and ennobling +thoughts, and inspires us with an earnest desire to press onward in +the endless path, at every step of which new wonders and new joys +spring up to greet our vision, and to gladden our souls. + +Whichever way we look, above or below us, to the right or the left, +we find a boundless expanse teeming with life and its enjoyments. +This earth, large as it may appear to us, is less than a grain of +sand in size, when compared with the vastness around it. + +Take your soul away from earth, and send it on a mission of research +among other worlds. Let it soar far away to where the dog-star, +Sirius, holds its course; and then, though nineteen billion two +hundred million miles from earth, a distance so great, that light, +travelling, as it does, at the rate of six million six hundred and +twenty thousand miles a minute, would require three years to pass +it,--even then, when the journeying spirit had reached such a point, +it might pass on and on,--new worlds meeting its gaze at every +advance, and new wonders being seen as far beyond the point it had +attained as the inconceivable length of the path it had already +travelled multiplied a myriad of times. + +We can scarcely comprehend the vast distance of Sirius; yet, great +as this distance is, it is the nearest star to our system, and stars +have been seen whose distance from the earth is estimated to be a +thousand times as great! + +Can human mind mark that range? A thousand times nineteen billion +two hundred million! And were we to stand on the last of these +discovered stars, we might look yet far beyond, and see "infinity, +boundless infinity, stretching on, unfathomed, forever." + +To have an idea of the vastness of creation, we must possess the +mind of the Creator. What are we? We live and move and have our +being on a grain of creation, that is being whirled through +boundless space with inconceivable rapidity. And we affect to be +proud of our estate! We build houses and we destroy them; we wage +war, kill, brutify, enslave, ruin each other; or, we restore, +beautify, and bless. We are vain, sometimes. We think the world was +made for us; the stars shine for us, and all the hosts that gem the +drapery of night created for our special benefit. Astonishing +presumption!-born of ignorance and cradled in credulity! + +The mind grows dizzy as it attempts to conceive of constellation +beyond constellation, on and on, through endless space. + +Commencing with this earth, the mind given up to serious reflection +muses upon its broad extent of territory, its continents and its +oceans, and it appears very large indeed. Forgetting, for a moment, +its knowledge of other planets, it believes that this world is the +whole universe of God; that the sun, moon and stars, are but lights +in the firmament of heaven to give light upon the earth. But truth +steps in and change the mind's view. It shows that, large and +important as this earth may appear, the sun, which is spoken of as +inferior, is three hundred and fifty-four thousand nine hundred and +thirty six times larger; and the stars, that seem like diamond +points above us, are, many of them, larger than the sun, one being +one billion eight hundred million miles in diameter. Yet, such a +bulk, when compared to the universe, is less than a monad. + +A "monad" is an indivisible atom. It is as incomprehensible as the +mysteries of creation, or the duration of eternity. + +Tripoli, or rotten-stone, an article used in every family, and tons +of which are daily employed in manufactories, is composed entirely +of animalcul‘. In each cubic inch there are forty-one billion, that +is, forty-one million-million of these living, breathing creatures, +each of whom has organs of sight, hearing and digestion. Think, if +you can, of the internal organization of beings a million of whom +could rest on the point of a cambric needle! + +But there are more minute forms of creation than even those. Deposit +a grain, the four hundred and eightieth part of an ounce of musk, in +any place, and, for twenty years, it will throw off exhalations of +fragrance, without causing any perceptible decrease of weight. The +fragrance that for so many years goes forth from that minute portion +of matter is composed of particles of musk. How small must each of +those particles be, that follow each other in ceaseless succession +for twenty years, without lessening, to any perceptible degree, the +weight of the deposit! And yet we have not reached the monad. A +celebrated author + +Niewentyt. made a computation which led to the conclusion that six +billion as many atoms of light flow from a candle in one second as +there are grains of sand in the whole earth, supposing each cubic +inch to contain one million! + +Here we must stop. Further advances are impossible, yet our end is +not attained; we have not yet reached the monad, for the animalcul‘ +and the less sentient particles of matter, light, are not, for they +are divisible. + +The insect can be divided, because it has limbs with which to move; +and an intelligence higher than man can doubtless see emanations +from those particles of light. But a monad is indivisible! Think of +each cubic inch of this great earth containing a million grains of +sand, and those countless grains multiplied by one billion, or a +million-million, and that the product only shows the number of +particles of light that flow from a candle in one second of +time!-and not a monad yet! Minds higher than ours can separate each +of these particles, and yet perhaps they find not the indivisible, +but assign over to other minds the endless task. + +With such thoughts let us return to our first point, and remark that +the star tens of billions of miles distant, one billion eight +hundred million miles in diameter, is but a monad when compared with +the creations of the vast universe of God! + +Here the mind sinks within itself, and gladly relinquishes the +herculean task of endeavoring to comprehend, for a single moment, a +fractional part of the stupendous whole. + +Deep below us, high above us, far as the eye of the mind can see +around us, are the works of our Creator, marshalled in countless +hosts. All animated by his presence, all breathed upon by his life, +inspired by his divinity, fostered by his love, supported by his +power. + +And in all things there is beauty-sunbeams and rainbows; fragrant +flowers whose color no art can equal. In every leaf, every branch, +every fibre, every stone, there is a perfect symmetry, perfect +adaptation to the conditions that surround it. And thus it is, from +the minutest insect undiscernible by human eye, to the planet whose +size no figures can represent. Each and all the works of God order +governs, symmetry moulds, and beauty adorns. + +There are all grades of beings, from the monad to the highest +intelligences, and man occupies his position in the endless chain. +Could you hear and see, as seraphs listen and behold, you would hear +one continuous song of glad praise go up from all creation; you +would see all things radiant with smiles, reflecting the joys of +heaven. And why? Because they follow nature's leading, and, in doing +so, live and move in harmony. + +Who can scale the heights above us, or fathom the depths below us? +Who can comprehend the magnitude of countless worlds that roll in +space-the distance that separates the nearest orb from our earth, +the worlds of being in a drop of water, the mighty array of angel +forms that fill immensity? + +Well may we exclaim, "Great and marvellous are thy works, O Lord of +Hosts, and that my soul knoweth right well!" + + + + + + +A VISION OF HEAVEN. + + + + + + NIGHT had shed its darkness round me; + Wearied with the cares of day, + Rested I. Sleep's soft folds bound me, + And my spirit fled away. + As on eagle pinions soaring, + On I sped from star to star, + Till heaven's high and glistening portals + Met my vision from afar. + Myriad miles I hasted over; + Myriad stars I pass‚d by: + On and on my tireless spirit + Urged its ceaseless flight on high. + Planets burned with glorious radiance, + Lighting up my trackless way; + On I sped, till music coming + From the realms of endless day + Fell upon my ear,--as music + Chanted by celestial choirs + Only can,--and then my spirit + Longed to grasp their golden lyres + Stood I hear that portal wondering + Whether I could enter there: + I, of earth and sin the subject, + Child of sorrow and of care! + There I stood like one uncalled for, + Willing thus to hope and wait, + Till a voice said, "Why not enter? + Why thus linger at the gate? + "Know me not? Say whence thou comest + Here to join our angel band. + Know me not? Here, take thy welcome- + Take thine angel-sister's hand." + Then I gazed, and, gazing, wondered; + For 't was she who long since died,-- + She who in her youth departed, + Falling early at my side. + "Up," said she, "mid glorious temples! + Up, where all thy loved ones rest! + They with joy will sing thy welcome + To the mansions of the blest. + Mansions where no sin can enter, + Home where all do rest in peace; + Where the tried and faithful spirit + From its trials finds release; + "Golden courts, where watchful cherubs + Tune their harps to holy praise; + Temples in which countless myriads + Anthems of thanksgiving raise." + I those shining portals entered, + Guided by that white-robed one, + When a glorious light shone round me, + Brighter than the noonday sun! + Friends I met whom death had severed + From companionship below; + All were there-and in each feature + Immortality did glow. + I would touch their golden lyres, + When upon my ear there broke + Louder music--at that moment + I from my glad vision woke. + All was silent; scarce a zephyr + Moved the balmy air of night; + And the moon, in meekness shining, + Shed around its hallowed light. + + + + + + +THERE'S HOPE FOR THEE YET. + + + + + + WHAT though from life's bounties thou mayest have fallen? + What though thy sun in dark clouds may have set? + There is a bright star that illumes the horizon, + Telling thee truly, "There's hope for thee yet." + This earth may look dull, old friends may forsake thee; + Sorrows that never before thou hast met + May roll o'er thy head; yet that bright star before thee + Shines to remind thee "there's hope for thee yet." + 'T is but folly to mourn, though fortune disdain thee, + Though never so darkly thy sun may have set; + 'T is wisdom to gaze at the bright star before thee, + And shout, as you gaze, "There's hope for me yet." + + + + + + +SOLILOQUY OVER THE GRAVE OF A WIFE. + + + + + + IT cannot be that thou art dead; that now + I watch beside thy grave, and with my tears + Nourish the flowers that blossom over thee; + I cannot think that thou art dead and gone; + That naught remains to me of what thou wert, + Save that which lieth here,--dust unto dust. + When the bright sun arises, and its rays + Pass noiseless through my chamber, then methinks + That thou art with me still; that I can see + Thy flowing hair; and thy bright glancing eye + Beams on me with a look none other can. + And when at noon life's busy tumult makes + My senses reel, and I almost despair, + Thou comest to me and I'm cheered again; + Thine own bright smile illuminates my way, + And one by one the gathered clouds depart, + Till not a shadow lies upon my path. + Night, with its long and sombre shadows, treads + Upon the steps that morn and noon have trod; + And, as our children gather round my knee, + And lisp those evening prayers thy lips have taught, + I cannot but believe that thou art near. + But when they speak of "mother," when they say + "'T is a long time since she hath left our side," + And when they ask, in their soft infant tones, + When they again shall meet thee,--then I feel + A sudden sadness o'er my spirit come: + And when sleep holds them in its silken bands + I wander here, to this fair spot they call + Thy grave (as though this feeble earth could hold + Thee in its cold embrace), and weep and sigh; + Yet, trusting, look above to yon bright sphere, + And feel thou art not dead, but living there. + It is not thou that fills this spot of earth, + It is not thou o'er whom these branches wave, + These blooming roses only mark the spot + Where but remaineth that thou couldst not wear + Amid immortal scenes. + Thou livest yet! + Thy feet do tread the golden courts of heaven; + Thy hands have touched the harps that angels use; + Thy eyes have seen the glory of our Lord; + Thy ears have listened to that song of praise + Which angels utter, and which God accepts. + + + + + + +THE FUGITIVES. + + + + + + THEY had escaped the galling chain and fetters, + Had gained the freedom which they long had sought, + And lived like men-in righteous deeds abettors, + Loving the truth which God to them had taught + Some at the plough had labored late and early; + And some ascended Learning's glorious mount; + And some in Art had brought forth treasures pearly, + Which future history might with joy recount + As gems wrought out by hands which God made free, + But man had sworn should chained and fettered be. + They lived in peace, in quietness, and aided + In deeds of charity-in acts of love; + Nor cared though evil men their works upbraided, + While conscience whispered of rewards above. + And they had wives to love, children who waited + At eve to hear the father's homeward tread, + And clasped the hand,--or else, with joy elated, + Sounding his coming, to their mother sped. + Thus days and years passed by, and hope was bright, + Nor dreamed they of a dark and gloomy night. + Men came empowered, with handcuffs and with warrants, + And, entering homes, tore from their warm embrace + Husbands and fathers, and in copious torrents + Poured forth invective on our northern race, + And done all "lawfully;" because 't was voted + By certain men, who, when they had the might, + Fostered plans on which their passions doted, + Despite of reason and God's law of right; + And, bartering liberties, the truth dissembled, + While Freedom's votaries yielded as they trembled. + Shall we look on and bear the insult given? + O, worse than "insult" is it to be chained, + To have the fetters on thy free limbs riven, + When once the prize of Freedom has been gained. + No! by the granite pointing high above us, + By Concord, Lexington, and, Faneuil Hall, + By all these sacred spots, by those who love us, + We pledge to-day our hate of Slavery's thrall; + And give to man, whoever he may be, + The power we have to make and keep him free. + + + + + + +THE UNIVERSAL JUBILEE. + + + + + + WHAT shouts shall rise when earth shall hold + Its universal jubilee! + When man no more is bought and sold, + And one and all henceforth are free! + + Then songs they'll sing, + That loud shall ring + From rock to rock, from shore to shore. + "Hurra!" they'll shout, "we're free, we're free, + From land to land, from sea to sea, + And chains and fetters bind no more!" + Let every freeman strive to bring + The universal jubilee; + All hail the day when earth shall ring + With shouts of joy, and men are free! + + Then each glad voice + Shall loud rejoice, + And chains shall fall from every hand, + Whilst myriad tongues shall loudly tell + The grateful joy of hearts that swell, + Where Freedom reigns o'er sea and land. + +TAPVILLE was situated on the borders of one of the most beautiful +rivers that grace and refresh the soil of New England. It was once a +quiet place, once as perfect in its character as any of its +sisterhood. A moral atmosphere pervaded it, and the glorious and +divine principle of doing unto others as they would have others do +unto them governed its inhabitants; and, therefore, it was not +strange that its farmers and storekeepers kept good the proverbial +honesty and hospitality of their progenitors. Tradition said (but +written history was silent) that a few of those who landed at +Plymouth Rock separated from the main body, and took up their abode +further in the interior; and that, from these "few," a flourishing +company arose, and the place they inhabited was "Springvale." But +time and circumstances having much to do with the concerns of +earth's inhabitants, changed the character as well as the name of +this ancient town, and "Springvale" became "Tapville." + +One evening, in the year one thousand eight hundred and I don't +remember what, after a somewhat fatiguing ride on horseback all day, +my heart was cheered on coming in view of the town. I had never +visited Tapville, but, from accounts I had heard, judged it to be a +sort of Pandemonium-a juvenile Bedlam. As I entered, troops of +children greeted me with shouts, and my horse with stones. Despite +of my treatment, I could not but compare their appearance, to say +nothing of their conduct, with those I had last seen in another +town, thirty miles distant. These were attired in rags, those in +good clothing; these with unwashed faces, uncombed hair, and bearing +every mark of neglect,--those bright and smiling, happy themselves, +and making all around them so. + +I did not much fancy my reception, I assure you. My horse seemed +wondering at the cause of it, for he suddenly halted, then turned +slowly about, and began to canter away with a speed that I thought +quite impossible for a beast after a long day's work. I reined him +in, turned about, and entered the town by a small and not much +frequented pathway. + +There was a large building at my left, with a huge sign over its +principal door, from which I learned that "Good Entertainment for +Man and Beast" might be had within. Appearances, however, indicated +that a beast must be a very bad beast who would accept its +"entertainment." + +A fat man, wearing a green jacket on his back, an old torn and +tattered straw hat on his head, and both hands in his pockets, stood +lazily at the door; before which half a score of dirty children were +playing with marbles, and a short distance from which a couple of +children were fighting, upon whose pugilistic exercises a woman, +with a child in her arms and a pipe in her mouth, was gazing with +intense interest. + +The general appearance of the town was far from pleasing. At nearly +every window, hats, or shingles, or bundles of rags, took the place +of glass, and the doors, instead of being hung on hinges, were "set +up," liable to be set down by the first gust of wind. + +Near one miserable shantee, poor, very poor apology for a +dwelling-house, one man was endeavoring to get another into the +house; at least, so I thought; but both were so much intoxicated +that I could not tell, for my life, which the latter was. At one +moment, the man with the blue coat with the tails cut off seemed to +be helping the man without a coat; the next moment, I thought the +coatless man was trying to help the other. The fact was, both needed +help, which neither could give; so they remained "in a fix." + +Now and then, a bare-footed little child would run across my path, +and hurry out of sight, as if fearful of being seen where so much +that was neither of heaven nor of earth was discernible. + +In striking contrast with the want and desolation around, stood a +beautiful mansion. Around it was a garden of choice flowers, and the +vine, with its rich clusters of luscious grapes, shaded the path to +the entrance of the house. + +I continued on. Far up a shaded avenue I perceived a small, yet neat +cottage, so different in general appearance from those around it, +that I turned my way thither, in hopes of resting in quiet, and, if +possible, of learning something relative to the town. I alighted, +knocked, and soon an old lady requested me to enter, saying that +Tommy would see that my horse was cared for. It was a small room +that I entered; everything was as neat and clean as a New Year's +gift, and there was so much of New England about it, that I felt at +home. Near an open window, in an easy-chair, sat a young lady of +decidedly prepossessing appearance but evidently wasting beneath +that scourge of eastern towns and cities-consumption. There was a +hue upon her cheek that was in beautiful contrast with the pure +white of her high forehead, and the dark, penetrating eye that +flashed with the deep thoughts of her soul. + +The old lady was one of those good-natured, motherly women, whom you +will find at the firesides of New England homes, generous to a +fault; and whom you cannot but love, for the interest she takes in +you, and the solicitude she manifests for your welfare. + +A repast was soon at hand, and when it was over the lady said, + +"You are from Boston, then?" + +"Yes," I replied; "and, having heard considerable respecting this +place, have come hither to satisfy myself whether or not any good +would be likely to result from a temperance lecture here." + +"Temperance lecture!" she exclaimed, as she grasped my hand. "Do, +sir, for Heaven's sake, do something, do anything you possibly can, +to stay the ravages of the rum fiend in this place!" + +She would have said more, but she could not. The fountains of her +heart seemed breaking, and a flood of tears flowed from her eyes. +The daughter buried her face in her hands, and the sighs that arose +from both mother and child told me that something had been said that +deeply affected them. + +Tommy at this moment came in, happy and joyous; but, as soon as he +saw his mother and sister weeping, his whole appearance changed. He +approached his mother, and, looking up in her face, said, "Don't +cry, mother. Jenny will be better soon, and Tommy will work and make +you and her happy. Don't cry, mother!" + +The child's simple entreaty brought more copiously the tears to the +mourner's eyes, and some time elapsed before they became in the +least degree comforted. + +"You will excuse me, sir," said she, "I know you will, for my grief; +but, O, if temperance had been here ten years ago, we should have +been so happy!" + +"Yes," said the boy; "then father would not have died a drunkard!" + +The surmises I had entertained as to the cause of this sorrow were +now confirmed; and, at my request, she told me her story, with a +hope that it might prove a warning to others. + +"You must know, sir, that when we came here to live we were just +married. Alfred, my husband, was a good mechanic, industrious, +frugal and kind-hearted. He had by his labor and economy +accumulated a small amount, enough to purchase an estate consisting +of a house, shop and farm. He had many and good customers, and our +prospects were very fair. We attended church regularly, for we +thought that, after enjoying the bounties of a beneficent Ruler all +of six days, it was our duty, as well as privilege, to devote the +seventh to His praise. + +"Years passed by, when one morning Jenny, who was then about seven +years old, came running in, and told me that a new store had been +opened; that the man had nothing but two or three little kegs, and a +few bottles and tumblers. I went out, and found it as she had +stated. There was the man; there was his store; there were his kegs, +bottles and tumblers. + +"The next day some changes were made; a few signs were seen, and the +quiet villagers gazed in wonder, if not admiration, at the +inscriptions, 'Rum,' 'Gin,' 'Brandies,' 'Wines and Cigars.' Old men +shook their heads, and looked wise. Old women peered from beneath +their specs, and gave vent to many predictions. Children asked what +the words meant. + +"That night I talked with my husband about it. He thought that there +was no danger; that social enjoyment would harm no one; and seemed +astonished, to use his own words, 'that such a sensible woman as I +was should express any anxiety about the matter.' That night, to me, +was a long and sad one. I feared the result of the too much +dependence on self which he seemed to cherish. + +"The rumseller soon gathered a number of townsmen about him. His +establishment became a place of frequent resort by many, and soon we +had quarrelling neighbors, and disturbances at night. Boys became +dishonest, and thus the fruits of the iniquitous traffic became +visible. + +"I noticed that Alfred was not as punctual in his return as +formerly; and my fears that he visited this pest-house of the town +were soon confirmed. I hinted to him my suspicions. He was frank, +and freely admitted that he visited the bar-room; said he had become +acquainted with a few choice spirits, true friends, who had sworn +eternal friendship. 'Danger,' said he, 'there is none! If I thought +I endangered your happiness, I would not visit it again.' I +recollect the moment. He looked me steadily in the face, and, as he +did so, a tear escaped my eye. He, smiling, wiped it away, promised +that when he saw evil he would avoid it, and left me alone to my +reflections. + +"But I will be brief. I need not tell you how, step by step, he +descended that ladder whose end rested in the grave. I need not tell +you how I warned him of dander; how I entreated him to avoid it; +how I watched him in sickness, and bathed his fevered brow; how my +heart was gladdened when I saw his health returning, and heard his +solemn promise to reform. + +"Nor need I tell you how he was again led astray, and his hand +encircled that cup which he had once dashed aside. O, sir, he was a +good man; and, in his sober moments, he would weep like a child, as +he thought of his situation! He would come to me and pour out his +soul in gratitude for my kindness; and would beg my forgiveness, in +the tenderest manner, till his heart became too full for utterance, +and his repentance found vent in his tears. + +"What could I do but forgive him, as I did a hundred times! + +"Disheartened, I became sick. I was not expected to survive; and +Jenny, poor, child, watched by my side, and contracted an illness, +from which, I fear, she will not be freed till the God she loves +calls her home to himself. + +"When I recovered, Alfred remained for some time sober and happy. +But he fell! Yes, sir; but God knows he tried to stand, and would +have done so had not the owner of that groggery, by foul stratagem, +hurled him to the ground. I went, my daughter went, friends went, to +ask the destroyer of our happiness to desist; but he turned us away +with an oath and a laugh, saying, 'he would sell to all who wanted.' + +"Frequent exposure brought disease; disease brought death, and my +husband died. + +"All our property was sold to meet the demands of merciless +creditors, the principal one of whom was this very rumseller who +turned me from his doors. A friend furnished us with the cottage in +which we have since lived. Many kind-hearted friends have gathered +around us, and we have been happy, save when the recollections of +the past rise before us. Others, beside myself, have had cause to +mourn and our town, once inhabited by happy, quiet and contented +families, has become noted as a seat of iniquity. + +"He who has caused this change is now the wealthiest man in town. +You might have seen his stately palace as you rode up, environed +with fruits and flowers. He lives there; but, within the shade of +that mansion, are the wretched hovels of those upon whose ruin he +sits enthroned. He has roses and fruits at his door, but they have +been watered by widows' tears; and the winds that reach his home +amid rich vines and laden trees may bear to his ears the orphan's +cry, from whose mouth he has taken the daily bread." + +When the old lady had finished her narrative, she could restrain her +tears no longer, and they burst forth as freely as at first. + +I inquired whether there were any beside herself who would become +interested in a temperance movement. She replied that there were +many, but they wished some one to start it. + +I had left a gentleman at the town I last came from, who was an +eloquent advocate; and my first act, after listening to the widow's +narrative, was to write a note, and send it in all possible haste to +him. + +The next day he came; and, if you could have seen the joy of that +family as I told them that we had announced a meeting, you would +have some faint idea of the happiness which the temperance reform +has produced. + +From what I had learned, I expected that we should meet with some +opposition from the wealthy individual before alluded to, or from +his agents, who were so blinded to their own interests that they +could not be easily induced to move for their own good. + +The evening came, and the room we had engaged was well filled. My +friend arose, when a stone, hurled at him from without, missed its +aim, and struck a lamp at his side, dashing it into a hundred +fragments. Little disconcerted at this, he began his address; and, +in a short time, gained the attention of the audience in so perfect +a manner, that they heeded not the attempts of a noisy crowd without +to disturb them. + +He continued on. Men leaned forward to catch his words, and some +arose and stood as motionless as statues, with eyes fixed intently +on the speaker. Women wept; some in sorrow for the past, others in +joy for the future. A deep feeling pervaded all. The disturbance +without ceased, and one by one the disturbers came to the door; one +by one they entered, and began to feel the truths which the speakers +uttered. + +The only interruption was made by an aged man, who bowed his silvery +head, and, in trembling accents, moaned out, "My son, my son!" These +words, uttered at the expiration of every few minutes, increased the +solemnity of the occasion, and added power to the lecturer's +remarks, for all knew the story of his son, and all knew that he was +carried home dead from the groggery. + +When, at the end of the lecture, it was asked who would sign the +pledge, the whole assembly started to respond to the call, and each +one that night became pledged to total abstinence. + +The next day a great excitement existed relative to the groggeries +in town; a meeting was called, and a committee appointed to act in a +manner they thought best calculated to promote the interests of the +people at large. + +This committee determined to present the facts to the keepers of the +places in question, and request them to renounce the traffic. + +The facts were presented. They saw that their customers had all left +them, and why should they continue? It would be a losing business. + +The effect of the moral suasion had been powerful; it labored with +the very soul of the traffic, with those who put the pence in the +dealers' coffers. It was more powerful than all laws that could have +been enacted. Forbidding them to sell while customers crowded their +doors would have had no effect, unless to create riot; inducing +their customers to leave them soon induced them to leave the +business, for where there are none to buy there will be none to +sell. + +In view of all this, the rumsellers of Tapville gave up; and, +strange to say, joined with the people that night in their +rejoicing, and made a bonfire of their stock in trade. + +By the light of that fire my friend and I left the town; and when +far away we could see its glare, and hear the shouts of a +disenthralled people. + +After a few months' travel in the south and west, I revisited +Tapville, or rather the place where it once stood; but no Tapville +was there. The town had regained its former sobriety and quiet, and +became "Springvale." + +I called at the widow's cottage; Tommy ran out to meet me, and I +received a welcome I shall never forget. But Jenny was no more; with +her last breath she had blessed the temperance cause, and then her +pure spirit winged its way to that home where sorrows never come, +and where the troubles of earth are forgotten amid the joys of +heaven. + + + + + + +THE BATTLE OF THE RED MEN. + + + + + + 'T WAS cold, bleak winter, on a rock-bound coast, + When bands of exiles trod its frozen shore. + Who then stood forth to greet the coming host + And shelter freely give when storms did pour? + + Old Samoset-peace to his memory still!- + + He bade them welcome, welcome, with good will. + Then was the red man's nation broad and strong- + O'er field and forest he held firm control; + Then power was his to stay the coming throng, + And back the wave of usurpation roll. + + He might have crushed them on old Plymouth's rock, + + And freedom to this day have felt the shock. + Not so he willed it; he would have them sit + In peace and amity around his door; + The pipe of peace in friendship would have lit, + And, as its white cloud up towards heaven did soar, + + Learned that like it the spirits pure and white + + Ascend, to live in never-ceasing light. + But what return did they profusely give + Who were dependent on the red man's corn? + Not even to them the privilege to live, + But war and fire, torture, hate and scorn! + + Hunted like wild beasts through the forests' track; + + For food and welcome such they gave him back. + Then roused to madness was the Indian's soul, + Then grasped with firmness every one his bow; + No mortal power his purpose could control, + Till he had seen the traitors lying low. + + Revenge! revenge! was sounded far and wide, + + O'er every field and every river's tide. + The little child that scarce could lisp a word + Was taught to hate the white man; maidens fair + Were roused to fearful vengeance, as they heard + Their brothers' wrongs, and madly tore their hair; + + Old men urged on the young, and young men fled + + Swift to increase the armies of the dead. + And thus the war began,--the fearful war + That swept o'er happy homesteads like a flood; + The white and red man knew no other law + Than that which wrote its every act in blood. + + Daylight beheld the ball and arrow's flight, + + And blazing homes made terrible the night. + The rifle's sharp report, the arrow's whiz, + The shout, the yell, the fearful shriek of death; + Despair in him who saw the last of his, + And heard "good-by" from children's dying breath; + + The last sad look of prisoners borne away, + + And groan of torture, marked the night and day. + With arms more skilful-not with hearts more true, + Or souls more brave to battle for the right- + The white the unjust warfare did pursue, + Till, inch by inch, the red man took his flight + + From homes he loved, from altars he revered, + + And left, forever, scenes to him endeared. + O, what an hour for those brave people that! + Old men, whose homes were loved as homes can be; + Young men and maidens who had often sat + In love and peace beneath the forest tree; + + Parents who'd planted flowers; and with warm tears + + Watered the graves of dearest-gone for years! + From every tree a voice did seem to start, + And every shrub that could a shadow cast + Seemed to lament the fate that bade them part, + So closely twined was each one with the past. + + O, was it strange they fought with furious zeal? + + Say, men who think, and have warm hearts to feel. + And thus they went,--a concourse of wronged men,-- + Not with a speedy flight; each inch they gave, + Each blade of grass that passed beyond their ken, + Was sold for blood, and for a patriot's grave; + + And white men paid the price-and now they hold + + This broad, broad land for cost more dear than gold. + And yet 't is not enough; the cry for more + Hath vexed the Indian, till the Atlantic's wave + Now blends with it the thunder of its roar, + And soon shall sound the requiem o'er the grave + + Of the last Indian,--last of that brave band + + Who once held sway o'er all this fertile land. + Methinks to-day I see him stand alone, + Drawing his blanket close around his form; + He hath braved all, hath heard the dying moan + Rise from the fields of strife; and now the storm + + That hath swept all before it, age on age, + + On him, the last, seeks to pour forth its rage. + Raising his hand appealing to the sun, + He swears, by all he hath or now could crave, + That when his life is closed, his life-race run, + A white man ne'er shall stand above his grave. + + Shall he, the last of a once noble race, + + Consign himself to such a dire disgrace? + Never! let rock to rock the word resound; + Never! bear witness all ye gods to-day; + Never! ye streams and rivers, as ye bound, + Write "Never" on your waves, and bear away; + + Tell to the world that, hunted, wronged, abused, + + With such reproach he ne'er shall be accused, + The red man's brethren, tell him where are they; + The red man's homes and altars, what their fate? + Shall he who stands the last, the last to-day, + Forget with his last breath to whisper hate? + + Hate, deep and fathomless, and boundless too, + + Such as to fiendish cruelty is due. + He cannot bear the white man's presence now, + Or bear to hear his name or see his works; + He thinks that wrong is stamped upon his brow, + That in his good deeds selfish purpose lurks. + + Has he a cause for this?-review the past, + + And see those acts which prompt hate to the last. + Sons of the Pilgrims, who to-day do boast + Of Freedom's favors, ye whose wealth doth lie + From the Atlantic to the Pacific coast! + Let not the race you have supplanted die; + + Perish like forest-leaves from off their lands, + + Without a just requital at your hands. + O, give them homes which they can call their own, + Let Knowledge light its torch and lead the way; + And meek Religion, from the eternal throne, + Be there to usher in a better day; + + Then shall the past be blotted from life's scroll, + + And all the good ye may do crown the whole. + + + + + + +SUNLIGHT ON THE SOUL. + + + + + + O, THAT some spirit form would come, + From the fair realms of heaven above, + And take my outstretched hand in hers, + To bathe me in angelic love! + O that these longing, peering eyes, + Might pierce the shadowy curtain's fold, + And see in radiant robes arrayed, + The friends whose memory I do hold + Close, close within my soul's deep cell! + O, that were well! O, that were well! + I've often thought, at midnight's hour, + That round my couch I could discern + A shadowy being, from whose eye + I could not, ah! I would not turn. + It seemed so sisterly to me, + So radiant with looks of love, + That ever since I've strove to be + More like the angel hosts above. + The hopes, the joys were like a spell, + And it was well! Yes, it was well! + And every hour of day and night + I feel an influence o'er me steal, + So soothing, pure, so holy, bright, + I would each human heart could feel + A fraction of the mighty tide + Of living joy it sends along. + Then why should I complain, and ask + Why none of heaven's angelic throng + Come to this earth with me to dwell, + For all is well,--all, all is well! + + + + + + +A SONG FROM THE ABSENT. + +TO THE LOVED ONE AT HOME. + + + + + + AWAY from home, how slow the hours + Pass wearily along! + I feel alone, though many forms + Around my pathway throng. + There's none that look on me in love, + Wherever I do roam; + I'm longing for thy gentle smile, + My dearest one, at home. + I walk around; strange things I see, + Much that is fair to view; + Man's art and Nature's handiwork, + And all to me is new. + But, ah! I feel my joy were more, + If, while 'mid these I roam, + It could be shared with thee I love, + My dearest one, at home. + Blow, blow ye winds, and bear me on + My long and arduous way! + Move on, slow hours, more swiftly move, + And bring to life the day + When, journey done, and absence o'er, + No more I distant roam; + When I again shall be with thee, + My dearest one, at home. + + + + + + +TWILIGHT FOREST HYMN. + +THE HOUR OF PARTING. + + + + + + FRIENDS who here have met to-day, + Let us sing our parting lay, + Ere we hence do pass away, + Ere the sun doth set. + As we've trod this grassy earth, + Friendships new have had their birth, + And this day of festive mirth + We shall ne'er forget. + Rock, and hill, and shading tree, + Streamlet dancing to the sea, + Gladly though we'd stay with thee, + We must leave you all; + On the tree and on the flower + Comes the evening's twilight hour, + And upon each forest bower + Evening's shadows fall. + Part we now, but through our life, + Hush of peace or jar of strife, + Memory will still be rife + With glad thoughts of thee; + Wheresoe'er our feet may stray, + Memory will retain this day; + Fare thee well-we haste away, + Farewell rock and tree! + + + + + + +THE SUMMER SHOWER. + + + + + + UP from the lake a mist ascends, + And forms a sea of cloud above, + That hangs o'er earth as if in love + With its green vales; then quick it send + Its blessings down in cooling rain, + On hill and valley, rock and plain. + Nature, delighted with the shower, + Sends up the fragrance of each flower; + Birds carol forth their cheeriest lays, + The green leaves rustle forth their praise. + Soon, one by one, the clouds depart, + And a bright rainbow spans the sky, + That seems but the reflective part + Of all below, fixed there on high. + + + + + + +AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN AUTOMATON. + + + + + +EARLY one bright summer morning, as I was perambulating beneath +those noble trees that stand the body-guard of one of the most +beautiful places of which city life can boast,--Boston Common,--I +encountered a man who attracted my special attention by his apparent +carelessness of action, and humble bearing. He looked dejected +likewise, and I seated myself on the stone seat beside him. + +He took me by the sleeve of my coat, and whispered in my ear, "I'm +an Automaton, sir." A few more words passed between us, after which, +at my request, he gave me a sketch of his life, which I propose to +give you in language as nearly his own as possible. + +"I was born. I came into this world without any consent of my own, +sir, and as soon as I breathed the atmosphere of this mundane state +I was bandaged and pinned, and felt very much as a mummy might be +supposed to feel. I was then tossed from Matilda to Jerusha, and +from Jerusha to Jane, and from Jane to others and others. I tried to +laugh, but found I could n't; so I tried to cry, and succeeded most +admirably in my effort. + +"'He's sick,' said my aunt; and my aunt called a doctor, who, wise +man, called for a slip of paper and an errand-boy. + +"The next I knew, my head was being held by my aunt, and the doctor +was pouring down my throat, which he distended with the handle of a +spoon, a bitter potion; pouring it down without any consent of my +own, sir. + +"Whether I got better or worse I don't know; but I slept for a time, +and had a strange dream, of a strange existence, upon which I seemed +to have suddenly entered. + +"The subsequent year was one in which I figured not largely, but +considerably. I made a noise in the world, and was flattered so much +by my mother's acquaintances that my nose has been what is vulgarly +called 'a pug,' ever since. I did n't have my own way at all, except +when I screamed. In that I was not an Automaton. I was myself in +that particular; and the more restraint they put upon me, the more +freedom I had. I cried independently of all my aunts and cousins. +They could n't dictate me in that. + +"Years passed on, and I grew older, as a matter of course. I grew +without any consent of my own, sir, and found myself in jacket and +trousers ditto. I was sent to school, and was told to study Greek +and Latin, and Algebra, and Pneumatics, and Hydrostatics, and a +dozen or twenty other things, the very names of which I have +forgotten, but which I well remember bothered me considerably in +those days. I had much rather have studied the laws of my own being; +much rather have examined and become acquainted with the +architecture of my own bodily frame; much rather have studied +something more intimately connected with the realities of my own +existence; but they made me study what was repulsive to my own mind, +and speak big words which I did n't understand, and which my teacher +could n't explain without the aid of a dictionary. + +"My parents labored under the strange delusion that I was a +wonderful child. I don't know why, unless it was because I did n't +know anything of life, and I could repeat a little Latin, stumble +through a sentence of Greek, and, after having solved a problem +seventy-six thousand times to show my wonderful precociousness, +could do it again when called upon. Perhaps I'm extravagant. It was +n't more than half that number of times. At any rate, sir, I was +thought a prodigy--a most astonishing intellectual--I don't know +what,--call it mushroom,--because what I had done so many times I +could do again. + +"I recollect there was a little youngster of my acquaintance,--a +charming, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed boy,--who told me, one day, that +he did n't care for the dead languages, he had rather know the live +ones. I thought so too, and we talked a long time, down behind old +Turner's barn, about what should be and what should n't. But I had +to go home. I had to be pulled about, this arm with this wire, and +that foot with that wire. I had to do this and that, to study this +and study that, because-why, because I was an Automaton, sir. I was +born such. 'T was in my bones to be an Automaton. + +"My school-days passed, and the minister told my father that if he +was him he'd send me to college. He-my father-did n't sleep any, +that night. He and my mother kept awake till daylight +prognosticating my career, and fixing upon a day when I should go to +Cambridge. + +"That day came. I remember it was a cloudy day. There was a dull +shadow over everything. Yes, even over my heart. I didn't want to go +to college. I knew I hadn't been allowed to learn anything I wanted +to learn out of it; and I knew I should n't do any better shut up +within its old dingy, musty, brick walls. I knew I should n't learn +anything there. I had rather be out in the world. I had rather be +studying in Nature's great college. I had rather graduate with a +diploma from God, written on my heart, than to waste years of life +away from the great school of human life; to be told by another how +I should go, what I should believe, and how I should act, in the +great drama of life. But I had to go, sir,--go to college; for I was +an Automaton. + +"As I before said, the day was cloudy. Mother dressed me up. For a +week preparations had been making for my exit, and finally I went. I +was put in a stage where three men were smoking. I objected, and +intimated that it would be much better if those who smoked rode on +the outside; but my father said, 'hush,' and told me that smoking +was common at college, and I must get used to it. When the stage +stopped to change horses, the men got out, and swore, and drank +brandy; and I asked whether such things were common at college, and +whether I had got to get used to them too. But I could n't get any +answer. + +"The wind blew cold, but my coat was made so small that I could n't +button it together. I would have had it loose and easy, and warm and +comfortable; but 't was n't fashionable to have it so. Father +followed fashion, and I suffered from the cold. I had a nice, soft +cap, that I used to wear to church at home; but father thought that, +as I was going to the city, I must have a hat; so he had bought me +one, and the hard, stiff, ungainly thing was stuck on my head. I had +as lieves have had a piece of stove-pipe there. It made my head ache +awfully. + +"If I had n't been what I was, I should have worn a nice, easy pair +of shoes; but I was an Automaton. I was n't anybody; so I was made +to wear a pair of thin boots, that clung to my feet a great deal +closer than my skin did,--a great deal, sir. + +"Well, we reached Cambridge. It's a pretty place, you know; and I +rather liked it until I arrived at the college buildings. Then I did +n't like the looks of anything, except the green trees, and the +grass, and the shady walks. And I wondered where I could learn the +most useful knowledge, within or without the college. + +"I was ushered in, and my college life began. To narrate to you all +that made up that life, would be irksome to me and tedious to you. I +was taught much that I didn't believe then, and don't believe now, +and don't think I ever shall. I was made to subscribe to certain +forms, and with my lips to adopt certain views, which my heart all +the time rebelled against, and reason told me were false. But I said +I believed, and I did believe after the fashion of the times; for I +believe it's fashionable to believe what you don't know anything +about, and the more of this belief you have the better you are. So I +believed what my teachers told me, because-why, because I was an +Automaton. + +"When I returned home, I found myself, quite unexpectedly, a lion. +All the neighbors flocked in to see the young man who'd been to +college, and in the evening a dozen young ladies--marriageable young +ladies--called on me. I tried to have a pleasant time; and should +have had, if I had n't been pulled and pushed, and made a +puppet-show of; made to go through all my college exercises, to +please the pride of my immediate relatives, and minister to the +wonder-loving souls of their friends. But, though I did n't want to +do all this, though I had much preferred to have sat down and had a +quiet talk with one or two,--talked over all that had taken place +during my absence, our lives and loves,--yet I was obliged to, sir. I +was an Automaton. + +"One day,--it was but a week after I had returned,--my father took me +into his room, and said he had something to say to me. I knew very +well, before he said so, that something out of the usual course was +to take place; for, all the morning, he had been as serious and +reserved as a deacon at a funeral, and I had caught him holding sly +talks with my mother in out-of-the-way places.-I knew something was +to happen. + +"I sat down, and he did. And then he went on to say that I had +probably had some thoughts of marriage. I merely responded, 'Some.' + +"He then remarked that every young man should calculate to get a +wife and settle down; and that 'old folks' had had experience, and +knew a vast deal more about such things than young folks did; and +that the latter, when they followed the advice of the former, always +were well-to-do in the world, always were respected. + +"I began to see what he was driving at. I looked very serious at +him, and he a great deal more so at me. + +"He talked to me half an hour; it was the longest half-hour I had +known since I first measured time. He expatiated on the wisdom of +old people; told me I was inexperienced. I, who had been to college! +I, who had lived a city life! I was inexperienced! But I let him go +on-I could n't help it-you know what I was. + +"He then drew his chair closer mine, lowered the tone of his voice, +and said, + +"'I've picked out a wife for you. It's Squire Parsons' daughter, +Susan Jane Maria. She'll be an excellent wife to you, and mother to +your children.' + +"If I had been anything else than what I was, I should have sprang +up and declared my own ability to choose a wife for me and 'a mother +for my children;' but I did n't do any such thing. I nodded a calm +assent to all he said; for you know, sir; I was an Automaton. + +"I was to go with my father, that night, and see Susan,--she that was +to be my Susan,--O, no, not so; I was to be her Jacob. So, when tea +was over, and I had been 'fixed up,'-I was fixed, I tell you,--father +led the way over Higginses' rough pasture. I should have gone round, +in the road, where it was decent walking, if I had been anybody; but +I was n't any one; I was a--well, you know what. I got one of my +boots full of water, and father fell down and bruised his nose; but +I took off my boot and poured the water out, and he put a piece of +court-plaster on his nose,--a great black piece,--and we did n't look +as bad as we might, so he said; and so I said, 'of course.' + +"Susan was at home, seated in the middle of a great room, as if on +exhibition; and perhaps she was,--I thought so. I had seen Susan +before, and always disliked her. There was nothing in her personal +appearance, or her mind, that pleased me. I never met her without +marking her future life as that of an old maid. But she was to be my +wife; father said so, mother shouted amen; and I was to love her, +and so I said I did, 'of course.' + +"It seemed to me that she knew all about what I came for; for she +put out her little slim hand, that never made a loaf of bread nor +held a needle, but had only fingered the leaves of Greek and Latin +Lexicons, and volumes of Zoology and Ornithology, and thrummed +piano-keys,--all very well in their place (don't think I depreciate +them), but very bad when their place is so large that there's no +room for anything else,--very bad, sir. + +"As she took my hand she attempted to kiss me; but, being rather +shy, I dodged when I saw her lips a-coming, and they went plump on +to father's nose, and exploded on his piece of court-plaster. + +"It was all fixed that night, and I was to be married one week from +the ensuing Sunday. + +"We went home. I received a smile from those who were so considerate +as to hunt me up a wife. + +"If you'd seen the Greentown Gazette a fortnight after, and had +looked at the list of marriages, you might have read, 'Married: In +this town, by Rev. Ebenezer Pilgrade, Mr. Jacob Jenkins, Jr. +(recently from college), to Susan Jane Maria Parsons, estimable +daughter of Nehemiah Q. Parsons; all of this place.' + +"We lived at home. My wife soon found out what I was, found out that +I was an Automaton, and she pulled the wires and put me in motion, +in any way she wished. I opened an office, put out a sign, and for a +time practised law and physic, and when the minister was sick took +his place and preached. I preached just what they wanted me to. I +felt more like an Automaton than ever, stuck up in a high box, +talking just what had been talked a thousand times from the same +place. It would n't do, I was told, to have any ideas of my own; +and, if had them, I must n't speak them. So my parish and me got +along pretty well. + +"Of course I had joined the church. I was told that I must, and so I +did; but I won't tell you what my thoughts were in regard to what I +was told to believe, for that's delicate ground. I don't know what +your religion is, sir, and I might offend you, and I would n't do so +for the world. You see I am an Automaton yet. I'll do just as you +want me to. I hate to be so; but, somehow or other, I can't be +otherwise. It's my nature. + +"You think I'm prosy. I won't say much more, for I see you take out +your watch as though you wished I'd stop, that you might go; so I'll +close with 'finally,' as I do in preaching. + +"Well, then, finally, father died, mother died, Susan run off, and +I've become almost discouraged. I have three children to take care +of, but they are good children. They do just precisely as I tell +them, and won't do anything without asking me whether it's right; +and I ask somebody else. They have n't got any minds of their own, +any more than I have. They'll do just as I tell them. I've nobody in +particular now to tell me what I shall do; so I take everybody's +advice, and try to do as everybody wants me to do. I've come to +Boston on a visit, and shall go back to-night, if you think best. + +"Now I've given you my autobiography. You can do just what you want +to with it,--print it, if you like. People, perhaps, will laugh at me +when they read it; but perhaps there are other Automatons besides +me." + +He came to a full stop here; and, as it was getting late, I arose, +wished him well, bade him good-by, and left. I had proceeded but a +few steps, when I felt a touch on my shoulder, and, turning, found +it was the Automaton, who had come to ask me whether I thought he +had better go home that night. + + + + + + +TO THE UNKNOWN DONOR OF A BOUQUET. + + + + + + RICHEST flowers of every hue, + Lightly fringed with evening dew; + Sparkling as from Eden's bowers, + Brightly tinted-beauteous flowers! + Thee I've found, and thee I'll own, + Though from one to me unknown; + Knowing this, that one who'll send + Such a treasure is my friend. + Who hath sent thee?-Flora knows, + For with care she reared the rose. + Lo! here's a name!-it is the key + That will unlock the mystery; + This will tell from whom and why + Thou didst to my presence hie. + Wait-the hand's disguised!-it will + Remain to me a mystery still. + But I'm a "Yankee," and can "guess" + Who wove this flowery, fairy tress. + Yea, more than this, I almost know + Who tied this pretty silken bow, + Whose hand arranged them, and whose taste + Each in such graceful order placed. + Yet, if unknown thou 'dst rather be, + Let me wish this wish for thee: + May'st thou live in joy forever, + Naught from thee true pleasure sever; + From thy heart arise no sigh; + May no tear bedew thine eye. + Joys be many, cares be few, + Smooth the path thou shalt pursue; + And heaven's richest blessings shine + Ever on both thee and thine. + Round thy path may fairest flowers, + As in amaranthine bowers, + Bloom and blossom bright and fair, + Load with sweets the ambient air! + Be thy path with roses strewn, + All thy hours to care unknown; + Sorrow cloud thy pathway never, + Happiness be thine forever. + + + + + + +TO A SISTER IN HEAVEN. + + + + + + SISTER, in thy spirit home, + Knowest thou my path below? + Knowest thou the steps I roam, + And the devious road I go? + Many years have past since I + Bade thee here a sad farewell; + Many past since thou didst die, + Since I heard thy funeral knell. + Thou didst go when thou wast young; + Scarcely hadst thou oped thine eyes + To the world, and it had flung + Its bright sunshine from the skies, + Ere thy Maker called for thee, + Thou obeyed his high behest; + Then I mourned, yet knew thou 'dst be + Throned on high among the blest. + Gently thou didst fold thy wing, + Gently thou didst sink in sleep; + Birds their evening songs did sing, + And the evening shades did creep + Through the casement, one by one, + Telling of departing day; + Then, thou and the glorious sun + Didst together pass away. + Yet that sun hath rose since then, + And hath brought a joy to me; + Emblem 't is time will be when + Once again I shall see thee,-- + See thee in immortal bloom, + Numbered with the ransomed throng, + Where no sorrow sheds its gloom + O'er the heart, or chills the song. + Spirit sister, throned on high, + Now methinks I hear thee speak + From thy home within the sky, + In its accents low and meek. + Thou art saying, "Banish sadness; + God is love,--O, trust him over! + Heaven is filled with joy and gladness- + It shall be thy home forever." + This thou sayest, and thy voice, + Like to none of earth I've heard, + Bids my fainting soul rejoice; + Follow God's reveal‚d word, + Follow that, 't is faithful true; + 'Mid the trackless maze of this, + It will guide the pilgrim through + To a world of endless bliss. + Sister, in thy spirit home, + Thou dost know my path below, + Thou dost know the steps I roam, + And the road I fain would go. + If my steps would err from right, + If I'd listen to the wrong, + If I'd close my eyes to light, + Mingle with earth's careless throng: + Then wilt thou with power be nigh; + Power which angel spirits wield, + That temptation may pass by, + Be thou near my soul to shield! + As I close this simple lay, + As I over it do bow, + Sister, thou art round my way, + Thou art standing near me now. + + + + + + +I DREAMED OF THEE, LAST NIGHT, LOVE! + + + + + + I DREAMED of thee last night, love, + And I thought that one came down + From scenes of azure light, love, + The most beautiful to crown. + He wandered forth where diamonds + And jewels rich and rare + Shone brightly 'mid the glittering throng, + Yet crown‚d no one there. + He pass‚d by all others, + Till he came to where thou stood; + And chose thee as the beautiful, + Because thou wast so good. + And said, as there he crowned thee, + That Goodness did excel + The jewels all around thee + In which beauty seemed to dwell. + For Goodness is that beauty + Which will forever last; + Then, crowning thee most beautiful, + From earth to heaven he passed. + + + + + + +THEY TELL OF HAPPY BOWERS. + + + + + + THEY tell of happy bowers, + + Where rainbow-tinted flowers + Bloom bright with sweetest fragrance, and never, never die; + + Where friends are joined forever, + + Where parting hours come never, + And that that happier land is far beyond the sky;-- + + That when this life is ended + + The spirit there ascended + Shall meet in happy unison the spirits gone before; + + And all that here hath vexed us, + + With seeming ill perplexed us, + We shall see was for the best, and God of all adore. + + Then, brother, hope and cheer thee, + + For glorious hours are near thee, + If thou but livest holy, and hope, and trust, and wait; + + Soon, trials all departed, + + Thou, heavenward, homeward started, + Shalt find a glorious entrance at heaven's golden gate. + + + + + + +MAN CANNOT LIVE AND LOVE NOT. + + + + + + MAN cannot live and love not; + Around, beneath, above, + There is that's bright and beautiful, + And worthy of his love; + There is in every object + That works out nature's plan, + Howe'er so low and humble, + That's worth the love of man. + Each blade of grass that springeth + From earth to beauty fair; + Each tiny bird that wingeth + Its course through trackless air; + Each worm that crawls beneath thee, + Each creature, great and small, + Is worthy of thy loving; + For God hath made them all. + Should earthly friends forsake thee, + And earth to thee look drear; + Should morning's dark forebodings + But fill thy soul with fear, + Look up! and cheer thy spirit- + Up to thy God above; + He'll be thy friend forever- + Forever!-"God is Love!" + + + + + + +BETTER THAN GOLD. + + + + + + "Find we Lorenzo wiser for his wealth? + What if thy rental I inform, and draw + An inventory new to set thee right? + Where is thy treasure? Gold says, 'Not in me!' + And not in me, the diamond. Gold is poor, + Indies insolvent-. Seek it in thyself, + Seek in thy naked self, and find it there." + +GOLD is, in itself, harmless-brilliant, beautiful to look upon; but, +when man entertains an ungovernable, all-absorbing love of it, gold +is his curse and a mill-stone around his neck, drawing him down to +earth. How much sorrow that love has caused! O, there is love that +is angelic! But high and holy as love is when bestowed upon a worthy +object, in like proportion is it base and ignoble when fixed upon +that which is unworthy. + +It may well be questioned whether, taking a broad view of the +matter, gold has not produced more evil than good. Point out, if you +can, one crime, be it the most heinous and inhuman of which you can +possibly conceive, that has not been perpetrated for the sake of +gold, or has not its equal in the history of the battle for wealth. +We can conceive of no worse a thing than a human soul idolizing a +mass of shining metal, and counting out, with lean and tremulous +hands, the coined dollars. Late and early the devotee bows at the +shrine. No motive can induce him to remove his fixed gaze from the +god he worships. No act too base for him to execute if gold holds +out its glittering purse. No tears of widows, no orphan's cry, no +brother's famishing look, no parent's imploring gaze, no wife's +loving appeal, doth he heed; but on, and on, day by day, night by +night, he rakes together the scattered fragments, rears his altar, +and lays his soul upon it, a burnt sacrifice to his God. + +It was the first day of the trial, and the excitement was intense. +The court-house was filled at an early hour to its utmost capacity, +whilst the lanes leading to it were completely blocked up with +crowds of inquisitive inquirers. The professor left his study, the +trader his accounts, and the mechanic dismissed for a while the toil +of his avocation. + +The judges had arrived; the counsel of both parties were at their +respective desks; all were eager to get a full sight-if not this, a +passing glance-at the prisoner's face. They were looking for his +arrival, and if a close carriage drew near, they believed he was +within, until the carriage passing by withered all their hopes, and +blasted their fond expectations. Such was the state of feeling when +a rumor began to pass round that he, the prisoner, had been +privately conveyed into court. Some believed, and some disbelieved; +some went away, whilst others remained, not giving up all hope of +having their desire gratified.-But why all this? + +Pedro Castello, a young man, an Italian by birth, had been indicted, +and was soon to be tried, charged with two heinous crimes-murder and +robbery. The murdered was an aged person, one of a very quiet and +sedate character, whose every movement seemed to be by stealth, and +who seemed to care for none but himself, but who took particular +interest in what he did care for. This individual had, for quite a +number of years, been a resident in the town where the incidents we +now propose to relate transpired. + +Lorenzo Pedan had the reputation of being wealthy. Whether he was so +or not, no one could positively determine; at least, many thought +so, and here a farmer, there a mechanic, offered to bet all that +he was worth that "Renzo," as he was called, could show his fifty +thousand. It was well known that he was once in prosperous business; +that then, as the saying is, he moved on "swimmingly." But, two or +three years previous to the time we now speak of, he suddenly gave +up business, closed his store, hired a small and retired house, and +lived in as secluded a state as living in the world and not in a +forest would admit of. He was his own master, his own servant, cook +and all else. Visitors seldom if ever darkened his door; and, when +necessity obliged him to leave his house, it was with the utmost +precaution he made fast his door before starting. Proceeding a short +distance, he became possessed with the idea that all was not right, +and would return to his dwelling closely to scrutinize every part. +This and many other characteristics of Pedan induced a belief in the +minds of his townsmen that he had by degrees become possessed of an +avaricious disposition, and that his miserly views of the "whole +duty of man" had induced him to secrete huge boxes of silver, and +bags, of gold in crevices of his cellar, vacancies in his chimney, +and musty and dusty corners of his garret. + +Various were the tricks played upon Lorenzo by the boys of the town. +At times they would place logs of wood against his door, and arrange +them in such a position that when the door was opened they would +inevitably fall in; yet he did not care for this,--we mean he found +no fault with this trick, for he usually claimed the fuel for +damages occasioned by its coming in too close proximity with his +aged self. + +Sometimes these "villanous boys," as widow Todd, a notorious +disseminator of town scandal, called them, would fasten his door; +then, having hid behind some bushes, laugh heartily as they beheld +Mr. Pedan exhibit himself at the window, at which place he got out. +We will not attempt to relate one half or one quarter of these +tricks; we will say nothing of sundry cats, kittens, etc., that were +crowded into boxes and marked "Pedro-this side up with infinite +care;" nor about certain black, white, and yellow dogs, that were +tied to all his door-handles, and made night hideous in the exercise +of their vocal powers. We will not weary our readers with such +details. Suffice it to say that they were all perpetrated, and that +he, the aforesaid Lorenzo Pedan, received the indignities heaped +upon him with a degree of patience and fortitude rivalled only by +that of the martyrs of the dark ages. He was, in fact, a martyr to +his love of gold; and a recompense for all his outward troubles was +the satisfaction of knowing that he might be rich some time, if he +was prudent. + +Lorenzo was undoubtedly rich, yet he derived no enjoyment from his +abundance; on the contrary, it caused him much trouble, care, and +watchfulness; and not possessing any benevolent feelings, prompting +him to spend his gold and silver for his own good or the good of his +fellow-men, the poorest man, with all his poverty,--he who only by +his daily toil earned his daily bread,--was far more wealthy than he. + +He passed on in this way for some time, when, on a certain morning, +he not having made his appearance for some days previous, his door +was burst open, and the expectations of not a few realized upon +finding him murdered. All the furniture and even the wainscotings of +the house were thrown about in dread disorder; scarcely an article +seemed to be in its right place. The robber or robbers were +undoubtedly on the alert for money, and they left no spot untouched +where possibly they might find it. They pulled up parts of the +floor, tore away the ceiling, and left marks of their visit from +cellar to garret. + +Immediate efforts were made and measures taken to ferret out the +perpetrator of this daring crime. These were, for a considerable +length of time, fruitless, and, the excitement that at first arose +being somewhat quelled, some thought the search that had been +instituted was given, or about to be given, up, when a man by the +name of Smith came forward, and stated that, about nine days +previous to the discovery, as he was passing the house of the +deceased, he heard a faint cry, as of one in distress, and, turning +round, noticed a young man running in great haste. He, at the time, +thought little of this incident, as he supposed the boys were +engaged in some of their tricks. It had entirely passed his +recollection, until, hearing of the murder, he instantly recollected +the circumstance, and now he did not entertain a doubt that the +young man whom he saw was the murderer. + +It appeared strange to some that this man had not made all this +known before; and that now, at so late a period, he should come +forward and with such apparent eagerness make the disclosures. Being +asked why he had not come forward before, he promptly replied that +he did not wish to suspect any person, for fear he might be +mistaken. + +Efforts were now made, and excitement had again risen, to find out a +young man answering the description given by Smith, whom he alleged +to be one short in stature, and wearing a fur cap. Pedro Castello, +by birth an Italian, by trade a jeweller, who had resided in the +town a few years, was of this description. He was not very tall, +neither very short; but the fur cap he wore made up all deficiencies +in stature. Smith swore to his identity, and, at his instigation, he +was arrested, and with great coolness and self-possession passed +through a short examination, which resulted in his being placed in +custody to await his trial at the next session of a higher court. +The only evidence against him was that of Smith and his son; that of +the former was in substance what has already been stated, and that +of the latter only served to support and partially confirm the +evidence of the former. A host of townsmen appeared to attest to the +good character of the accused; and, with such evidence for and +against, he was committed. + +Never was man led to prison who behaved with a greater degree of +composure. Conscious of his innocence, he acted not the part of a +guilty man, but, relying upon justice for an impartial trial, he +walked with a firm step, and unflinchingly entered a felon's cell. + +In two months his trial was to commence, and that short period soon +elapsed. The morning of the trial came; all was excitement, as we +have before said. A trial for murder! Such an event forms an era in +the history of a town, from which many date. That one so long +esteemed as an excellent neighbor, and of whose untarnished +character there could be no doubt, should be suddenly arrested, +charged with the committal of a crime at the thought of which human +nature revolts, was a fact the belief of which was hardly credible. +He himself remained not unmoved by the vast concourse of spectators; +he thought he could read in the pitying glance of each an acquittal. +An acquittal at the bar of public opinion always has and always will +be esteemed of more value than one handed in by a jury of twelve; +yet by that jury of twelve men he was to be tried,--he must look to +them for his release, if he was to obtain it. Their decision would +condemn him to an ignoble death, or bid him go forth once more a +free man. He had obtained the best of counsel, by whose advice he +selected, from twenty-five jurors, twelve, whose verdict was to seal +his fate. + +The trial commenced. A deep silence prevailed, broken only by the +voice of the government officer, who briefly stated an outline of +the facts, to wit: "That murder and robbery had been committed; that +a young man was seen hastily leaving the spot upon which the crime +was committed; that the appearance of the defendant was precisely +that of the person thus seen; said he should not enter into an +examination of the previous character of the prisoner, giving as a +reason that a man may live long as a person of unquestionable +character, and after all yield to some strong temptation and fall +from the standard of excellence he had hitherto attained; he should +present all the facts that had come to his knowledge, tending to +substantiate the charge, and would leave it to the prisoner and his +counsel to undermine the evidence he presented, and to prove the +accused innocent, if possible; all that he should do would be to +attempt to prove him guilty; if he failed to do so a verdict must be +rendered accordingly." Having said this, he called upon his +witnesses. Those who first discovered the outrage were called and +testified to what they saw. John Smith was next called, and gave in +as evidence what has before been stated; at the close of a strict +cross-examination he returned to his seat. His son Levi was next +called, and stated that his father was out the night he himself +stated he was; he went out about half-past six or seven; did not say +where he was going, or how long he should be out; he came home about +eleven. + +Prisoner's counsel here inquired whether it was usual, upon his +father's going out, to state where he was going or when he should +return. He answered in the affirmative. This was all the knowledge +Levi Smith had of the affair, and with this the evidence for the +government closed. + +The counsel for the defendant stated, in the opening, that all he +should attempt to prove would be the bad character of the principal +witness, John Smith, and the unexceptionable character of the +prisoner. He would prove that the reputation of Smith for truth and +veracity was bad, and that therefore no reliance could be placed +upon his statements. He should present the facts as they were, and +leave it to them to say whether his client was innocent or guilty. + +A person by the name of Renza was first called, who stated that for +about two years he had resided in the house with the prisoner; that +he esteemed him as a friend; that the prisoner had treated him as a +brother,--had never seen anything amiss in his conduct,--at night he +came directly home from his place of business, was generally in at +nine, seldom out later than ten,--remembered the night in +question,--thought he was in about ten, but was not certain on that +point,--had been acquainted with John Smith for a number of +years,--had not said much to him during that time,--had often seen him +walking about the streets,--had known him to be quarrelsome and +avaricious, easily provoked, and rather lacking in good principle. +After a few cross-questions the witness took his seat. + +Seven others were called, whose testimony was similar to the above, +placing the evidence of the principal government witness in rather a +disagreeable light. The evidence being in on both sides, the +prisoner's counsel stood forth to vindicate the innocence of +Castello. For three hours he faithfully advocated the cause, dwelt +long upon the reputation of Smith, and asked whether a man should be +convicted upon such rotten evidence. He brought to light the +character of Smith, and that of Castello; placed them in contrast, +and bade them judge for themselves. He wished to inquire why Smith, +when he heard the terrible scream, when he saw a person running from +the place whence the sound proceeded, why, when he heard and beheld +all this, he did not make an alarm; why did Smith keep it a secret, +and not till nine days had elapsed make this known? "Perhaps he +would reply," argued the counsel, "that he did not wish to suspect +any person, fearing the person suspected might be the wrong one; if +so, why did he not inform of the person he saw running? If he was +not the doer of the deed, perhaps he might relate something that +would lead to the detection of him who was. Beside, if he had doubts +whether it was right to inform then, why does he do so now with so +much eagerness? It would be natural for one, after hearing such +fearful noises,--after seeing what he testifies to having seen,--to +have related it to some one; but no-Smith keeps all this important +information treasured up, and not till two weeks had nearly passed +does he disclose it. But, gentlemen, I have my doubts as to the +truth of John's evidence. It is my firm belief that he never saw a +person running from that house; he might have heard the noise-I will +not dispute that. I believe his story has been cut and dried for the +occasion, and surely nine days and nights have afforded him ample +time to do so. The brains of an ox could concoct such ideas in nine +days. Now comes the inquiry, why should he invent such a story? Of +what benefit can it be to him to appear in a crowded courtroom? +Gentlemen, I confess myself unable to give you his reasons; to him +and to his God they are only known. The veil which, in my opinion, +now shrouds this affair, will some day be withdrawn, and we shall +know the truth, even as it is." + +The defence here closed. The officer for the prosecution now arose, +and with equal faithfulness and ability argued his side of the +question. He thought the reasons why Smith had not before informed +were full and explicit; and, as to the testimony of the eight as to +the past good character of the prisoner, he saw no reason why a man +should be always good because for two or more years he had been so. +A great temptation was presented; he was young--perhaps at the +moment regardless of the result, the penalty of the crime; he did +not resist, but yielded; and as to the argument of the learned +counsel, that Mr. S. did not see what he testifies to have seen, it +is useless to refute such an unfounded allegation. Can you suppose +Smith to be benefited by this prosecution further than to see +justice have its dues? Settle it then in your minds that Mr. Smith +did actually see all he says he did. We come next to the description +given by Smith of the man seen. He said he was short in stature, and +wearing a fur cap. Look at the prisoner,--is he not short?-and the +testimony of two of the previous witnesses distinctly affirm that +for the past six weeks he has worn a fur cap. What more evidence do +you want to prove his guilt? + +The prosecuting officer here closed. We have given but a faint +outline of his remarks; they were forcible and to the point. + +It was near the dusk of the second day's trial that the judge arose +to charge the jury. He commented rather severely upon the attempt to +impeach the character of Smith. His address was not lengthy; and in +about thirty minutes the jury retired, while a crowded audience +anxiously waited their return. It was not till the rays of the +morning sun began to be seen that it was rumored that they had +arrived at a decision and would soon enter. All was silent as the +tomb. The prisoner, although aware that his life was at stake, sat +in great composure, frequently holding converse with his friends who +gathered around. How anxiously all eyes were turned towards the door +by which they were to enter, wishing, yet dreading, to hear the +final secret! The interest of all watched their movements and seemed +to read acquittal upon each juror's face. The prisoner arose, the +foreman and he looking each other in the face. The clerk put the +question, "Guilty, or not guilty?" The ticking of the clock was +distinctly heard. "Guilty!" responded the foreman. A verdict so +unexpected by all could not be received in silence, and, as with one +voice, the multitude shouted "False! false! FALSE!" With great +difficulty were they silenced and restrained from rescuing the +prisoner, who, though greatly disappointed, heard the verdict +without much agitation. Innocent, he was convinced that justice +would finally triumph, though injustice for a moment might seem to +have the ascendency. + +One week had passed. Sentence had been pronounced upon the young +Italian, and, notwithstanding the strenuous efforts his friends made +for his pardon, he was committed to prison to await the arrival of +that day when innocence should suffer in the place of guilt, and he +should by the rough hands of the law be unjustly dragged to the +gallows, and meet his death at so wretched a place; yet far better +was it for him, and of this was he aware, to be led to that place +free, from the blood of all men, than to proceed there a guilty +criminal, his hands dyed in the warm blood of a fellow-creature, +pointed out as a murderer, and looked upon but with an eye of +condemnation. He was certain that in the breasts of hundreds a +spark, yea, a burning flame, of pity shone for him,--that he met not +his death uncared for,--that many a tear would flow in pity for him, +and that he would wend his way to the scaffold comforted by the +consciousness of his innocence, and consoled by many dear friends. + +The day had arrived for the execution, and crowds of people flocked +to the spot to gratify their love of sight-seeing-to allay their +curiosity-even though that sight were nothing less than the death of +a fellow-being. Crowds had assembled. A murder had been committed, +and now another was to follow. To be sure it was to be executed +"according to law," but that law was inspired with the spirit of +revenge. Its motto was "blood for blood." It forgot the precepts of +Christ, "forgive your enemies;" and that that which is a wrong when +committed by one in secret, is no less a wrong when committed by +many, or by their sanction, in public. The condemned stood upon the +death-plank, yet he hoped justice would be done. "Hope!" what a +cheering word! 't will nerve man for every trial. Yes, Castello +hoped, and relied upon that kind arm that had hitherto supported +him, and had enabled him to bear up under an accumulated mass of +affliction. He had a full consciousness of innocence, and to the +oft-repeated inquiry as to his state of mind he replied, "I am +innocent, and that truth is to me better than gold." + +It lacks but five minutes of the appointed time-now but three-but +two. But yonder the crowd seem excited. What is the cause of the +sudden movement? But a few moments since and all were silently +gazing at the centre of attraction, the scaffold. Lo, a messenger, +breathless with haste, shouting "INNOCENT! INNOCENT! INNOCENT!" and +a passage is made for him to approach, whilst thousands inquire the +news. He answers not, save by that shrill shout, "INNOCENT!" and +pressing forward touches the gallows just as Castello is about to be +launched forth. The stranger ascends the steps and begs that the +execution may be deferred, at least until he can relate some recent +disclosures. His wish is granted, and he speaks nearly as follows: + +"The testimony of the principal witness was doubted. Last night I +remained at the house of Smith. Owing to the great excitement I did +not retire to rest, and sat in a room adjoining that in which Smith +lodged. About midnight I heard a voice in that room. I went to the +door, and, fearing he was sick and desired aid, I entered. He was +asleep, and did not awake upon my entering, but continued talking. I +thought it strange, and thinking I might be amused, and having +nothing else to do, I sat and listened. He spoke in somewhat this +manner, and you may judge of my surprise while I listened: + +"'I'm rich; too bad Pedro should die; but I'm rich; no matter, I'm +rich. Kings kill their millions for a little money. I only kill one +man; in six months 't will be forgotten; then I'll go to the bank of +earth back of the red mill and get the gold; I placed it there safe, +and safe it is. Ha, ha! I made that story in nine days-so I did, and +might have made it in less; let him die. But supposing I should be +detected; then it may be that I shall find that Pedro is right when +he says there is something better than gold. But I am in no danger. +The secret is in my own heart, locked up, and no one has the key but +myself; so cheer thee, my soul, I'm safe!-and yet I don't feel +right. I shall feel, when Pedro dies; that I kill him; but why +should I care? I who have killed one, may kill another!' + +"After waiting some time, and hearing no more, I hastened to the +spot he had alluded to, for the purpose of satisfying myself whether +what he had ramblingly spoken of was truth or fancy. After searching +the hill for over an hour, I found a stone, or rather stumbled +against it; I threw it aside, so that others might not stumble over +it as I had, when to my astonishment I found it to be a large flat +one, beneath which I found a collection of bags and boxes, which +upon opening I found filled with gold and silver coin, and in each +box a small paper,--one of which I hold in my hand; all are alike, +and written upon each are these words: + +"'This gold and silver is the property of Pedan, who enjoyed it but +little himself; he leaves it to posterity, and hopes that they may +find more pleasure and more satisfaction in its use than he ever +did.' + +"Not content with this, I pushed my researches still further, and, +having taken out all the bags and boxes, I found this knife, all +bloody as you see it, and this hatchet in nearly the same condition. +Now I ask if it is not the course of justice to delay the execution +of this young man until more examinations can be made?" + +The executioner obeyed the mandate of the sheriff, and stayed his +avenging hand. + +"Better than gold!" shouted the prisoner, and sank helpless upon the +platform. + +That day John Smith was arrested, and, being bluntly charged with +the murder, confessed all. Castello was immediately released, and +went forth a free man. + +In four weeks Smith was no more of earth; he had paid the penalty of +his crimes, and died not only a murderer but a perjured man. + +The next Sabbath the pastor of the church discoursed upon the +subject, and an indescribable thrill pervaded the hearts of some of +the people as they repeated the words, "Forgive us our trespasses as +we forgive those who trespass against us." + + + + + + +GONE AWAY. + + + + + + HERE, where now are mighty cities, + Once the Indians' wigwam stood; + Once their council-fires illumined, + Far and near, the tangled wood. + Here, on many a grass-grown border, + Then they met, a happy throng; + Rock and hill and valley sounded + With the music of their song. + Now they are not,--they have vanished, + And a voice doth seem to say, + Unto him who waits and listens, + "Gone away,--gone away." + Yonder in those valleys gathered + Many a sage in days gone by; + Thence the wigwam's smoke ascended, + Slowly, peacefully, on high. + Indian mothers thus their children + Taught around the birchen fire,-- + "Look ye up to the great Spirit! + To his hunting-grounds aspire." + Now those fires are all extinguished; + Fire and wigwam, where are they? + Hear ye not those voices whispering, + "Gone away,--gone away!" + Here the Indian girl her tresses + Braided with a maiden's pride; + Here the lover wooed and won her, + On Tri-mountain's grassy side. + Here they roamed from rock to river, + Mountain peak and hidden cave; + Here the light canoe they paddled + O'er the undulating wave. + All have vanished-lovers, maidens, + Meet not on these hills to-day, + But unnumbered voices whisper, + "Gone away,--gone away!" + "Gone away!" Yes, where the waters + Of the Mississippi roll, + And Niagara's ceaseless thunders + With their might subdue the soul, + Now the noble Indian standeth + Gazing at the eagle's flight, + Conscious that the great good Spirit + Will accomplish all things right. + Though like forest-leaves they're passing, + They who once held boundless sway, + And of them 't will soon be written, + "Gone away,--gone away!" + As they stand upon the mountain, + And behold the white man press + Onward, onward, never ceasing, + Mighty in his earnestness; + As they view his temples rising, + And his white sails dot the seas, + And his myriad thousands gathering, + Hewing down the forest trees; + Thus they muse: "Let them press onward, + Not far distant is the day + When of them a voice shall whisper, + 'Gone away,--gone away!'" + + + + + + +LINES TO MY WIFE. + + + + + + THOU art ever standing near me, + In wakeful hours and dreams; + Like an angel-one, attendant + On life and, all its themes; + And though I wander from thee, + In lands afar away, + I dream of thee at night, and wake + To think of thee by day. + In the morning, when the twilight, + Like a spirit kind and true, + Comes with its gentle influence, + It whispereth of you. + For I know that thou art present, + With love that seems to be + A band to bind me willingly + To heaven and to thee. + At noon-day, when the tumult and + The din of life is heard, + When in life's battle each heart is + With various passions stirred, + I turn me from the blazonry, + The fickleness of life, + And think of thee in earnest thought, + My dearest one-my wife! + When the daylight hath departed, + And shadows of the night + Bring forth the stars, as beacons fair + For angels in their flight, + I think of thee as ever mine, + Of thee as ever best, + And turn my heart unto thine own, + To seek its wonted rest. + Thus ever thou art round my path, + And doubly dear thou art + When, with my lips pressed to thine own, + I feel thy beating heart. + And through the many joys and griefs, + The lights and shades of life, + It will be joy to call thee by + The holy name of "wife!" + I love thee for thy gentleness, + I love thee for thy truth; + I love thee for thy joyousness, + Thy buoyancy of youth + I love thee for thy soul that soars + Above earth's sordid pelf; + And last, not least, above these all, + I love thee for thyself. + Now come to me, my dearest, + Place thy hand in mine own; + Look in mine eyes, and see how deep + My love for thee hath grown; + And I will press thee to my heart, + Will call thee "my dear wife," + And own that thou art all my joy + And happiness of life. + + + + + + +CHEER UP. + + + + + + CHEER up, cheer up, my own fair one! + Let gladness take the place of sorrow; + Clouds shall not longer hide the sun,-- + There is, there is a brighter morrow! + 'T is coming fast. I see its dawn. + See! look you, how it gilds the mountain! + We soon shall mark its happy morn, + Sending its light o'er stream and fountain. + My bird sings with a clearer note; + He seems to know our hopes are brighter, + And almost tires his little throat + To let us know his heart beats lighter. + I wonder if he knows how dark + The clouds were when they gathered o'er us! + No matter,--gayly as a lark + He sings that bright paths are before us. + So cheer thee up, my brightest, best! + For clear's the sky, and fair's the weather. + Since hand in hand we've past the test, + Hence heart in heart we'll love together. + + + + + + +TRUST THOU IN GOD. + + + + + + TRUST thou in God! he'll guide thee + When arms of flesh shall fail; + With every good provide thee, + And make his grace prevail. + Where danger most is found, + There he his power discloseth; + And 'neath his arm, + Free from all harm, + The trusting soul reposeth. + Trust thou in God, though sorrow + Thine earthly hopes destroy; + To him belongs the morrow, + And he will send thee joy. + When sorrows gather near, + Then he'll delight to bless thee! + When all is joy, + Without alloy, + Thine earthly friends caress thee. + Trust thou in God! he reigneth + The Lord of lords on high; + His justice he maintaineth + In his unclouded sky. + To triumph Wrong may seem, + The day, yet justice winneth, + And from the earth + Shall songs of mirth + Rise, when its sway beginneth. + When friends grow faint and weary, + When thorns are on thy way, + When life to thee is dreary, + When clouded is thy day, + Then put thy trust in God, + Hope on, and hoping ever; + Give him thy heart, + Nor seek to part + The love which none can sever! + + + + + + +THE MINISTRATION OF SORROW. + + + + + + THERE'S sorrow in thy heart to-day, + There's sadness on thy brow; + For she, the loved, hath passed away, + And thou art mourning now. + The eye that once did sparkle bright, + The hand that pressed thine own, + No more shall gladden on thy sight,-- + Thy cherished one hath flown. + And thou didst love her well, 't is true; + Now thou canst love her more, + Since she hath left this world, and you, + On angel wings to soar + Above the world, its ceaseless strife, + Its turmoil and its care, + To enter on eternal life, + And reign in glory there. + O, let this thought now cheer thy soul, + And bid thy tears depart; + A few more days their course shall roll, + Thou 'lt meet, no more to part. + No more upon thine ear shall fall, + The saddening word "farewell" + No more a parting hour, but all + In perfect union dwell. + This world is not the home of man; + Death palsies with its gloom, + Marks out his life-course but a span, + And points him to the tomb; + But, thanks to Heaven, 't is but the gate + By which we enter bliss; + Since such a life our spirits wait, + O, cheer thy soul in this,-- + And let the sorrow that doth press + Thy spirit down to-day + So minister that it may bless + Thee on thy pilgrim way; + And as thy friends shall, one by one, + Leave earth above to dwell, + Say thou to God, "Thy will be done, + Thou doest all things well." + + + + + + +GIVING PUBLICITY TO BUSINESS. + + + + + +FROM the earliest ages of society some means have been resorted to +whereby to give publicity to business which would otherwise remain +in comparative privacy. The earliest of modes adopted was the crying +of names in the streets; and before the invention of printing men +were employed to traverse the most frequented thoroughfares, to +stand in the market-places and other spots of resort, and, with loud +voices, proclaim their message to the people. This mode is not +altogether out of use at the present time; yet it is not generally +considered a desirable one, inasmuch as it does not accomplish its +purpose so readily or completely as any one of the numerous other +methods resorted to. + +Since the invention of printing, handbills, posters, and newspapers, +have been the principal channels of communication between the inside +of the dealer's shop and the eye of the purchaser, and from that to +the inside of his purse. So advantageous have these modes been +found, that it is a rare thing to find a single individual who does +not, either on a large or small scale, rein the press into the path +he travels, and make its labor conducive to the profits of his own. + +England and France have taken the lead in this mode of giving +publicity to business; but the United States, with its unwillingness +to be beat in any way, on any terms, has made such rapid strides of +late in this enterprise, that the English lion will be left in the +rear, and the French eagle far in the background. + +In London many curious devices have been used or proposed. Of these +was that of a man who wished to prepare a sort of bomb-shell, to be +filled with cards or bills, which, on reaching a certain elevation +above the city, would explode, and thus scatter these carrier doves +of information in all conceivable directions. In that city, +butchers, bakers, and fishmongers, receive quite an income from +persons who wish their cards attached to the various commodities in +which they deal. Thus, a person receiving a fish, a loaf, or a piece +of meat, finds the advertisement of a dealer in silks and satins +attached to the tail of the fish; that of an auction sale of +domestic flannels wrapped around the loaf; and perhaps flattering +notices of a compound for the extermination of rats around the meat. + +In the evening, transparencies are carried about the streets, +suspended across the public ways or hung upon the walls. + +In this country, no person has taken the lead of a famous doctor in +the way of advertising. Nearly every paper in the Union was +one-fourth filled with ably-written articles in praise of his +compound. In fact, he published papers of his own, the articles in +which were characterized by the "one idea principle," and that one +idea was contained in a bottle of Dr.--'s save all and cure all, +"none true but the genuine," "warranted not to burst the bottles or +become sour." In addition to these, he issued an almanac-millions of +them-bearing glad tidings to the sick and credulous, and sad tidings +to the "regulars" in the medical fraternity. These almanacs were +distributed everywhere. They came down on the American people like +rain-drops. The result was, as we all know, the doctor flourished in +a fortune equal to his fame, and disposed of his interest in the +business, a few years since, for one hundred thousand dollars. + +The amount of capital invested in advertising is very great, some +firms expending thousands of dollars monthly in this mode of making +known their business. It has been truly said that a card in a +newspaper, that costs but a few dollars, is of far more value than +costly signs over one's door. The former thousands behold, and are +directed to your place of business; the latter very few notice who +do not know the fact it makes known before they see it. + +Attracted by the good fortune of those who have advertised, nearly +every one has adopted the means that led to it; and the advertising +system has become universal. + +We have been seated in a car, waiting impatiently for the sound of +the "last bell," when a person in a brown linen coat entered with an +armful of books, and gave to each passenger a copy, without a hint +about pay. Thanking him for the gift, and astonished at his +generosity, we proceeded to open it, when "Wonderful cures," +"Consumption," "Scrofula," "Indigestion," and "Fits," greeted our +eyes on every page. Illustrated, too! Here was represented a man +apparently dying, and near by a figure that would appear to be a +woman were it not for two monstrous wings on its back, throwing +obstacles in the way of death in the shape of a two-quart bottle of +sarsaparilla syrup. Presumptive man in a brown linen coat, to +suppose that we, just on the eve of a pleasure excursion, are +troubled with such complaints, and stand in need of such a remedy! + +You buy a newspaper, go home, seat yourself, and, in the +anticipation of at glorious intellectual feast, open its damp pages, +when, lo and behold! a huge show-bill falls from its embrace, and +you are informed of the consoling truth that you can have all your +teeth drawn for a trifle, and a now set inserted at a low price, by +a distinguished dentist from London. The bill is indignantly thrown +aside, and you commence reading an article under the caption of "An +interesting incident," which, when half finished, you find to refer +to a young lady whose complexion was made beautiful by the free use +of "Chaulks Poudres," a box of which can be obtained at 96 +Azure-street, for 25 cts. After reading another column, headed "An +act of mercy," you find at its close a most pathetic appeal to your +tender sensibilities in an affectionate request for you to call on +Dr. Digg and have your corns extracted without pain. Despairing of +finding the "intellectual treat," you lay the paper aside, and +resolve upon taking a walk. + +Before you are monstrous show-bills, emblazoned with large letters +and innumerable exclamation-points. Above you, flaunting flags with +flaming notices. Beneath you, marble slabs inscribed with the names +of traders and their goods. Around you, boys with their arms full of +printed notices, and men encased with boards on which are mammoth +posters. Sick of seeing these, you close your eyes; but you don't +escape so easily;--a dinner-bell is rung in your ears, and a voice, +if not like mighty thunder, at least like an embryo earthquake, +proclaims an auction sale, a child lost, or news for the afflicted. + +And thus it is, the world is one great Babel. All is business, +business, and we ask for "some vast wilderness" in which to lie down +and get cool, and keep quiet. + +In Paris, the people long since adopted a plan which has not yet +come in vogue among us. A long story is written; in the course of +this story, a dozen or more establishments receive the author's +laudations, which are so ingeniously interwoven that the reader is +scarcely aware of the design. For instance, Marnetta is going to an +evening party. In the morning she goes out, and is met by a sprig of +gentility, a young man of fashion, who cannot allow her to omit +entering the unrivalled store of Messrs. Veuns, where the most +beautiful silks, etc., are to be seen and purchased. Leaving this, +she next encounters a young lady acquaintance of prudent and +economical habits, by whom, "our heroine" is led into a store where +beauty and elegance are combined with durability and a low price. +She wishes perfumery; so she hastens to Viot & Sons; for none make +so good as they, and the fragrance of their store has been wafted on +the winds of all nations. + +Thus is the story led on from one step to another, with its interest +not in the least abated, to the end. This embraces "puffery," as it +is called. And, while on this subject, we may as well bring up the +following specimen of this species of advertising. It was written by +Peter Seguin, on the occasion of the first appearance in Dublin of +the celebrated Mrs. Siddons. It caused much merriment at the time +among some, while in others, who could not relish a joke, it excited +anger. + +"The house was crowded with hundreds more than it could hold, with +thousands of admiring spectators that went away without a sight. +This extraordinary phenomenon of tragic excellence! this star of +Melpomene! this comet of the stage! this sun of the firmament of the +Muses! this moon of blank verse! this queen arch-princess of tears! +this Donnellan of the poisoned bowl! this empress of the pistol and +dagger! this child of Shakspeare! this world of weeping clouds! this +Juno of commanding aspects! this Terpsichore of the curtains and +scenes! this Proserpine of fire and earthquake! this Katterfelto of +wonders! exceeded expectation, went beyond belief, and soared above +all the natural powers of description! She was nature itself! she +was the most exquisite work of art! She was the very daisy, +primrose, tuberose, sweet-brier, furze-blossom, gilliflower, +wallflower, cauliflower, aurica and rosemary! In short, she was the +bouquet of Parnassus! Where expectation was raised so high, it was +thought she would be injured by her appearance; but it was the +audience who were injured; several fainted before the curtain drew +up! but when she came to the scene of parting with her wedding-ring, +all! what a sight was there! The fiddlers in the orchestra, 'albeit +unused to the melting mood!' blubbered like hungry children crying +for their bread and butter; and when the bell rang for music between +the acts, the tears ran from the bassoon player's eyes in such +plentiful showers, that they choked the finger-stops, and, making a +spout of the instrument, poured in such torrents on the first +fiddler's book, that, not seeing the overture was in two sharps, the +leader of the band actually played in one flat. But the sobs and +sighs of the groaning audience, and the noise of corks drawn from +the smelling-bottles, prevented the mistakes between the flats and +sharps being discovered. One hundred and nine ladies fainted! +forty-six went into fits! and ninety-five had strong hysterics! The +world will hardly credit the truth, when they are told that fourteen +children, five women, one hundred tailors, and six common-council +men, were actually drowned in the inundation of tears that flowed +from the galleries, the slips and the boxes, to increase the briny +pond in the pit; the water was three feet deep, and the people that +were obliged to stand upon the benches were in that position up to +their ancles in tears." + +There is nothing in the present style of criticism that can exceed +the above. The author actually reached the climax, and all attempts +to overtop him would be useless. + +Of advertisements there have been many worthy of preservation: some +on account of the ingenuity displayed in their composition; some in +their wit; some for their domesticativeness,--matrimonial offers, +for example,--and others for the conceitedness exposed in them, the +ignorance of the writers, or the whimsicality of the matter +advertised. In 1804 there was advertised in an English paper, as for +sale, "The walk of a deceased blind beggar (in a charitable +neighborhood), with his dog and staff." + +In the St. James Chronicle of 1772 was the following: + +"Wanted, fifteen hundred or two thousand pounds, by a person not +worth a groat; who, having neither houses, lands, annuities, or +public funds, can offer no other security than that of a simple +bond, bearing simple interest, and engaging, the repayment of the +sum borrowed in five, six, or seven years, as may be, agreed on by +the parties," &c. + +We do not know whether the advertiser obtained his pounds or not, +but such an advertisement, now-a-days, would draw forth a laugh much +sooner than the money; or, if "pounds" came, they would, most +probably, fall upon the recipient's shoulders, instead of into his +pocket. + +The Chinese are not behind the age in this business. The following +is an instance in proof: + +"ACHEU TEA CHINCOEU, Sculptor, respectfully acquaints masters of +ships trading from Canton to India that they may be furnished with +figure-heads, any size, according to order, at one-fourth of the +price charged in Europe. He also recommends, for private venture, +the following idols, brass, gold and silver: The hawk of Vishnoo, +which has reliefs of his incarnation in a fish, boar, lion, and +bull, as worshipped by the pious followers of Zoroaster; two silver +marmosets, with gold ear-rings; an aprimanes for Persian worship; a +ram, an alligator, a crab, a laughing hyena, with a variety of +household idols, on a small scale, calculated for family worship. +Eighteen months credit will be given, or a discount of fifteen per +cent. for prompt payment, on the sum affixed to each article. +Direct, Canton-street, Canton, under the marble Rhinoceros and gilt +Hydra." + +We subjoin another, in which self-exaltation is pretty well carried +out. + +"At the shop Tae-shing (prosperous in the extreme)--very good ink; +fine! fine! Ancient shop, great-grandfather, grandfather, father and +self, make this ink; fine and hard, very hard; picked with care, +selected with attention. I sell very good ink; prime cost is very +great. This ink is heavy; so is gold. The eye of the dragon glitters +and dazzles; so does this ink. No one makes like it. Others who make +ink make it for the sake of accumulating base coin, cheat, while I +make it only for a name, Plenty of A-kwan-tsaes (gentlemen) know my +ink-my family never cheated-they have always borne a good name. I +make ink for the 'Son of Heaven,' and all the mandarins in the +empire. As the roar of the tiger extends to every place, so does, +the fame' of the 'dragon's jewel' (the ink). Come, all A-kwan- +tsaes, come to my shop and see the sign Tae-shing at the side of the +door. It is Seou-shwuy-street (Small Water-street), outside the +south gate." + + + + + + +THE MISSION OF KINDNESS. + + + + + + Go to the sick man's chamber; low and soft + Falls on the listening ear a sweet-toned voice; + A hand as gentle as the summer breeze, + Ever inclined to offices of good, + Smooths o'er the sick man's pillow, and then turns + To trim the midnight lamp, moisten the lips, + And, passing over, soothe the fevered brow. + Thus charity finds place in woman's heart; + And woman kind, and beautiful, and good, + Doth thus administer to every want, + Nor wearies in her task, but labors on, + And finds her joy in that which she imparts. + Go to the prisoner's cell; to-morrow's light + Shall be the last on earth he e'er shall see. + He mutters hate 'gainst all, and threatens ill + To every semblance of the human form. + Deep in his soul remorse, despair and hate, + Dwell unillumined by one ray of light, + And sway his spirit as the waves are swayed + By wind and storm. He may have cause to hold + His fellow-men as foes; for, at the first + Of his departure from an upright course, + They scorned and shunned and cursed him. + They sinn‚d thus, and he, in spite for them, + Kept on his sullen way from wrong to wrong. + Which is the greatest sinner? He shall say + Who of the hearts of men alone is judge. + Now, in his cell condemned, he waits the hour, + The last sad hour of mortal life to him. + His oaths and blasphemies he sudden stays! + He thinks he hears upon his prison door + A gentle tap. O, to his hardened heart + That gentle sound a sweet remembrance brings + Of better days-two-score of years gone by, + Days when his mother, rapping softly thus, + Called him to morning prayer. Again 't is heard. + Is it a dream? Asleep! He cannot sleep + With chains around and shameful death before him! + Is it the false allurement of some foe + Who would with such enticement draw him forth + To meet destruction ere the appointed time? + Softened and calmed, each angry passion lulled, + By a soft voice, "Come in," he trembling calls. + Slow on its hinges turns the ponderous door, + And "Friend," the word that falls from stranger lips. + As dew on flowers, as rain on parch‚d ground, + So came the word unto the prisoner's ear. + He speaks not-moves not. O, his heart is full, + Too full for utterance; and, as floods of tears + Flow from his eyes so all unused to weep, + He bows down low, e'en at the stranger's feet. + He had not known what 't was to have a friend. + The word came to him like a voice from heaven, + A voice of love to one who'd heard but hate. + "Friend!" Mysterious word to him who'd known no friend. + O, what a power that simple word hath o'er him! + As now he holds the stranger's hand in his, + And bows his head upon it, he doth seem + Gentle and kind, and docile as a child. + Repentance comes with kindness, goodness rears + Its cross on Calvary's height, inspiring hope + Which triumphs over evil and its guilt. + O, how much changed! and all by simple words + Spoken in love and kindness from the heart. + O, love and kindness! matchless power have ye + To mould the human heart; where'er ye dwell + There is no sorrow, but a living joy. + There is no man whom God hath placed on earth + That hath not some humanity within, + And is not moved with kindness joined with love. + The wildest savage, from whose firelit eye + Flashes the lightning passions of his soul, + Who stands, and feeling that he hath been wronged, + That he hath trusted and been basely used, + And that to him revenge were doubly sweet, + Dares all the world to combat and to death,-- + Even he hath dwelling in his inmost heart + A chord that quick will vibrate to kind words. + Go unto such with kindness, not with wrath; + Let your eye look love, and 't will disarm him + Of all the evil passions with which he + Hath mailed his soul in terrible array. + Think not to tame the wild by brutal force. + As well attempt to stay devouring flames + By heaping fagots on the blazing pile. + Go, do man good, and the deep-hidden spark + Of true divinity concealed within + Will brighten up, and thou shalt see its glow, + And feel its cheering warmth. O, we lose much + By calling passion's aid to vanquish wrong. + We should stand within love's holy temple, + And with persuasive kindness call men in, + Rather than, leaving it, use other means, + Unblest of God, and therefore weak and vain, + To force them on before us into bliss. + There is a luxury in doing good + Which none but by experience e'er can know. + He's blest who doeth good. Sleep comes to him + On wings of sweetest peace; and angels meet + In joyous convoys ever round his couch; + They watch and guard, protect and pray for him. + All mothers bend the knee, and children too + Clasp their fair hands and raise their undimmed eyes, + As if to pierce the shadowy veil that hangs + Between themselves and God-then pray that he + Will bless with Heaven's best gifts the friend of man. + + + + + + +A PLEA FOR THE FALLEN. + + + + + + PITY her, pity her! Once she was fair, + Once breathed she sweetly the innocent's prayer; + Parents stood by in pride o'er their daughter; + Sin had not tempted, Vice had not caught her; + Hoping and trusting, believing all true, + Nothing but happiness rose to her view. + She, as were spoken words lovers might tell, + Listened, confided, consented, and fell! + Now she's forsaken; nursing in sorrow, + Hate for the night, despair for the morrow! + She'd have the world think she's happy and gay,-- + A butterfly, roving wherever it may; + Sipping delight from each rose-bud and flower, + The charmed and the charmer of every hour. + She will not betray to the world all her grief; + She knows it is false, and will give no relief. + She knows that its friendship is heartless and cold; + That it loves but for gain, and pities for gold; + That when in their woe the fallen do cry, + It turns, it forsakes, and it leaves them to die! + But after the hour of the world's bright show, + When hence from her presence flatterers go; + When none are near to praise or caress her, + No one stands by with fondness to bless her; + Alone with her thoughts, in moments like this, + She thinks of her days of innocent bliss, + And she weeps!-yes, she weeps penitent tears + O'er the shame of a life and the sorrow of years: + She turns for a friend; yet, alas! none is there; + She sinks, once again, in the deepest despair! + Blame her not! O blame not, ye fathers who hold + Daughters you value more dearly than gold! + But pity, O, pity her! take by the hand + One who, though fallen, yet nobly may stand. + Turn not away from her plea and her cries; + Pity and help, and the fallen may rise! + Crush not to earth the reed that is broken, + Bind up her wounds-let soft words be spoken; + Though she be low, though worldlings reject her, + Let not Humanity ever neglect her. + + + + + + +JOY BEYOND. + + + + + + BEYOND the dark, deep grave, whose lowly portal + Must yet be passed by every living mortal, + + There gleams a light; + 'T is not of earth. It wavers not; it gloweth + With a clear radiance which no changing knoweth, + + Constant and bright. + We love to gaze at it; we love to cherish + The cheering thought, that, when this earth shall perish, + + And naught remain + Of all these temples,--things we now inherit, + Each unimprisoned, no more fettered spirit + + Shall life retain. + And ever, through eternity unending, + It shall unto that changeless light be tending, + + Till perfect day + Shall be its great reward; and all of mystery + That hath made up its earthly life, its history, + + Be passed away! + O, joyous hour! O, day most good and glorious! + When from the earth the ransomed rise victorious, + + Its conflict o'er; + When joy henceforth each grateful soul engages, + Joy unalloyed through never-ending ages, + Joy evermore! + + + + + + +THE SUMMER DAYS ARE COMING. + + + + + + THE summer days are coming, + The glorious summer hours, + When Nature decks her gorgeous robe + With sunbeams and with flowers; + And gathers all her choristers + In plumage bright and gay, + Till every vale is echoing with + Their joyous roundelay. + No more shall frosty winter + Hold in its cold embrace + The water; but the river + Shall join again the race; + And down the mountain's valley, + And o'er its rocky side, + The glistening streams shall rush and leap + In all their bounding pride. + There's pleasure in the winter, + When o'er the frozen snow + With faithful friend and noble steed + Right merrily we go! + But give to me the summer, + The pleasant summer days, + When blooming flowers and sparkling streams + Enliven all our ways. + + + + + + +THE MAN WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING. + + + + + +SANSECRAT is one of that class of persons who think they know +everything. If anything occurs, and you seek to inform him, he will +interrupt you by saying that he knows it all,--that he was on the +spot when the occurrence happened, or that he had met a man who was +an eye-witness. + +Such a person, though he be the possessor of much assurance, is +sadly deficient in manners; and no doubt the super-abundancy of the +former is caused by the great lack of the latter. + +Such men as he will thrive; there is no mistake about it. This has +been called an age of invention and of humbug. Nothing is so +popular, or so much sought after, as that which cannot be explained, +and around which a mysterious shroud is closely woven. + +My friend Arcanus came sweating and puffing into my room. I had just +finished my dinner, and was seated leisurely looking over a few +pages of manuscript, when he entered. + +"News!" said he; and before I could hand him a chair he had told me +all about the last battle, and his tongue flew about with so much +rapidity, that a conflagration might have been produced by such +excessive friction, had not a rap at the door put a clog under the +wheels of his talkative locomotive, and stayed its progress, which +luckily gave me an opportunity to take his hat and request him to be +seated. + +The door was opened, and who but Sansecrat stood before me. + +"Have you heard the news?" was the first interrogatory of my friend +Arcanus, in reply to which Sansecrat said that he knew it all half +an hour previous,--was at the railroad station when the express +arrived, and was the first man to open the Southern papers. + +In vain Arcanus told him that the information came by a private +letter. He averred, point blank, that it was no such thing; that he +had the papers in his pocket; and was about to exhibit them as proof +of what he had said, when he suddenly recollected that he had sold +them to an editor for one-and-sixpence. + +Notwithstanding the proverb of "Man, know thyself," Sansecrat seems +to know everything but himself. Thousands of times has it been said +that man can see innumerable faults and foibles in his neighbors, +but none in himself. Very true; and man can see his own character, +just as he can see his own face in a mirror. His own associates +mirror forth his own character; and the faults, be they great or +small, that he sees in them, are but the true reflection of his own +errors. Yet, blind to this, and fondly imagining that he is the very +"pink of excellence," he flatters his own vain feeling with the +cherished idea that, while others have faults, he has none, and so +slumbers on in the sweet repose of ignorance. + +Sansecrat imagines that he knows everything; that to teach him would +be like "carrying coals to Newcastle," or sending ship-loads of ice +to Greenland, or furnaces to the coast of Africa; yet he is as +ignorant as the greatest dunce, who, parrot-like, repeats that he +has heard, without having the least understanding of what he says. + +Strange as it may seem, it is nevertheless true that Sansecrat will +prosper in the world; for, though destitute of those qualifications +which render their possessor worthy of success, he has an abundance +of brazen-facedness, with which he will work himself into the good +opinion of not a few, who look more closely upon exterior appearance +than they do upon inward worth, and judge their fellowmen more by +the good quality of their cloth than by the good quality of their +hearts, and set more value on a shining hat and an unpatched boot +than they do on a brilliant intellect and a noble soul. + + + + + + +PRIDE AND POVERTY. + + + + + + I CANNOT brook the proud. I cannot love + The selfish man; he seems to have no heart; + And why he lives and moves upon this earth + Which God has made so fair, I cannot tell. + He has no soul but that within his purse, + And all his hopes are centred on its fate; + That lost, and all is lost. + I knew a man + Who had abundant riches. He was proud,-- + Too oft the effect of riches when abused,-- + His step was haughty, and his eye glanced at + The honest poor as base intruders on + The earth he trod and fondly called his own; + Unwelcome guests at Nature's banqueting. + Years passed away,--that youth became a man; + His beetled brow, his sullen countenance, + His eye that looked a fiery command, + Betrayed that his ambition was to rule. + He smiled not, save in scorn on humble men, + Whom he would have bow down and worship him. + Thus with his strength his pride did grow, until + He did become aristocrat indeed. + The humble beggar, whose loose rags scarce gave + Protection to him from the cold north wind, + He scarce would look upon, and vainly said, + As in his hand he held the ready coin, + "No mortal need be poor,--'t is his own fault + If such he be;--if he court poverty, + Let all its miseries be his to bear." + 'T is many years since he the proud spake thus, + And men and things have greatly changed since then. + No more in wealth he rolls,--men's fortunes change. + I met a lonely hearse, slowly it passed + Toward the church-yard. 'T was unattended + Save by one old man, and he the sexton. + With spade beneath his arm he trudged along, + Whistling a homely tune, and stopping not. + He seemed to be in haste, for now and then + He'd urge to quicker pace his walking beast, + With the rough handle of his rusty spade. + Him I approached, and eagerly inquired + Whose body thus was borne so rudely to + Its final resting-place, the deep, dark grave. + "His name was Albro," was the prompt reply. + "Too proud to beg, we found him starved to death, + In a lone garret, which the rats and mice + Seemed greatly loth to have him occupy. + An' I, poor Billy Matterson, whom once + He deemed too poor and low to look upon, + Am come to bury him." + The sexton smiled,-- + Then raised his rusty spade, cheered up his nag, + Whistled as he was wont, and jogged along. + Oft I have seen the poor man raise his hand + To wipe the eye when good men meet the grave,-- + But Billy Matterson, he turned and smiled. + The truth flashed in an instant on my mind, + Though sad, yet deep, unchanging truth to me. + 'T was he, thus borne, who, in his younger days, + Blest with abundance, used it not aright. + He, who blamed the poor because they were such; + Behold his end!-too proud to beg, he died. + A sad example, teaching all to shun + The rock on which he shipwrecked,--warning take, + That they too fall not as he rashly fell. + + + + + + +WORDS THAT TOUCH THE INNER HEART. + + + + + + WORDS, words! O give me these, + Words befitting what I feel, + That I may on every breeze + Waft to those whose riven steel + Fetters souls and shackles hands + Born to be as free as air, + Yet crushed and cramped by Slavery's bands,-- + Words that have an influence there. + Words, words! give me to write + Such as touch the inner heart; + Not mere flitting forms of light, + That please the ear and then depart; + But burning words, that reach the soul, + That bring the shreds of error out, + That with resistless power do roll, + And put the hosts of Wrong to rout. + Let others tune their lyres, and sing + Illusive dreams of fancied joy; + But, my own harp,--its every string + Shall find in Truth enough employ. + It shall not breathe of Freedom here, + While millions clank the galling chain; + Or e'en one slave doth bow in fear, + Within our country's broad domain. + Go where the slave-gang trembling stands, + Herded with every stable stock,-- + Woman with fetters on her hands, + And infants on the auction-block! + See, as she bends, how flow her tears! + Hark! hear her broken, trembling sighs; + Then hear the oaths, the threats, the jeers, + Of men who lash her as she cries! + O, men! who have the power to weave + In poesy's web deep, searching thought, + Be truth thy aim; henceforward leave + The lyre too much with fancy fraught! + Come up, and let the words you write + Be those which every chain would break, + And every sentence you indite + Be pledged to Truth for Freedom's sake. + + + + + + +OUR HOME. + + + + + + OUR home shall be + A cot on the mountain side, + Where the bright waters glide, + Sparkling and free; + Terrace and window o'er + Woodbine shall graceful soar; + Roses shall round the door + Blossom for thee. + There shall be joy + With no care to molest,-- + Quiet, serene and blest; + And our employ + Work each other's pleasure; + Boundless be the treasure; + Without weight or measure, + Free from alloy. + Our home shall be + Where the first ray of light + Over the mountain height, + Stream, rock and tree, + Joy to our cot shall bring, + While brake and bower shall ring + With notes the birds shall sing, + Loved one, for thee. + + + + + + +SPECULATION AND ITS CONSEQUENCE. + + + + + +SPECULATION is business in a high fever. Its termination is +generally very decided, whether favorable or otherwise, and the +effect of that termination upon the individual most intimately +connected with it in most cases unhealthy. + +It was a truth long before the wise man wrote it, that making haste +to be rich is an evil; and it always will be a truth that the +natural, unforced course of human events is the only sure, the only +rational one. + +The desire to be rich, to be pointed out as wealthy, is a very +foolish one, unless it be coupled with a desire to do good. This is +somewhat paradoxical; for the gratification of the last most +certainly repels that of the first, inasmuch as he who distributes +his gains cannot accumulate to any great extent. + +Wealth is looked at from the wrong stand-point. It is too often +considered the end, instead of the means to an end; and there never +was a greater delusion in the human mind than that of supposing that +riches confer happiness. In ninety-nine cases out of every hundred +the opposite is the result. Care often bears heavily on the rich +man's brow, and the insatiate spirit asks again and again for more, +and will not be silenced. And this feeling will predominate in the +human mind until man becomes better acquainted with his own true +nature, and inclines to minister to higher and more ennobling +aspirations. + +In one of the most populous cities of the Union there resided, a few +years since, a person in moderate circumstances, by the name of +Robert Short. Bob, as he Was usually called, was a shoemaker. With a +steady run of custom, together with prudence and economy combined, +he was enabled to support his family in an easy and by no means +unenviable style. He did not covet the favors and caresses of the +world. He looked upon all,--the rich, the poor, the prince, the +beggar,--alike, as his brethren. He believed that all stood upon one +platform, all were bound to the same haven, and that all should be +equally interested in each other's welfare. With this belief, and +with rules of a similar character, guided by which he pursued his +course of life, it was not to be wondered at that he could boast of +many friends, and not strange that many should seek his +acquaintance. There is a desire planted in the hearts of honest men +to associate with those who, ambitious enough to sustain a good +character, are not so puffed up with pride, or so elevated in their +own estimation, as to despise the company of what are termed "the +common people." It was pleasant, of a winter's evening, to enter the +humble domicile of Mr. Short, and while the howling storm raged +fiercely without, and the elements seemed at war, to see the +contentment and peace that prevailed within. Bob, seated at his +bench, might be seen busily employed, and, as the storm increased, +would seem to apply himself more diligently to his task. Six or +perhaps eight of his neighbors might also be seen gathered around, +seated upon that article most convenient,--whether a stool or a pile +of leather, it mattered not,--relating some tale of the Revolution, +or listening to some romantic story from the lips of the respected +Mr. Short. 'T was upon such an evening, and at such a place, that +our story commences. Squire Smith, Ned Green, and a jovial sort of a +fellow by the name of Sandy, were seated around the red-hot +cylinder. Squire Smith was what some would term a "man of +consequence,"-at least, he thought so. Be it known that this squire +was by no means a daily visitor at the work-shop of our hero. He +came in occasionally, and endeavored to impress upon his mind that +which he had settled in his own, namely, that he, Robert Short, +might be a great man. + +"I tell you what," said he, with an air of importance, "I tell you +what, it is against all reason, it is contrary to common sense and +everything else, that you remain any longer riveted down to this old +bench. It will be your ruin; 'pend upon it, it will be your ruin." + +"How so?" eagerly inquired Mr. Short. + +"Why," replied the squire, "it's no use for me to go into +particulars. But why do you not associate with more respectable and +fashionable company?" + +"Is not the present company respectable?" resumed Mr. Short; "and as +for the fashion, I follow my own." + +Squire Smith did not reply to this inquiry, but stood shaking his +head, and appeared at a loss for words with which to answer. + +"Perhaps your ideas of respectability," continued the squire, "are +not in accordance with mine." + +"Ay, ay; true, true," interrupted Sandy, with a shrug of the +shoulder. + +Mr. Smith continued his remarks, appearing not to notice the +interruption. "Perhaps," said he, "one may be as honest as the days +are long; but, sir, he is far from being respectable, in my humble +opinion, if he is not genteel,--and certainly if he is not +fashionably dressed he is not. He does not think enough of himself; +that's it, my dear Mr. Short, he does not think enough of himself." + +"But he is honest," replied Mr. Short. "Supposing he does not dress +so fashionably as you would wish, would you condemn him for the cut +of his coat, or the quality of his cloth? Perhaps his means are not +very extensive, and will not admit of a very expensive outlay, +merely for show. It is much better, my dear sir, to be clothed in +rags and out of debt, than to be attired in the most costly apparel, +and that not paid for. Sir, to hold up your head and say you owe no +man, is to be free, free in the truest sense of the word." + +"Ah, I must be on the move," interrupted the squire, at the same +time looking at his "gold lever." And off he started. + +Squire Smith had said enough for that night; to have said more would +have injured his plan. Mr. Green and Sandy shook hands with their +friend Robert, and, it being late, they bade him "good-by," and +parted. Our hero was now left alone. Snuffing the candle, that had +well-nigh burnt to the socket, he placed more fuel upon the fire, +and, resting his hands upon his knees and his head upon his hands, +he began to think over the sayings of his friend the squire. + +Robert Short saw nothing of the squire for many days after the event +just described transpired. One day, as he began his work, the door +was suddenly thrown open, and the long absent but not forgotten +squire rushed in, shouting "Speculation! speculation!" Mr. Short +threw aside his last, and listened with feelings of astonishment to +the eloquent words that fell from the lips of his unexpected +visitor. "Gull, the broker," continued the squire, "has just offered +me a great bargain. I have come to make a proposition which is, that +you and I accept his offer, and make our fortunes." + +"Fortunes!" exclaimed the son of Crispin; "speculate in what?" + +"In eastern land," was the reply. + +Bob Short's countenance assumed a desponding appearance; he had +heard of many losses caused by venturing in these speculations, and +had some doubts as to his success, should he accept. Then, again, he +had heard of those who had been fortunate, and he inquired the +conditions of sale. + +"Why," replied Mr. Smith, Esq., "old Varnum Gull has three thousand +acres of good land, upon which are, as he assures me, some beautiful +watering places. It is worth five dollars an acre; he offers it to +me for one, and a grand chance it is; the terms are cash." + +"Are you certain as to the quality of the land?" inquired Mr. Short. + +"Perfectly certain," was the reply. "I would not advise you wrong +for the world; but I now think it best to form a sort of +co-partnership, and purchase the land. There is no doubt but that we +can dispose of it at a great advantage. Will you not agree to my +proposals, and accept?" + +"I will," answered Mr. Short. "But how can I obtain fifteen hundred +dollars? I have but a snug thousand." + +"O, don't trouble yourself about that," replied the delighted +squire. "I will loan you the balance at once. You can return it at +some convenient time. What say you will you accompany me to the +broker's, and inform him of the agreement?" + +Mr. Short, after a moment's delay, arose, and, laying aside his +leather apron, took the squire by the arm, and both sallied forth in +search of the office of Varnum Gull. After wending their way through +short streets and long lanes, narrow avenues and wide alleys, they +came to a small gate, upon which was fastened a small tin sign with +the following inscription: "V. Gull, broker, up the yard, round the +corner, up two pair of stairs." The squire and Mr. Short followed +the directions laid down, and, having gone up the yard and turned +round the corner, they found themselves at the foot of the stairs. +They stood for a moment silent, and were about to ascend, when a +voice from above attracted their attention. + +"'Ollo, Squire, 'ere's the box; walk right up 'ere; only look out, +there's an 'ole in the stairs." + +Our hero looked above, and perceived a man with green spectacles +drawing his head in. + +"We will go up," said the squire, "and look out for the hole; but, +as the stairway is rather dark, we shall not see much; therefore we +shall be obliged to feel our way." + +They ascended, and escaped without injury. A little short man met +them at the door, holding in his hand a paper bearing some +resemblance to a map. + +"Really, Mr. Smith, I feared you would lose that 'ere bargain I +expatiated on. I 'ave received many good offers, but 'ave reserved +it for you. Your friend, ha?" he continued, at the same time +striking Mr. Short in no gentle manner upon the shoulder. + +"Not friend Hay, but friend Short," replied the squire. + +"Hall the same, only an error in the spelling," resumed the broker. +"Good-morning, Mr. Short; s'pose you 'ave become 'quainted with the +rare chance I've offered, an't ye? and wish to accept it, don't ye? +and can pay for it, can't ye? Such an opportunity is seldom met +with, by which to make one's fortune." + +"Well," replied Mr. Short, improving the time Mr. Gull stopped to +breathe, "well, I had some idea of so doing." "Hidea!" quickly +responded the broker; "why will you 'esitate? read that!" and he +handed a paper to Mr. Short which paper he kept for reference, and +pointed out to him an article which read as follows: + +"It is astonishing what enormous profits are at present realized by +traders in Eastern Land. One of our neighbors purchased a thousand +acres, at one dollar and twenty-five cents per acre, of Gull, our +enterprising broker, and sold it yesterday for the round sum of +three thousand dollars, receiving thereby the enormous profit of +nineteen hundred and seventy-five dollars. He was a poor man, but by +this lucky movement has become rich." + +As soon as our hero had read this cheering intelligence, he became +elated with the prospect, and soon came to a final agreement with +the squire to accept the offer. Papers were drawn up, signed by +each, and a check given to the broker, for which was returned a deed +for the land. They then left the office, Mr. Gull politely bidding +them good-by, with a caution to look out for the "'ole." They did +look out for the hole, but it might have been that the cunning +broker referred to a hole of more consequence than that in the +stairs. The squire on that day invited Mr. Short to his house to +dine. This, however, he did not accept, but returned to his shop. +One week had passed away, during which time the squire was often at +the shop of Bob Short, but no customer had yet applied for the land. +It was near dusk on the eighth day succeeding the purchase, as they +were talking over the best way by which to dispose of it, when a +short man entered, wrapped up in a large cloak, and a large bushy +fur cap upon his head. + +"I understand," said he, "you have a few acres of land you wish to +dispose of." + +"Exactly so," answered the squire. + +"And how much do you charge per acre?" inquired the stranger. + +"That depends upon the number you wish. Do you wish to purchase +all?" + +"That depends upon the price charged," was the reply. + +"If you wish all," continued Mr. Smith, "we will sell for four +dollars an acre. That is dog cheap, and a great sacrifice." + +"Well," resumed the stranger, "I will take it on conditions; +namely, I will pay you your price, and if the land answers my +purpose I will keep it,--if not, you will return me the amount of +money I pay." + +"That is rather a hard bargain. I know it to be good land," answered +the squire. + +"Then," continued the stranger, "if you know it to be good, +certainly there can be no danger in disposing of it on the +conditions I have named." + +After a few moments' conversation with Mr. Short, they agreed to +sell to the stranger. Papers were immediately drawn up and signed by +Messrs. Smith and Short, agreeing to return the money provided the +land did not give satisfaction. The sum of twelve thousand dollars +was paid in cash to the signers, and the papers given into the hands +of the purchaser, who then left. Robert Short on that night did +really feel rich. This was six thousand dollars apiece; after Mr. +Short had paid the fifteen hundred borrowed, he had forty-five +hundred left. Both were equally certain that the land would give +entire satisfaction, and acted according to this belief. With a +light heart he went home, and communicated the joyful intelligence +to his wife, who had from the first been opposed to the trade. He +did not, however, inform her of the terms on which he had sold. In a +few days he had disposed of his shop and tools to one of his former +workmen. Many were surprised when the sign of "Robert Short" was +taken from its long resting-place over the door. Mr. Short now began +to think the house in which he had for many years resided was not +quite good enough, and therefore engaged a larger and more expensive +one. He ordered new furniture, purchased a carriage and horses, and +had his new house fitted out under the direction of his friend, the +squire. He rented a large store; bought large quantities of shoes +and leather, partly on credit. His business at first prospered, but +in a short time became quite dull; his former customers left, and +all business seemed at a stand-still. In the mean time, the broker +had left town, having sold out his office to a young man. Matters +stood thus, when, early in the morning on a pleasant day in June, as +the squire and Mr. Short were seated in the counting-room of the +latter, a man dressed in a light summer dress entered. + +"Good-morning," said the visitor. "Business is quite lively, I +suppose?" + +"O, it's moderate, nothing extra," replied Mr. Short; "won't you be +seated?" + +The stranger seated himself. + +"Mr. Robert Short is your name, is it not?" he inquired. + +"It is, sir." + +"Did I not make a bargain with you about some eastern land, a few +months since?" + +"Yes, some person did;" and Mr. Short immediately recognized him as +the purchaser. The new comer then took from his pocket the paper of +agreement, and presented it for the inspection of the two gentlemen. + +"Are you not satisfied with your bargain?" inquired Mr. Smith. + +"Not exactly," replied the stranger, laughing. + +"Why, what fault is there in it?" + +"Well," replied the stranger, "I suppose a report of my examination +will be acceptable." + +"Certainly, sir," replied Mr. Short. + +"Then I can give it in a few words. It is a good watering place, +being WHOLLY COVERED WITH WATER; and is of no value unless it could +be drained, and that, I think, is impossible." + +The squire was astonished; Mr. Short knew not what to + +"What is the name of the water bought for land?" inquired Squire +Smith. + +"The location of it is in a large pond of water, twelve miles in +length, and about six in width, and is known in those parts by the +name of the 'Big Pond.' But," continued the stranger, "I must be +gone; please return me my money, according to agreement." + +After some talk, the stranger agreed to call the next day. The next +day came, and with it came the stranger. Mr. Short had tried in vain +to obtain the requisite sum, and was obliged to request him to call +the next day. He came the next day, and the next, and the next, but +received no money; and he was at length obliged to attach the +property of the squire, as also that of Mr. Short. His other +creditors also came in with their bills. All the stock of Mr. Short +was sold at auction, and he was a poor man. He obtained a small +house, that would not compare with the one he had lived in in former +years. He had no money of his own, and was still deeply in debt. He +was obliged to work at such jobs as came along, but at length +obtained steady employment. The squire, who was the prime cause of +all his trouble, sailed for a foreign port, leaving all his bills +unpaid, In a short time Mr. Short obtained a sufficient sum to buy +back his old shop, in which to this day he has steadily worked, with +a vivid remembrance of the consequence of speculation. + + + + + + +RETROSPECTION. + + + + + + HE had drank deep and long from out + The bacchanalian's bowl; + Had felt its poisonous arrows pierce + The recess of his soul; + And now his footsteps turned to where + His childhood's days were cast, + And sat him 'neath an old oak tree + To muse upon the past. + Beneath its shade he oft had sat + In days when he was young; + Ere sorrow, like that old oak tree, + Its own deep shadows flung; + Beneath that tree his school-mates met, + There joined in festive mirth, + And not a place seemed half so dear + To him, upon the earth. + The sun had passed the horizon, + Yet left a golden light + Along a cloudless sky to mark + A pathway for the night; + The moon was rising silently + To reign a queen on high, + To marshal all the starry host, + In heaven's blue canopy. + In sight the schoolhouse stood, to which + In youth he had been led + By one who now rests quietly + Upon earth's silent bed. + And near it stood the church whose aisles + His youthful feet had trod; + Where his young mind first treasured in + The promises of God. + There troops of happy children ran + With gayety along; + 'T was agony for him to hear + Their laughter and their song. + For thoughts of youthful days came up + And crowded on his brain, + Till, crushed with woe unutterable, + It sank beneath its pain. + Pain! not such as sickness brings, + For that can be allayed, + But pain from which a mortal shrinks + Heart-stricken and dismayed: + The body crushed beneath its woe + May some deliverance find, + But who on earth hath power to heal + The agony of mind? + O Memory! it long had slept; + But now it woke to power, + And brought before him all the past, + From childhood's earliest hour. + He saw himself in school-boy prime; + Then youth, its pleasures, cares, + Came up before him, and he saw + How cunningly the snares + Were set to catch him as he ran + In thoughtless haste along, + To charm him with deceitful smiles, + And with its siren song: + He saw a seeming friendly hand + Hold out the glittering wine, + Without a thought that deep within + A serpent's form did twine. + Then manhood came; then he did love, + And with a worthy pride + He led a cherished being to + The altar as his bride; + And mid the gay festivity + Passed round the flowing wine, + And friends drank, in the sparkling cup, + A health to thee and thine. + A health! O, as the past came up, + The wanderer's heart was stirred + And as a madman he poured forth + Deep curses on that word. + For well he knew that "health" had been + The poison of his life; + Had made the portion of his soul + With countless sorrows rife. + Six years passed by-a change had come, + And what a change was that! + No more the comrades of his youth + With him as comrades sat. + Duties neglected, friends despised, + Himself with naught to do, + A mother dead with anguish, and + A wife heart-broken too. + Another year-and she whom he + Had promised to protect + Died in the midst of poverty, + A victim of neglect. + But ere she died she bade him kneel + Beside herself in prayer, + And prayed to God that he would look + In pity on them there: + And bless her husband, whom she loved, + And all the past forgive, + And cause him, ere she died, begin + A better life to live. + She ceased to speak,--the husband rose, + And, penitent, did say, + While tears of deep contrition flowed, + "I'll dash the bowl away!" + A smile passed o'er the wife's pale face, + She grasped his trembling hand, + Gave it one pressure, then her soul + Passed to a better land. + He, bent to kiss her pale cold lips, + But they returned it not; + And then he felt the loneliness + And sorrow of his lot. + It seemed as though his life had fled; + That all he called his own, + When her pure spirit took its flight, + Had with that spirit flown. + She had been all in all to him, + And deep his heart was riven + With anguish, as he thought what woe + He her kind heart had given. + But all was passed; she lay in death, + The last word had been said, + The soul had left its prison-house, + And up to heaven had fled; + But 't was a joy for him to know + She smiled on him in love, + And hope did whisper in his heart, + "She'll guard thee from above." + He sat beneath that old oak tree, + And children gathered round, + And wondered why he wept, and asked + What sorrow he had found. + Then told he them this sad, sad tale, + Which I have told to you; + They asked no more why he did weep, + For they his sorrow knew. + And soon their tears began to fall, + And men came gathering round, + Till quite a goodly company + Beneath that tree was found. + The wanderer told his story o'er, + Unvarnished, true and plain; + And on that night three-score of men + Did pledge them to abstain. + + + + + + +NATURE'S FAIR DAUGHTER, BEAUTIFUL WATER. + + + + + + NATURE'S fair daughter, + Beautiful water! + O, hail it with joy, with echoes of mirth, + Wherever it sparkles or ripples on earth. + Down from the mountain, + Up from the fountain, + Ever it cometh, bright, sparkling and clear, + From the Creator, our pathway to cheer. + Nobly appearing, + O'er cliffs careering, + Pouring impetuously on to the sea, + Chanting, unceasing, the song of the free. + See how it flashes + As onward it dashes + Over the pebbly bed of the brook, + Singing in every sequestered nook. + Now gently falling, + As if 't were calling + Spirits of beauty from forest and dell + To welcome it on to grotto and cell. + Beauteous and bright + Gleams it in light, + Then silently flows beneath the deep glade, + Emblem of life in its sunshine and shade. + Beautiful water! + Nature's fair daughter! + Where'er it sparkles or ripples on earth, + Hail it with joy and with echoes of mirth. + + + + + + +THE TEST OF FRIENDSHIP. + + + + + + BRIGHTEST shine the stars above + When the night is darkest round us; + Those the friends we dearest love + Who were near when sorrow bound us. + When no clouds o'ercast our sky, + When no evil doth attend us, + Then will many gather nigh, + Ever ready to befriend us. + But when darkness shades our path, + When misfortune hath its hour, + When we lie beneath its wrath, + Some will leave us to its power. + Often have we seen at night, + When the clouds have gathered o'er us, + One lone star send forth its light, + Marking out the path before us. + Like that star some friendly eye + Will beam on us in our sorrow; + And, though clouded be our sky, + We know there'll be a better morrow. + We know that all will not depart, + That some will, gather round to cheer us: + Know we, in our inmost heart, + Tried and faithful friends are near us. + Brother, those who do not go + May be deem‚d friends forever; + Love them, trust them, have them know + Nothing can your friendship sever. + + + + + + +WEEP NOT. + + + + + + WEEP not, mother, + For another + Tie that bound thyself to earth + Now is sundered, + And is numbered + With those of a heavenly birth. + She hath left thee. + God bereft thee + Of thy dearest earthly friend; + Yet thou'lt meet her, + Thou wilt greet her + Where reunions have no end + Her life's true sun + Its course did run + From morn unto meridian day; + And now at eve + It takes its leave, + Calmly passing hence away. + Watch the spirit- + 'T will inherit + Bliss which mortal cannot tell; + From another + World, my mother, + Angels whisper, "All is well." + 'Way with sadness! + There is gladness + In a gathered spirit throng; + She, ascended, + Trials ended, + Joins their ranks and chants their song. + Weep not, mother, + For another + Tie doth bind thyself above; + Doubts are vanished, + Sorrows banished, + She is happy whom you love. + + + + + + +RICH AND POOR. + + + + + +"GOOD-BY, Ray, good-by," said George Greenville; and the stage wound +its way slowly up a steep ascent, and was soon lost to view. + +"Well, well, he has gone. Glad of it, heartily glad of it! When will +all these paupers be gone?" said the father of George, as he entered +the richly-furnished parlor, and seated himself beside an open +window. + +"Why so glad?" inquired George, who listened with feelings of regret +to the remark. + +"Why?" resumed the owner of a thousand acres; "ask me no questions; +I am glad,--that's enough. You well know my mind on the subject." + +"Father, act not thus. Is this a suitable way to requite his +kindness?" + +"Kindness!" interrupted the old man; "say not 't was kindness that +prompted him to do me a favor; rather say 't was his duty,--and of +you should I not expect better things? Did I allow you to visit +Lemont but to become acquainted with such a poverty-stricken, +pauper-bred youth as Ray Bland?" + +Saying this, he arose and left the room. + +George seated himself in the chair vacated by his father. He looked +across the verdant fields, and mused upon his passionate remarks. +"Well," thought he, "I was right; shall I allow the god of Mammon to +bind me down? Of what use are riches, unless, whilst we enjoy, we +can with them relieve the wants and administer to the necessities of +our fellow-men? Shall we hoard them up, or shall we not rather give +with a free hand and a willing heart to those who have felt +misfortune's scourging rod,--who are crushed, oppressed and trampled +upon, by not a few of their more wealthy neighbors?" In such a train +of thought he indulged himself till the hour of dinner arrived. + +George Greenville had formed an acquaintance with Ray Bland whilst +on a visit to a neighboring town. He was a young man, possessing +those fine qualities of mind that constitute the true gentleman. His +countenance beamed with intelligence, and his sparkling eye betrayed +vivacity of mind, the possession of which was a sure passport to the +best of society. When the time came that George was to return home +to the companionship of his friends, they found that ties of +friendship bound them which could not be easily severed, and Ray +accepted the invitation of George Greenville to accompany him, and +spend a short time at the house of his father. The week had passed +away in a pleasant manner. The hour of parting had come and gone; +The farewell had been taken, the "good-by" had been repeated, when +the conversation above mentioned passed between him and his father. + +The family and connections of George were rich; those of Ray were +poor. The former lived at ease in the midst of pleasures, and +surrounded by all the comforts and conveniences of life; the latter +encountered the rough waves of adversity, and was obliged to labor +with assiduity, to sustain an equal footing with his neighbors. Thus +were the two friends situated; and old Theodore Greenville scorned +the idea of having his son associate with a pauper, as he termed all +those who were not the possessors of a certain amount of +money,--without which, in his opinion, none were worthy to associate +with the rich. + +"Ray is a person not so much to be hated and sneered at as you would +suppose," said George, breaking the silence, and addressing his +father at the dinner-table. + +"George, I have set my heart against him," was the reply. + +"Then," continued the first speaker, "I suppose you are not open to +conviction. If I can prove him worthy of your esteem and confidence, +will you believe?" + +"That cannot be done, perhaps. You may think him to be a worthy +young man; but I discard the old saying that poverty is no disgrace! +I say that it is; and one that can, if its victim choose, be washed +away. Ray Bland is a pauper, that's my only charge against him; and +all the thundering eloquence of a Cicero will not alter my opinion, +or move me an iota from the stand I have taken,--which is, now and +ever, to reject the company of paupers. It is my request that you do +the same." + +Amelia, the sister of George, now joined in the conversation, +inquiring of her father whether it was against his will for her to +associate with the poor. + +"Precisely so," was the brief reply; and the conversation ended. The +father left the house for a short walk, as was his custom, whilst +George and Amelia retired to the parlor, and conversed, for a long +time, upon the rash and unjust decision of their parent. The mutual +attachment that existed between George and Ray was not looked upon +with indifference by the sister of the former; and she determined +upon using all the means in her power to bring the latter into the +good will of her father; she resolved, like a noble girl, to cherish +a social and friendly feeling toward the friend of her brother. He +who knows the warmth of a sister's affection can imagine with what +constancy she adhered to this determination. The command of her +father not to associate with the poor only served to strengthen her +resolution, for she knew with what obstacles her brother would have +to contend. She had a kind heart, that would not allow a +fellow-being to want, so long as she had, or could obtain, the means +to relieve him. + +"Do you think father was in earnest in what he said?" inquired +Amelia. + +"I have no reason to doubt his sincerity," replied George; "but what +led you to ask such a question?" + +"Because, you know, he often speaks ironically; and, as he left the +dinner-room with mother, he smiled, and said something about the +poor, and a trick he was about to play." + +"True, Amelia," replied George, "he is to play a trick; but it +concerns not us. You know poor old Smith is one of father's tenants. +Smith has been sick, and has not been able to procure funds with +which to pay his rent, and father intends to engage a person to take +out all the doors and windows of the house. He hopes Smith will thus +be forced to leave. I have been thinking whether we cannot devise +some plan to prevent the poor man from being turned thus abruptly +from the house." + +"I am sure we can," replied Amelia; "yet I had much rather have a +trick played upon us than upon poor Smith. Can you not propose some +way by which we can prevent father from carrying out his +intentions?" + +"I will give you the money," replied George, "if you will convey it +to Mr. Smith, so that he will be enabled to pay his rent. Recollect +it must be carried in the night, and this night, as father expects +to commence his operations to-morrow or next day. You know that I +cannot go, as my time will be fully occupied in attending upon some +important business at home." It was not necessary to make this offer +more than once. The heart of Amelia bounded with joy, as she +anticipated being the bearer of the money to Smith; and, shortly +after dark, being provided with it, she proceeded to his house. + +It was a dark night. The moon was obscured by thick clouds, and no +twinkling star shone to guide her on her errand of mercy. As she +drew near the lonely dwelling of Paul Smith, she perceived no light. +She feared that he might be absent. Stealthily along she crept, and, +listening at the door, heard the voice of prayer, imploring aid and +support during the trials of life, that relief might soon be sent. +Amelia silently opened the door, and placed the money on a table, +accompanied with a note to Smith, requesting him not to disclose the +manner in which he received it, and, as silently withdrawing, wended +her way home. As she entered the parlor, she found her father and +brother engaged in earnest conversation,--so earnest that she was not +at first noticed. + +"Confound my tenants!" said Mr. Greenville. "There's old Paul Smith; +if to-morrow's sun does not witness him bringing my just dues, he +shall leave,--yes, George, he shall leave! I am no more to be trifled +with and perplexed by his trivial excuses. All my tenants who do not +pay shall toe the same mark. I'll make them walk up, fodder or no +fodder! Ha, ha, ha! old Smith shall know that I have some principle +left, if I have passed my sixtieth year-that he shall! Slipnoose, +the lawyer, shall have one job." + +"You are always visiting your friends, George. It seems as though +all are your friends. Yet I don't blame you, for friends are very +happy appendages to one's character. I pity the man who lives a +friendless life. That's the reason I have been such a friend to +Smith,--but no longer!" As he said this the wealthy landlord left the +room. + +Amelia related to her brother an account of her adventure, and both +were thankful that they been instrumental in relieving the wants of +their poor neighbors. The next morning, seated at the table, Mr. +Greenville began again to express his opinion respecting poor people +in general, and Paul Smith in particular, when a loud rap at the +door somewhat startled him. In a few moments a servant entered, and +gave information that a person was at the door who wished to see Mr. +Greenville. Arriving there, the landlord encountered his tenant, +Smith, who immediately told him that by some kind providence he was +enabled to pay him his due, and hoped that in future he should be +prompt in his payments. + +The landlord took the money, and, looking it over, handed him a +receipt for the same, and returned to the breakfast-table. Nothing +was said about Smith until Mr. Greenville, as he left the room, +remarked "that he did not know but that Smith meant well enough." + +Nearly a month had elapsed and nothing had been heard of Ray Bland, +when, on a certain morning, Mr. Greenville came in and handed George +a letter. Upon opening it, George found it to be written by his +friend Ray, informing him of his safe arrival home, thanking him for +the kind attention he received during his visit, and expressing +great pleasure in soon having another opportunity to visit him. +George communicated this intelligence to Amelia, and they determined +upon using their united efforts in endeavoring to bring over the +kind feelings of their father to their young, but poor, friend. + +"It's no use for you to talk," said old Mr. Greenville, after a long +conversation with the two; "the die is cast. I have resolved, and +all the arguments you can bring forward will not cause me to break +my resolution." + +"Well," remarked George, "perhaps the day will come when you will +deeply regret forming such a resolution. Perhaps the sunshine of +prosperity will not always illumine our path." + +"Be that as it may," interrupted Mr. Greenville, "we will not allow +our imagination to wander forth into the mystical regions of the +future, or picture to ourselves scenes of wretchedness, if such +await us. Flatter me not with the good intentions of Ray Bland." + +Months passed away, and the children of the proud Mr. Greenville +forbore to mention in the presence of their father aught concerning +their friend Ray Bland, or to excite the anger of the old gentleman +by combating his prejudices against the poor. + +Months passed away, and again Ray Bland found himself beneath the +roof of his former friend. He was received by George and Amelia with +the cordiality that had ever marked his intercourse with them; but +the father was, if possible, more morose and sullen than usual. + +Ray had several times made the attempt to know the cause of this +coldness, but as often as he alluded to it George would invariably +turn the subject; and he forbore to question further, content with +the happiness which he enjoyed in the society of those he held so +dear. + +It was the evening of a fine day in the early spring, that the three +friends sat together. It was the last evening of his visit, and Ray +expected not to return for a long time. Alone in his study, the +father vented his indignation against paupers, which respect for his +daughter's feelings only prevented in the presence of their visitor. +He opened the casement. Clouds were gathering in the sky, and now +and then a faint flash of lightning illumined the increasing +darkness; and the far-off voice of the storm was audible from the +distance, each moment increasing in strength and violence. Soon the +storm was upon them. + +The old gentleman retired to his apartment. Each moment the storm +increased in violence, and in vain did he strive to close his eyes +in sleep. + +At length a flash more vivid, accompanied by a peal of thunder more +terrific than any that had preceded it, startled the inmates of the +mansion. The wind howled terribly, and the old trees groaned and +creaked about the dwelling with a fearful and terrific sound. + +Within all was still and quiet. No word was spoken, for it was a +fearful night, and in fear and dread they suspended their +conversation. + +Amelia first broke the silence. "Something must be burning," +exclaimed she. In an instant the cry of fire was heard. All started +up and rushed to the door; and there, indeed, they were witnesses of +a sight which might well appall. The whole upper part of the house +was in flames. Instantly the cause flashed upon them. The house had +been struck and set on fire by lightning. "My father! O, my father!" +shrieked Amelia, and fell fainting to the floor. Quick as the word +came the thought of Ray Bland that the aged Mr. Greenville might be +in danger; and ere George Greenville had borne his sister to a place +of safety, through flame and smoke had Ray Bland reached the chamber +which he knew the old gentleman occupied. It was locked. One blow of +his foot, with all the force he could muster, and locks and bolts +gave way. The room was nearly enveloped in flames, the curtains of +the window and bed had been consumed, and now the flames had seized +the wood-work and burned with great fury. Upon the floor, prostrate +as if dead, lay the proud man, who scorned and detested the poor, +and who had boasted of being beyond the reach of adversity. To lift +him in his arms and bear him to the street was the work of an +instant. He had only been stunned, and the drenching rain through +which he was carried soon revived him. Ray bore him to the house of +poor Smith, the nearest to his own; and there, with feelings of +anguish which cannot be described, surrounded by his children and +neighbors, the old man learned a lesson which his whole previous +life had not taught, of the dependence which every member of society +has upon the whole. While his riches were taking wings to fly away +even before his own eyes, he felt how foolish and wicked was his +past conduct; and ever after the poor found no warmer friend or more +liberal hand than that of old George Greenville. + +In the course of a few months a new and spacious building was +erected upon the site of the one destroyed; and the neighbors say +that the pretty cottage which is being built just over the way is to +be the future residence of Ray Bland and the fair Amelia, whose +aristocratic father now knows no distinction, save in merit, between +the rich and poor. + + + + + + +THE HOMEWARD BOUND. + + + + + + SLOWLY he paced the vessel's whitened deck, + While thoughts of hours, and days, and scenes long past, + Brought forth from fountains well-nigh dry a tear: + For in imagination he could see + Himself a tiny boy, in childish sport + Upon a river's bank, quite near his home, + Chasing the butterfly, whose gaudy dress + Lured him away, till, wearied with the chase, + Upon some mossy stone he sat him down; + Or, in some rippling brook, beneath the shade + Of some tall oak, he bathed his parched brow; + Then up he sprang, retraced his wandering steps, + Yet heedless ran, and could not leave his play. + And since that day what scenes had he passed through, + What trials met, what sights his eyes beheld! + Beneath the burning skies of torrid zones, + On frozen banks of Nova Zembla's coast, + Or the more fertile climes of Italy; + There, where the luscious grape in fulness hangs, + And fields of roses yield a rich perfume; + 'Mid orange-groves whence sweetest odors rise, + 'Neath branches burdened with their fragrant fruit, + Forth he had wandered. + Mark the semblance now! + For much there is between his childish course + Upon the river's bank and his later + Wanderings. Then, he chased the butterfly. Now, + His inclination led to a pursuit + More bold, adventurous, and far more grand. + Ambition filled his soul. Sometimes he ran + In vain; and so it was in boyhood's days; + And thus 't is plainly seen that childhood hours + Are but an index of our future life, + And life an index of that yet to come. + As on the vessel swept, a tear would 'scape + Forth from its hidden cell, and trickle down + The sailor's deeply-furrowed cheek, to bathe + Those recollections with the dew of Thought! + Some deem it weak to weep. Away the thought! + It is not weakness when Affection's fount + O'erflows its borders, and to man displays + The feelings that its powers cannot conceal. + It is not weakness when our feeble words + Find utterance only in our flowing tears. + Call not such language "weakness"! Worlds may laugh, + Yet know no joy like that which often flows + In silent tears. + As nearer drew the seaman to his home, + As in the distance first he saw the spot + Where childhood's hours in happiness were spent, + His slow pace quickened to a faster walk, + And, had he had the power, he'd walked the waves, + And bravely dashed the intrusive spray aside, + To reach the much-loved spot more rapidly + Than wind and tide urged on his noble bark. + + + + + + +THE POOR OF EARTH. + + + + + + I'VE often wondered, as I've sat + Within mine own loved home, + And thought of those, my fellow-men, + Who houseless, homeless, roam; + That one upon this earth is found + Whose heart good promptings smother; + And will not share his wealth with him + Who is his poorer brother! + I've often wondered, as I've walked + Amid life's busy throng, + And seen my fellows who have been + By Fortune helped along, + That they who bask in its bright rays + No tear of pity shed + On him who doth no "fortune" seek, + But asks a crust of bread! + I've seen the gilded temple raised, + The aspirant of fame + Ascend the altar's sacred steps, + To preach a Saviour's name, + And wondered, as I stood and gazed + At those rich-cushioned pews, + Where he who bears the poor man's fate + Might hear Salvation's news. + I've walked within the church-yard's walls, + With holy dread and fear, + And on its marble tablets read + "None but the rich lie here." + I've wandered till I came upon + A heap of moss-grown stones, + And some one whispered in mine ear, + "Here rest the poor man's bones." + My spirit wandered on, until + It left the scenes of earth; + Until I stood with those who'd passed + Through death, the second birth. + And I inquired, with holy awe, + "Who are they within this fold, + Who seem to be Heaven's favorite, + And wear those crowns of gold?" + Then a being came unto me, + One of angelic birth, + And in most heavenly accents said, + "Those were the poor of earth." + Then from my dream I woke, but + Will ne'er forget its worth; + For ever since that vision + I have loved "the poor of earth." + And when I see them toiling on + To earn their daily bread, + And dire oppression crush them down, + Till every joy hath fled,-- + I mind me of that better world, + And of that heavenly fold, + Where every crown of thorns gives place + Unto a crown of gold. + + + + + + +IF I DON'T, OTHERS WILL. + + + + + + "IF I don't make it, others will; + So I'll keep up my death-drugged still. + Come, Zip, my boy, pile on the wood, + And make it blaze as blaze it should; + For I do heartily love to see + The flames dance round it merrily! + "Hogsheads, you want?-well, order them made; + The maker will take his pay in trade. + If, at the first, he will not consent, + Treat him with wine till his wits are spent; + Then, when his reason is gone, you know + Whate'er we want from his hands will flow! + "Ah, what do you say?-'that won't be fair'? + You're conscientious, I do declare! + I thought so once, when I was a boy, + But since I have been in this employ + I've practised it, and many a trick, + By the advice of my friend, Old Nick. + I thought 't was wrong till he hushed my fears + With derisive looks, and taunts, and jeers, + And solemnly said to me, 'My Bill, + If you don't do it, some others will!' + "If I don't sell it, some others will; + So bottles, and pitchers, and mugs I'll fill. + When trembling child, who is sent, shall come, + Shivering with cold, and ask for rum + (Yet fearing to raise its wet eyes up), + I'll measure it out in its broken cup! + "Ah! what do you say?-'the child wants bread'? + Well, 't is n't my duty to see it fed; + If the parents will send to me to buy, + Do you think I'd let the chance go by + To get me gain? O, I'm no such fool; + That is not taught in the world's wide school! + "When the old man comes with nervous gait, + Loving, yet cursing his hapless fate, + Though children and wife and friends may meet, + And me with tears and with sighs entreat + Not to sell him that which will be his death, + I'll hear what the man with money saith; + If he asks for rum and shows the gold, + I'll deal it forth, and it shall be sold! + "Ah! do you say, 'I should heed the cries + Of weeping friends that around me rise'? + May be you think so; I tell you what,-- + I've a rule which proves that I should not; + For, know you, though the poison kill, + If I don't sell it, some others will!" + A strange fatality came on all men, + Who met upon a mountain's rocky side; + They had been sane and happy until then, + But then on earth they wished not to abide. + The sun shone brightly, but it had no charm; + The soft winds blew, but them did not elate; + They seemed to think all joined to do them harm, + And urge them onward to a dreadful fate. + I did say "all men," yet there were a few + Who kept their reason well,--yet, weak, what could they do? + The men rushed onward to the jagged rocks, + Then plunged like madmen in their madness o'er; + From peak to peak they scared the feathered flocks, + And far below lay weltering in their gore. + The sane men wondered, trembled, and they strove + To stay the furies; but they could not do it. + Whate'er they did, however fenced the drove, + The men would spring the bounds or else break through it, + And o'er the frightful precipice they leaped, + Till rock and tree seemed in their red blood steeped. + One of the sane men was a great distiller + And one sold liquors in a famous city; + And, by the way, one was an honest miller, + Who looked on both their trades in wrath and pity. + This good "Honestus" spoke to them, and said, + "You'd better jump; if you don't, others will." + Each took his meaning, yet each shook his head. + "That is no reason we ourselves should kill," + Said they, while very stupid-brained they seemed, + As though they of the miller's meaning never dreamed. + + + + + + +NOT MADE FOR AN EDITOR. + +BEING A TRUE ACCOUNT OF AN INCIDENT IN THE HISTORY OF THE STUBBS FAMILY. + + + + + +MR. and MRS. STUBBS were seated at the side of a red-hot cylinder +stove. On one side, upon the floor, a small black-and-white dog lay +very composedly baking himself; on the other, an old brown cat was, +in as undisturbed a manner, doing the same. The warmth that existed +between them was proof positive that they had not grown cold towards +each other, though the distance between them might lead one to +suppose they had. + +In one corner of the room was the bust of a man, whose only +existence was in the imagination of a miserable ship-carver, who, in +his endeavors to breathe life into his block, came near breathing +life out of himself, by sitting up late at night at his task. In the +other hung a crook-necked squash, festooned with wreaths of +spider-webs. Above the mantel-piece was suspended a painting +representing a feat performed by a certain dog, of destroying one +hundred rats in eight minutes. The frame in which this gem of art +was placed was once gilt, but, at the time to which we refer, was +covered with the dust of ages. + +Mr. Stubbs poked the fire. Mrs. Stubbs poked the dog, when suddenly +the door flew open, and their son entered with blackened eyes, +bloody hands; bruised face and dirty clothes, the most +belligerent-looking creature this side of the "Rio Grande." + +"My voice a'nt still for war, it's loud for war," he said, as, with +a braggadocia sort of air, he threw his cap at the dog, who clenched +it between his teeth, shook it nearly to tatters, and then passed it +over to the cat. + +"What's the matter now, Jake?" said Mrs. Stubbs. "Always in +trouble,--fights and broils seem to be your element. I don't know, +Jake, what will become of you, if you go on at this rate. What say +you, father?" + +Mr. Stubbs threw down the poker, and casting a glance first at his +hopeful son, and then at his hoping wife, replied that Jake was an +ignorant, pugnacious, good-for-nothing scamp, and never would come +to anything, unless to a rope's end. + +"O, how can you talk so?" said his wife. "You know it's nat'ral." + +"Nat'ral!" shouted the father; "then it's ten times worse-the harder +then to rid him of his quarrelsome habits. But I've an idea," said +he, his face brightening up at the thought, as though he had +clenched and made it fast and sure. + +The mother started as by an electric shock. The boy, who had retired +into one corner in a sullen mood, freshened up, and looked at his +father. The ship-carver's fancy sketch brightened up also; but not +of its own free will, for the force with which Mr. Stubbs brought +his hand in contact with the table caused the dirty veil to fall +from the bust-er's face. + +"What is it?" inquired Mrs. Stubbs, with much animation. + +"Why, my dear woman, as we can do nothing with him, we'll make him +an editor." + +The old lady inquired what that was; and, being informed, expressed +doubts as to his ability. + +"Why," said she, "he cannot write distinctly." + +"What of that?'-let him write with the scissors and paste-pot. Let +him learn; many know q great deal more after having learned." + +"But he must have some originality in his paper," said Mrs. Stubbs, +who, it seemed, did not fall in with the general opinion that "any +one can edit a paper." + +"Never fear that," said Mr. Stubbs; "he'll conduct anything he takes +hold of, rather than have that conduct him. I'll tell you what, old +woman, Jake shall be an editor, whether he can write a line of +editorial or not. Jake, come here." + +Jake, who had nearly forgotten his fight, was elated at the +proposition of his father, and, being asked whether, in his opinion, +he could conduct a paper with ability, originality and success, +replied, in the slang phrase of the day, that he "could n't do +anything else," at the same time clenching his fist, as though to +convince his sire that he could do something else, notwithstanding. + +"As I have never asked you any question relative to public affairs, +and as the people of this generation are getting to be wise, I deem +it right that I should ask you a few questions before endeavoring to +obtain a situation. Now, Jake, who is the President of the United +States?" + +"General George Washington," replied the intelligent lad, or rather +young man; for, though he indulged in many boyish tricks, he was +about twenty years of age, a short, dull-looking member of the +"great unwashed." The father intimated that he was mistaken; the son +persisted in saying that he was not. + +"Never mind the catechizer," said Jake; "I'll conduct a newspaper, I +will, for Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs never see the day I could n't conduct +anything." + +"That's bright," said Mrs. Stubbs; "he possesses more talent than I +was aware of; he'll make an editor." + +"An' he shall," said the father, resolutely. + +The clock struck nine, which was the signal for Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs +to retire, and they did so. No sooner had they left than their +dutiful son mounted the table, and, taking down the fancy bust, +pulled the dog by the tail to awake him, and set him barking at it. +The cat must have her part in the tragedy, so Jake thought; and, +pulling her by the tail, she was soon on the field of action. + +"Now, sist-a-boy, Tozer; give her an editorial," said he; and, as +dog and cat had been through the same performance before, they acted +their parts in manner suiting. The dog barked, the cat snapped and +snarled, and Jake Stubbs stood by rubbing his hands in a perfect +ecstasy of delight. + +It is needless for us to relate the many curious adventures Mr. +Stubbs met with whilst searching for a situation for Jake. + +His endeavors to find a situation such as he wanted were, for a long +time, ineffectual. At length he blundered into a small +printing-office, where three men and a boy were testing the merits +of half a dozen doughnuts, and a bottle of root beer. + +Mr. Stubbs was very sorry to disturb them. When he mentioned his +errand, one of the men-a tall fellow, with check shirt and green +apron-said that he had, for a long time, contemplated starting a +paper, but, as he was not capable of editing one, he had not carried +out his intention. The principal reason why he had not published +was, he was poor; business had not prospered in his hands, and an +outlay of two thousand dollars would be needed to commence and +continue the paper. + +"Very well," replied Mr. Stubbs, "that is a large sum; but, if there +is no doubt of its being returned, I might think of loaning it to +you, for the sake of getting my talented son into business." + +"Not the least doubt, not the least," replied Mr. Pica; and he so +inflamed the imagination of Mr. Stubbs, that, strange as it may seem +to the cautious reader, he wrote a check for the amount, merely +taking the unendorsed note of Mr. Pica as security; then, hastening +home, he told Mrs. Stubbs to brush up the boy, for he was an editor. + +Behold, now, Mr. Jake Stubbs in a little room up three pair of +stairs, preparing "copy" for the first number of "The Peg Top, or +the Buzz of the Nation." He hasn't got black eyes now; all the +blackness of his person, if not of his character, has settled in his +fingers, and they are black with ink. Not all settled, for a few +daubs of the "blood of the world," as the dark fluid has been +called, were to be seen on his forehead, having passed there from +his fingers, when leaning upon them in a pensive mood, vainly +endeavoring to bring up thoughts from the mighty depths of his +intellect,--so mighty, in fact, that his thoughts were kept there, +and refused to come up. + +Mr. Jake Stubbs had been cutting and pasting all day, when, thinking +it a little too severe to inflict further duty upon the assistant +editor, he took his pen in hand, resolved upon writing a masterly +article as a leader. + +A sheet of blank paper had lain on the table before him for nearly +an hour. He would sit and think. Some idea would pop into his head, +then with a dash would the pen go into the ink, but before he could +get his pen out the idea had flown, and the world was the loser. +Then he threw himself back into his chair,--thought, thought, +thought. At length Jake obtained the mastery, as patience and +perseverance always will, and the pen became his willing slave, +though his mind, being the slave-driver, did not hurry it on very +fast. He was able to pen a few words, and wrote "The war with +Mexico-" + +Well, he had got so far; that was very original, and if he never +wrote anything else, would stamp him a man of talent. Into the ink, +on the paper, and his pen wrote the little word are. "The war with +Mexico are." Ten minutes more of steady thought, and three more +words brought him to a full stop. "The war with Mexico are a +indisputable fact." That last but one was a long word, and a close +observer could have seen his head expand with the effort. + +"Copy, sir, copy!" shouted the printer's boy, as he stood with his +arms daubed with ink, and a straw hat upon his head that had seen +service, and looked old enough to retire and live on a pension. + +"Copy what?" inquired the editor, who began to feel indignant, +imagining that the publisher had seen his labor to write an article, +and had sent him word to copy from some paper. + +"Here," said he, "take this to Mr. Pica, and tell him 't is +original, and gives an account of the war with Mexico, with news up +to this date." + +The boy took it, trudged up stairs with two lines of MS., and the +editor arose and walked his office, as though his labors were o'er, +and he might rest and see some mighty spirit engrave his name upon +the scroll of fame. + +He had crossed the floor half a dozen times, when in came the same +youth, shouting "Copy, sir, copy!" + +"Copy what?" shouted Jake, laying hold of the boy's shirt-sleeve. +"Tell me what you want copied! tell me, sir, or I will shake your +interiors out of you-" + +The boy was small, but spunky. His education had been received at +the corners of the streets. He had never taken lessons of a +professor, but he had practised upon a number of urchins smaller +than himself, and had become a thoroughly proficient and expert +pugilist. + +It was not for Bill Bite to be roughly handled by any one, not even +by an editor. So he pushed him from him, and said, + +"I want copy; that's a civil question,--I want a civil answer." + +Jake's organ of combativeness became enlarged. He sprang at the boy, +grasped him by the waist, and would have thrown him down stairs, had +not a movement the boy made prevented him. + +Bill's arms were loose, and, nearing the table, he took the inkstand +and dashed the contents into the face of his assailant. + +"Murder!" shouted the editor. + +"Copy!" shouted the boy; and such a rumpus was created, that up came +Mr. Pica, saying that the building was so shaken that an article in +type on the subject of "Health and Diet" suddenly transformed itself +into "pi." + +The two belligerents were parted; the editor and Master Bill Bite +stood at extremes. At this crisis who should enter but Mr. Stubbs, +senior, who, seeing his son's face blackened with ink, inquired the +cause rather indignantly; at which Mr. Pica, not recognizing in the +indignant inquirer the father of the "talented editor," turned +suddenly about and struck him a blow in the face, that displaced his +spectacles, knocked off his white hat into a pond of ink, and made +the old fellow see stars amid the cobwebs and dust of the ceiling. + +The son, seeing himself again at liberty, flew at the boy, and gave +him "copy" of a very impressive kind. + +Down from the shelves came dusty papers and empty bottles, whilst up +from the printing-office came the inmates, to learn the cause of +the disturbance. + +A couple of police-officers passing at the time, hearing the noise, +entered, and one of them taking Mr. Stubbs, senior, and the other +Mr. Stubbs, junior, bore them off to the lock-up. + +This affair put a sudden stop to "The Buzz of the Nation." The first +number never made its appearance. + +Mr. Pica, having obtained the amount of the check, went into the +country for his health, and has not been heard from since. + +Elder Stubbs and Stubbs the younger paid a fine of five dollars +each; and when they reached home and related to Mrs. Stubbs the +facts in the case, she took off her spectacles, and, after a few +moments' sober thought, came to the sage conclusion that her son +Jake was not made for an editor. + + + + + + +HERE'S TO THE HEART THAT'S EVER BRIGHT. + + + + + + HERE'S to a heart that's ever bright, + Whatever may betide it, + Though fortune may not smile aright, + And evil is beside it; + That lets the world go smiling on, + But, when it leans to sadness, + Will cheer the heart of every one + With its bright smile of gladness! + A fig for those who always sigh + And fear an ill to-morrow; + Who, when they have no troubles nigh, + Will countless evils borrow; + Who poison every cup of joy, + By throwing in a bramble; + And every hour of time employ + In a vexatious scramble. + What though the heart be sometimes sad! + 'T is better not to show it; + 'T will only chill a heart that's glad, + If it should chance to know it. + So, cheer thee up if evil's nigh, + Droop not beneath thy sadness; + If sorrow finds thou wilt not sigh, + 'T will leave thy heart to gladness. + + + + + + +MORNING BEAUTY. + + + + + + BRIGHTLY now on every hill + The sun's first rays are beaming, + And dew-drops on each blade of grass + Are in their beauty gleaming. + O'er every hill and every vale + The huntsman's horn is sounding, + And gayly o'er each brook and fence + His noble steed is bounding. + There's beauty in the glorious sun + When high mid heaven 't is shining, + There's beauty in the forest oak + When vines are round it twining; + There's beauty in each flower that blooms, + Each star whose light is glancing + From heaven to earth, as on apace + 'T is noiselessly advancing. + Beauties are all around thy path, + And gloriously they're shining; + Nature hath placed them everywhere, + To guard men from repining. + Yet 'mong them all there's naught more fair, + This beauteous earth adorning, + Than the bright beauty gathering round + The early hours of morning. + + + + + + +THE RECOMPENSE OF GOODNESS. + + + + + + WHEN our hours shall all be numbered, + And the time shall come to die, + When the tear that long hath slumbered + Sparkles in the watcher's eye, + Shall we not look back with pleasure + To the hour when some lone heart, + Of our soul's abundant treasure, + From our bounty took a part? + When the hand of death is resting + On the friend we most do love, + And the spirit fast is hasting + To its holy home above, + Then the memory of each favor + We have given will to us be + Like a full and holy savor, + Bearing blessings rich and free. + O, then, brother, let thy labor + Be to do good while you live, + And to every friend and neighbor + Some kind word and sweet smile give. + Do it, all thy soul revealing, + And within your soul you'll know + How one look of kindly feeling + Cause the tides of love to flow. + + + + + + +BRIDAL SONGS. + +TO THE WIFE. + + + + + + LET a smile illume thy face, + In thy joyous hours; + Look of sympathy be thine, + When the darkness lowers. + He thou lovest movest where + Many trials meet him; + Waiting be when he returns, + Lovingly to greet him. + Though without the world be cold, + Be it thy endeavor + That within thy home is known + Happiness forever. + TO THE HUSBAND. + WHATSOEVER trials rise, + Tempting thee to falter, + Ne'er forget the solemn vows + Taken at the altar. + In thy hours of direst grief, + As in those of gladness, + Minister to her you love, + Dissipate her sadness. + Be to cheer, to bless, to love, + Always your endeavor; + Write upon your heart of hearts + Faithfulness forever. + + + + + + +THE JUG AFLOAT. + + + + + +"WHAT I tell thee, captain, is sober truth. If thee wishes to +prosper, thee must not allow thy sailors grog, lest, when at sea, +they become tipsy, and thy ship, running upon hidden rocks, shall be +lost; or else, when at the mast-head, giddiness come upon them, and, +falling, thy crew shall number one less." + +Thus spake a good old Quaker, a native of the city of Penn. Captain +Marlin had been for many days and nights considering whether it were +best to carry a complement of wine for himself and friends, and grog +for his crew. He had that morning met Simon Prim, and asked his +opinion, which he gave as above; yet Captain Marlin seemed +undetermined. He felt it to be an important question, and he desired +to come to a right conclusion. + +They had been passing up Broadway; had reached the Trinity, crossing +over towards Wall-street. Simon, with his usual gravity, raised his +hand, and, pointing to the towering steeple of the splendid edifice, +said: + +"If thou, neighbor, desired to ascend yonder spire, thinkest thou +thou wouldst first drink of thy wine, or thy grog?" + +"Certainly not," replied Captain Marlin. + +"Then," continued the Quaker, "do not take it to sea with thee; for +thou or thy men mayest be called to a spot as high as yonder +pinnacle, when thee little thinkest of it." + +The two walked down Wall-street without a word from either, till, +reaching a shipping-office, Captain Marlin remarked that he had +business within. The Quaker very politely bowed, and bade him take +heed to good counsel, and good-day. + +The owner of the vessel was seated in an arm-chair, reading the +shipping news in the Journal. + +"Did you know," said he, as his captain entered, "that Parvalance & +Co. have lost their ship, 'The Dey of Algiers,' and none were saved +but the cabin-boy, and he half dead when found?" + +"Indeed not; when-where-how happened it?" inquired Captain Marlin, +in some haste. + +"On a voyage from Canton, With a rich cargo of silks, satins, teas, +&c. The boy says that the men had drank rather too much, and were +stupidly drunk,--but fudge! Captain Marlin, you know enough to know +that no man would drink too much at sea. He would be sure to keep at +a good distance from a state of intoxication, being aware that much +was intrusted to his care which he could not well manage whilst in +such a state." + +"Perhaps so," said Captain Marlin, doubtingly. "Mr. Granton, this +touches a question I have been for days considering. It is, whether +I shall allow my men grog." + +"Of course, of course!" answered the ship-owner; "nothing so good +for them round the Cape. You know the winds there, rather tough +gales and heavy seas. Cold water there, Mr. Marlin! Why, rather give +them hot coffee with ice crumbled in it, or, carry out a cask of +ice-cream to refresh them! Man alive, do you think they could live +on such vapor? You talk like one who never went to sea, unless to +see a cattle-show." + +Captain Marlin could not refrain from laughing at such reasoning, +yet was more than half inclined to favor it. He was fond of his +wine, and being, as such folks generally are, of a good disposition, +he wished to see all men enjoy themselves, especially when at sea. +He wished evil to no man, and had he thought that liquor might +injure any of his crew, he would not that morning, in that office, +have come to the conclusion to have it on board the "Tangus." + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +On a bright, clear morning, a deeply-freighted ship started from a +New York slip; a fair wind bore it swiftly down the bay, and a few +minutes' sail found it far from sight of the metropolis of the +Union. Friends had taken the last glimpse of friends, the last +interchange of kindly feelings had passed, and deep waters now +separated them. It was the "Tangus," Robert Marlin captain, with a +picked crew, and bound for the coast of Sumatra. Simon Prim shook +his head, as he with others turned and walked home. "'T is a pity +men will not see evil and flee from it," said he, and he pulled his +straight coat-collar up, and thrust his hands more deeply than ever +into his pockets. He was a little startled by a light tap upon the +shoulder, and quite a happy voice exclaiming, "Why, Mr. Prim, how +are you?" + +"Verily, neighbor; thou didst move me; but I was thinking so deeply +of Captain Marlin and his success, that no wonder thy light touch +should do so." + +"But what of him, Prim?" + +"His ship, the Tangus, has just left, bound on a long voyage, and +with a quantity of deadly poison on board, with which to refresh the +crew. I tell thee, neighbor, I have fears for the result. The jug +may possibly stand still when on land, but when it's afloat it's +rather unsteady." + +"Very true, but you seem to express unusual anxiety in regard to +Captain Marlin and his good ship; thousands have been just as +imprudent." + +"But not in these days of light and knowledge, friend. There have +been enough sad examples to warn men not to trifle on such subjects. +Twenty years ago I drank. We had our whiskey at our funerals and our +weddings. I have seen chief mourners staggering over the grave, and +the bridegroom half drunk at the altar; but times are changed now, +and thank God for the good that has been effected by this +reformation!" + +"You speak true, Simon; and I wonder Captain Marlin could, if he +considered the evils brought about by intoxicating drink, carry it +to sea with him." + +"I told him all as I tell it to thee, friend Jones. He asked my +opinion, and I gave it him, yet it seems he thought little of it. +Good-day, neighbor; I have business with a friend at the 'Croton,' +good-day;" and, saying this, Mr. Prim walked up a bye street. + +Jones walked on, and thought considerable of the Quaker's last +words. His mind that day continually ran upon the subject. Indeed, +he seemed unable to think of anything else but of a jug afloat, and +at night spoke of it to his wife. + +The wife of Captain Marlin had that day called upon Mrs. Jones, and, +although her husband had scarcely got out of sight, looked with +pleasure to the day of his return, and already anticipated the +joyous occasion. There is as much pleasure in anticipation as in +realization, it is often said, and there is much truth in the +saying. We enjoy the thought of the near approach of some wished for +day, but when it arrives we seem to have enjoyed it all before it +came. + +Mrs. Jones was far from thinking it wrong in Captain Marlin that he +carried liquor with him on his voyage, and gave it as her opinion +that the vessel was as safe as it could possibly be without it. + +"Remember what I say, that is a doomed ship," said Mr. Jones, after +some conversation on the subject. + +"You are no prophet, my dear," said his wife, "neither am I a +prophetess; but I will predict a pleasant voyage and safe return to +the Tangus." With such opposite sentiments expressed, they retired. + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +Insensible to all that is beautiful in nature, and grand and +majestic in the works of creation, must the heart of that man be who +can see no beauty, grandeur, or majesty, in the mighty abyss of +waters, rolling on in their strength-now towering like some vast +mountain, and piling wave upon wave, till, like pyramids dancing on +pyramids, their tops seem to reach the sky; then sinking as deep as +it had before risen, and again mounting up to heaven. There's beauty +in such a scene, and no less when, calm and unruffled, the setting +sun sinks beneath the horizon, and for miles and miles leaves its +long, glistening track upon the unmoved waters. + +'T was so when the crew of the "Tangus" were assembled upon the deck +of that noble ship. The day previous had been one of hard labor; the +vessel had bravely withstood the storm, and seemed now to be resting +after the contest. Not a ripple was to be seen. Far as the eye could +reach, was seen the same beautiful stillness. So with the crew; they +were resting, though not in drowsy slumberings. + +"I say what, Bill," remarked one, "'An honest man's the noblest work +of God,' somebody says, and that's our captain, every inch, from +stem to stern, as honest as Quaker Prim, of Gotham." + +"Ay, ay, Jack," said another; "and did you hear how that same Prim +tried to induce Captain Marlin to deprive us of our right?" + +"Grog, you mean?" + +"Ay, ay." + +"No; but how was it?" + +"Arrah, the dirty spalpeen he was, if he was afther a trying for to +do that-the divil-" + +"Will Mr. McFusee wait? By the way, Jack, he, Prim, got him by the +button, and began to pour into his ears a long tirade against a +man's enjoying himself, and, by the aid of thee, thy, and thou, half +convinced the old fellow that he must give up all, and live on +ice-water and ship-bread." + +"Did?" + +"Ay, ay, you know Captain Marlin. He always looks at both sides, +then balances both, as it were, on the point of a needle, and +decides, as Squire Saltfish used to say, 'cording to law and +evidence." + +"By the powers, he's a man, ivery inch, from the crown of his hat to +the soles of his shoes, he is." + +"Mr. McFusee, will you keep still?" said Mr. Boyden, the narrator. +Mr. McFusee signified that he would. + +"Well, he balanced this question, and the evidence against flew up +as 't were a feather; but down went the evidence for, and he +concluded to deal every man his grog in due season." + +"That's the captain, all over," remarked Jack. + +As we before said, their labors the day previous were great, and, as +a dead calm had set in, and the vessel did not even float lazily +along, but remained almost motionless,--not like a thing of life, but +like a thing lifeless,--the captain ordered the crew each a can of +liquor, and now they sat, each with his measure of grog, relating +stories of the past, and surmises of the future. + +"I tell you what," said Jack Paragon, "these temperance folks are +the most foolish set of reformers myself in particular, and the +United States, Texas, and the Gulf of Mexico, in general, ever saw." + +"Even so," remarked Mr. Boyden, "but they do some good. 'Give the +devil his due,' is an old saw, but none the less true for that. +There's Peter Porper, once a regular soaker, always said his +'plaints were roomatic,--rum-attic, I reckon, however, for he used to +live up twelve pairs of stairs,--he and the man in the moon were +next-door neighbors; they used to smoke together, and the jolly +times they passed were never recorded, for there were no newspapers +in those dark ages, and the people were as ignorant as crows. Well, +one of these temperance folks got hold of him, and the next I saw of +him he was the pet of the nation; loved by the men, caressed by the +women-silver pitchers given him by the former, and broadcloth cloaks +by the latter." + +"No selfish motives in keeping temperate!" said Jack Rowlin, +ironically. + +"Can't say; but liquor never did me harm. When I find it does, I +will leave off." + +"That's the doctrine of Father Neptune-drink and enjoy life." + +"Every man to his post!" shouted the captain, as he approached from +the quarterdeck. Quick to obey, they were where they were commanded +in an instant, each with his tin can half filled with liquor. +Captain Marlin, seeing this, ordered them to drink their grog or +throw it overboard; they chose the former mode of disposing of it, +and threw their empty cans at the cook. + +In the distance a small black speck was decried. + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + +The sun had set in clouds. The heavens were hung in darkness. Ever +and anon a peal of thunder echoed above, a flash of vivid lightning +illumed the waters, and far as eye could see the waters tossed high +their whitened crests. The winds blew stormy, and now heavy drops of +rain fell upon the deck of the "Tangus." "Every man to his duty!" +shouted the captain; but the captain's voice was not obeyed. + +Objects at two feet distance could not be seen. Louder that voice +was heard. "Every man to his duty,--save the ship!" + +"Captain, what is my duty?" inquired the cook. + +"I appoint you under officer. Search for the men, and, if they are +not all washed over, tell them I order them to work. If they do not +know it, tell them the ship's in danger, and they must work." + +The storm was fast increasing, till, at length, instead of +blackness, one sheet of livid flame clothed the heavens above. Now +all could be seen, and the captain busied himself. But two of the +crew were to be seen, and they lay as senseless as logs. They heeded +not the rage of the storm. The terrific peals of thunder awoke them +not-they were dead drunk! + +By the time the storm commenced, the liquor they had drank began to +have its effect. Four of the crew, who were usually wide awake-that +is, uncommonly lively-when intoxicated, had unfortunately fell +overboard, and were lost. + +The captain had now food for reflection, but the time and place were +not for such musings. + +He endeavored to arouse them, but in vain; so, with the aid of the +only sober man aboard besides himself, he conveyed them to a place +of safety. In the mean time the ship strained in every joint, and he +momentarily expected to find himself standing on its wreck. + +The waves washed the deck, and everything movable, cook-house and +all, went by the board. The only hope of safety was in cutting away +the masts, and to this task they diligently applied themselves. All +night the captain and cook worked hard, and when morning came they +found the storm abating. Soon the sun shone in its brightness; but +what a scene did its light reveal! The once stately ship dismasted; +four men, including the mate of the vessel, lost, and two lying +insensible in the cabin. + +It was not strange that the question came home to the mind of +Captain Marlin, with force, "Is it right to carry liquor for a +ship's crew?" He need ask the opinion of no one; he could find an +answer in the scene around him. + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + + +"Then thy ship has put in for repairs?" said Simon Prim, as he +entered Granton & Co.'s office, on Wall-street. + +"What?" exclaimed Mr. Granton, who had heard nothing of the matter. +Simon, pulling a paper from his pocket, read: + +"LOSS OF LIFE AT SEA.--By a passenger in the 'Sultan,' from--, we +are informed that the ship 'Tangus,' from this port, bound to +Sumatra, and owned by Messrs. Granton & Co., of this city, put in at +that place in a dismasted condition. + +"The 'Tangus' had been three weeks out, when, in a gale, four men +were washed overboard. The remainder of her crew being insensible, +and the whole duty falling upon the captain and cook, they with +great difficulty managed the ship. It is rumored that all were +intoxicated. This is the seventh case of loss at sea, caused by +intemperance, within four months. When will men become wise, and +awake to their own interests on this topic?" + +The ship-owner rapidly paced his office. "Can it be?" said he to +himself. "Can it be?" + +"Give thyself no trouble, friend," said Prim; "what is done is done, +and can't be undone. Thy ship is not lost, and things are not so bad +as they might be. Look to the future, and mourn not over the past; +and remember that it is very dangerous to have a jug afloat." + +These few words somewhat quieted him, yet not wholly, At this moment +the wife of Captain Marlin entered. Having heard of the news, she +came to learn all that was known respecting it. + +"Madam," said he, after relating all he knew, "my mind is changed on +the question we some time since discussed. Yes, madam, my mind is +changed, and from this hour I will do all I can to exterminate the +practice of carrying grog to sea for the crew. And I tell thee +what," he continued, turning to friend Prim, who stood near by, "I +tell thee what, thee was right in thy predictions; and, though it +has been a dear lesson to me, I have learned from it that it is poor +policy that puts a jug afloat." + + + + + + +GIVE, AND STAY THEIR MISERY. + + + + + + WOULD ye who live in palace halls, + With servants round to wait, + Know aught of him who, craving, falls + Before thine outer gate? + Come with me when the piercing blast + Is whistling wild and free, + When muffled forms are hurrying past, + And then his portion see. + Come with me through the narrow lanes + To dwellings dark and damp, + Where poor men strive to ease their pains; + Where, by a feeble lamp, + The wearied, widowed mother long + Doth busy needle ply, + Whilst at her feet her children throng, + And for a morsel cry. + Come with me thou in such an hour, + To such a place, and see + That He who gave thee wealth gave power + To stay such misery! + Come with me,--nor with empty hand + Ope thou the poor man's door; + Come with the produce of thy land, + And thou shalt gather more. + + + + + + +THE SPIRIT OF MAN. + + + + + + YE cannot bind the spirit down; + It is a thing as free + As the albatross-bird that wings + Its wild course o'er the sea. + Go, bind the lightning, guide the sun, + Chain comets, if you can; + But seek not with thy puny strength + To bind the soul of man. + Though all the powers of earth combine, + And all their strength enroll, + To bind man's body as they will, + They cannot bind his soul. + No power on earth can hold it down, + Or bid it hither stay, + As up to heaven with rapid course + It tireless wings its way. + Time is too limited for it, + And earth is not its clime; + It cannot live where sound the words, + "There is an end to time." + It seeks an endless, boundless sphere, + In which to freely roam; + Eternity its course of life, + Infinity its home. + There, there will it forever live; + And there, a spirit free, + 'T will range, though earth may pass away, + And Time no longer be. + + + + + + +PAUSE AND THINK. + + + + + + O! HOW many souls are sorrowing + In this sunlit world, to-day, + Because Wrong, heaven's livery borrowing, + Leadeth trusting souls astray; + Because men, all thoughtless rushing, + Dance along on Error's brink, + And, the voice of conscience hushing, + Will not for a moment think! + 'T is the lack of thought that bringeth + Man to where he needs relief; + 'T is the lack of thought that wringeth + All his inner self with grief. + Would he give a moment's thinking + Ere his every step is made, + He would not from light be shrinking, + Groping on in Error's shade! + Think, immortal! thou art treading + On a path laid thick with snares, + Where mischievous minds are spreading + Nets to catch thee unawares. + Pause and think! the next step taken + May be that which leads to death; + Rouse thee! let thy spirit waken; + List to, heed the word it saith! + Think, ere thou consent to squander + Aught of time in useless mirth; + Think, ere thou consent to wander, + Disregarding heaven-winged truth. + When the wine in beauty shineth, + When the tempter bids thee drink, + Ere to touch thy hand inclineth, + Be thou cautious-pause and think! + Think, whatever act thou doest; + Think, whatever word is spoke; + Else the heart of friend the truest + May be by thee, thoughtless, broke. + How much grief had been prevented, + If man ne'er had sought to shrink + From the right:-to naught consented, + Until he had paused to think! + + + + + + +LITTLE NELLY. + + + + + +MATILDA was a fashionable girl,--a young lady, perhaps, would be the +more respectable name by which to call her. She had been reared in +affluence. She had never known a want. She had had wants, but she +did not know it. She had wanted many things that make a lady's life +indeed a life. But Matilda never dreamt of such things. + +It was n't fashionable to love the outcast, and therefore she +bestowed no pitying look on them. It was n't fashionable to give a +few pennies even to a poor, lame orphan girl in the street. So she +pretended not to have noticed the plea of little Nelly, who had +accosted her during her morning rambles. + +"Little Nelly." I remember how she looked when at twilight she sat +down on a curb-stone to count the money. She looked sorrowful. She +was, indeed, worthy of pity; but little she got. The crowd went +hurrying, hustling on: few thoughts came down to little Nelly, on +the curb-stone. It had been a gala day. Red flags had flaunted on +high poles, and there had been a great noise of drums and fifes, and +everybody had seemed happy. Why, then, should sorrow come, with its +dark lantern, and look in the face of this little girl? + +I will tell you. + +There was a poor woman whose husband had been killed in Mexico. She +lived in one small room in a secluded part of the city, and by means +of her needle, and such assistance as was given to her daughter, who +diligently walked the streets, selling apples, she managed to live +in a style which she denominated "comfortable." Thus, for upwards of +one year, she toiled and lived, and was thankful for all her many +blessings. + +But sickness came; not severe, but of that kind that bears its +victim along slowly to rest. She was unable to do much. She did not +wish to do much; but she sat day by day, yea, night by night often, +and diligently pursued the avocation that brought her daily bread. + +Weeks passed, and yet she was ill. One morning, she called her +daughter to her side, and, taking her hand in her own, said: + +"Little Nelly, 't is Independence day, to-day. You heard the guns +fire, and the bells ring, and the shouts of the happy children, this +morning, before you arose. I watched you as you lay listening to all +these, and I asked myself, Will my little Nelly be happy? and I +thought I heard my mother's voice;--she died long, long ago, but I +thought I heard her voice right at my side, saying, 'We shall all be +happy soon;' and I wept, for I could not help it. + +"But I've called you now, Nelly, to tell you that I'm much better +this morning, and that, if you can get twenty-five cents to-day, we +will have a happy time to-night." + +Little Nelly looked happy for a moment, but soon a shadow came over +her face; for she could not comprehend the meaning of her mother +when she said she was "better," for she looked more feeble than she +had ever seen her since the news of how her father was shot in the +face at Monterey was told her. + +But she tried to be cheerful. She tried to smile, but, O, it was +very hard; and she got her mother's breakfast, and, having cleared +the things away, took her little basket, and her mother's purse, and +went out. + +It was, indeed, a happy day without. There was joy depicted on every +countenance, and the general happiness infused some of its spirit +into the heart of our little trader. She seemed almost lost in the +great crowd; and there were so many dealers about, and so many that +presented greater attractions in the display of their stock, that +few bought of little Nelly. + +It was late in the afternoon, and she had sold but a little, when +she encountered a young lady gayly dressed, in whose hand was +prominently displayed a bead purse, through the interstices of which +the gold and silver glistened. + +Nelly held out her humble purse, in which no beads were wrought, +through which no coin glistened,--she held it up, and ventured to +ask, in pleasant tones, a few pennies of the lady. But not a penny +for little Nelly. Not even a look recognized her appeal, but costly, +flowing robes rushed by, and nearly prostrated her; they did force +her from the sidewalk into the gutter. + +Go on, ye proud and selfish one! Go, bend the knee to Fashion's +altar, and ask a blessing of its presiding spirit! Bestow no pitying +glance on honest poverty; no helping hand to the weak and falling! +There is a law which God hath written on all his works, proclaiming +justice, and giving unto all as they shall ask of him. Pass on, and +heed not that little praying hand; but remember you cannot do so +without asking of that law its just requital. + +Nelly walked on. She mingled again with the great mass, and twilight +came. It was then that she sat down, as I have before stated, to +count her money. She had but thirteen cents. All day she had sought +to dispose of her stock, that she might carry to her mother the sum +named, with which to have a happy time at home. And now the day had +gone; the night was drawing its great shadowy cloak about the earth, +and Nelly had but about one half of the required sum. What should +she do? + +It was at this moment I met her. I stooped down, and she told me all +her story;--told me all her sorrow,--a great sorrow for a little +breast like hers. I made up the trifling amount, and, taking her by +the hand, we went together towards her home. + +Reaching the house, we entered, and were met on the stairs by an old +lady, who whispered in my ear, "Walk softly." I suspected in a +moment the reason why she asked me thus to walk. She then led the +way. She tried to keep back the little girl, but she could not. She +hurried up the stairs, and through a long, dark entry, to a door, +which she quickly opened. + +Nelly sprang to the bed on which lay her mother. I heard a sigh-a +sob. It was from the child. The mother spoke in a tone so joyous +that I was at first surprised to hear it from one who, it was +supposed, was near her end. But I soon found it was no matter of +surprise. + +How clear and fair was that face! How pleading and eloquent those +eyes, as they turned, in all their full-orbed brightness, upon me, +as I approached the bedside of the mother of Nelly! There were +needed no words to convey to my mind the thoughts that dwelt within +that soul, whose strength seemed to increase as that of the body +diminished. + +With one of her pale hands she took mine; with the other, that of +her daughter. + +"Blessings on you both!" she said. "Nelly, my dear Nelly, my +faithful, loving Nelly, I am much better than I was; I shall soon be +well, and what a happy time we will have to-night! I hear that voice +again to-night, Nelly. Don't you hear it? It says, 'We shall all be +happy soon.' I see a bright star above your head, my child; and now +I see my mother. She is all bright and radiant, and there is a +beauty around her that I cannot describe. Nelly, I am better. Why, I +feel quite well." + +She sprang forward, and, with her hands yet clasping Nelly's and my +own, she stretched her arms upward. There was a bright glow of +indescribable joy upon her features. She spoke calmly, sweetly +spoke. "We shall all be happy soon-happy soon-happy-" then fell back +on the pillow, and moved no more-spoke not again. + +She was indeed happy. But, Nelly-she was sad. For a long time she +kept her hand in that of her mother. She at length removed it, and +fell upon the floor, beneath the weight of her new sorrow. Yet it +was but for a moment. Suddenly she sprang up, as if imbued with +angelic hope and peace. We were surprised to see the change, and to +behold her face beam with so much joy, and hear her voice lose its +sadness. We looked forth with that inner sight which, on such +occasions, seems quickened to our sense, and could see that mother, +and that mother's mother, bending over that child, and raising her +up to strength and hope, and a living peace and joy. + +Nelly's little purse lay on the floor, where she had dropped it when +she came in. The old nurse picked it up, and laid it on a stand +beside the bed. A tear stole out from beneath the eyelids of the +child as she beheld it, and thought how all day she had worked and +walked to get the little sum with which her mother and she were to +be made happy on that Independence night. I called her to me. We sat +down and talked over the past, the present and the future, and I was +astonished to hear the language which her pure and gentle, patient +soul poured forth. + +"Well, sir," she said, "we are happy to-night, though you think, +perhaps, there is greater cause for sorrow. But mother has gone from +all these toiling scenes. She will work no more all the long day, +and the night, to earn a shilling, with which to buy our daily +bread. She has gone where they have food that we know not of; and +she's happy to-night, and, sir, we shall all be happy soon. We shall +all go up there to live amid realities. These are but shadows here +of those great, real things that exist there; and I sometimes think, +when sitting amid these shadows, that it will be a happy time when +we leave them, and walk amid more substantial things." + +Thus she talked for some time. + +Having rendered such assistance as I could, I left. The next day +there was a funeral, and little Nelly was what they called "the +chief mourner;" yet it seemed a very inappropriate name for one +whose sorrow was so cheerful. There were but few of us who followed; +and, when we reached the grave, and the face of the earthly form was +exposed to the sunlight for the last time, little Nelly sung the +following lines, which I had hastily penned for the occasion: + + + + + + +WE SHALL ALL BE HAPPY SOON. + + + + + + Dry our tears and wipe our eyes! + Angel friends beyond the skies + Open wide heaven's shining portal, + Welcome us to joys immortal. + Fear not, weep not, ours the boon; + We shall all be happy soon! + Hark! a voice is whispering near us; + 'T is an angel-voice to cheer us; + It entreats us not to weep, + Fresh and green our souls to keep; + And it sings, in cheerful tune, + We shall all be happy soon. + Thus through life, though grief and care + May be given us to bear, + Though all dense and dark the cloud + That our weary forms enshroud, + Night will pass, and come the noon, + We shall all be happy soon. + +When the last line of each verse was sung, it was no fancy thought +in us, in Nelly more than all others, that suggested the union of +other voices with our own; neither was it an illusion that pictured +a great thing with harps, repeating the words, "We shall all be +happy soon." + +The sexton even, he who was so used to grave-yard scenes, was doubly +interested; and, when the last look was taken, and Nelly seemed to +look less in the dark grave and more up to the bright sky above her +than those in her situation usually do, I saw him watch her, and a +tear trickled down his wrinkled face. + +As we turned to leave, I asked him why he wept. His features +brightened up. "For joy, for joy," said he. "I have put away the +dead here for forty long years; but I never beheld so happy a burial +as this. It seems as though the angels were with that child. She +looks so heavenly." + +Perhaps they were. And why say "perhaps"? Do we not know they are +ever round us, and very near to such a one as Nelly, at such a time? + + + + + + +REUNION. + + + + + + WHEN we muse o'er days departed, + Lights that shone but shine no more, + Friends of ours who long since started + O'er the sea without a shore; + Journeying on and journeying ever, + Their freed spirits wing their flight, + Ceasing in their progress never + Towards the fountain-head of light; + Oft we wish that they were near us,-- + We might see the friends we love,-- + Then there come these words to cheer us, + "Ye shall meet them all above." + When the sun's first ray approacheth, + Ushering in the noonday light; + When the noise of day encroacheth + On the silence of the night; + When the dreams depart that blest us + In the hours forever fled,-- + In which friends long gone carest us, + Friends we number with the dead,-- + Comes this thought, Ye ne'er shall hear them, + Ne'er shall see the friends ye love; + Voices say, "Ye shall be near them, + With them in the world above." + When within the grave's enclosure + Ye do drop the silent tear, + Tremble not at its disclosure, + Myriad spirits hover near. + Hark! they whisper, do ye hear not, + Mingling with your rising sighs, + Words that bid you hope, and fear not, + Angel-voices from the skies? + And as dust to dust returneth,-- + That which held the gem you love,-- + Thine afflicted spirit learneth + It will meet that gem above. + Thus whene'er a friend departeth + In my soul I know 't is right; + And, although the warm tear starteth, + As he passes from my sight, + I do know that him I cherish + Here on earth shall never die; + That, though all things else shall perish, + He shall live and reign on high. + And, that when a few hours more + Shall have passed, then those I love, + Who have journeyed on before, + I shall meet and greet above. + + + + + + +THE VILLAGE MYSTERY. + + + + + +ABOUT fifty miles from a southern city, about five years ago, a most +mysterious personage seemed to fall from the clouds into the midst +of a circle of young ladies, whose hours and days were thenceforth +busily employed in quizzing, guessing, pondering and wondering. + +He was a tall, graceful-formed gentleman, wearing a +professional-looking cloak, and buff pants, tightly strapped over +boots of delicate make, polished up to the very highest capabilities +of Day and Martin. He had no baggage; which fact led some +wise-headed old ladies to report him to be a gentleman of leisure, a +literary millionaire, it might be, who was travelling through "the +States" for the purpose of picking up items for a book on "Ameriky." +The old men wagged their heads, and looked most impenetrably +mysterious. The young men became jealous. To be sure he was not +superlatively handsome, but he had a foreign air, which was +considerable among the girls; and his appearance indicated wealth, +for his dress was of the first quality and cut. He had half a dozen +glistening rings on his hands; he wore a breast-pin of dazzling +brilliance; and every time he moved a chained lion could not have +made more noise, and clatter, and show with his fetters, than he did +with a massive double-linked chain, that danced and flirted upon his +crimson vest. + +Abby and Nelly, the belles of the place, had each had an eye upon +the new comer, since he passed by the splendid mansion of their +abode, casting a sly glance up to the open window at which they +stood. + +In a week, our foreign friend had made the circuit of all the +fashionable society of Greendale. He had drank tea with the +"Commissioners," and walked out with their amiable daughters. He had +visited the pastor, and had evinced great interest in the prosperity +of the church. He had even exhorted in the conference-meeting, and +had become so popular that some few, taking it for granted that so +devout a man must be a clergyman, had serious thoughts of asking the +old parson to leave, and the stranger to accept the pulpit,--four +hundred and eighty-two dollars a year, and a donation-party's +offerings. He had attended the sewing-circle, and made himself +perfectly at home with everybody and everything. The young men's +society for ameliorating the condition of the Esquimauxs and +Hottentots had been favored with his presence; and, likewise, with a +speech of five minutes long, which speech had, in an astonishingly +short time, been printed on pink satin and handsomely framed. + +The lower class of people, for whom the stranger talked so much, and +shed so many tears, and gave vent to so many pitiful exclamations, +but with whom, however, he did not deign to associate, were filled +with a prodigious amount of wonder at the lion and his adventures. +They gathered at Squire Brim's tavern, and at the store on the +corner, and wondered and talked over the matter. The questions with +them were, Who is he?-where did he come, and where is he going to? +They would not believe all they had heard conjectured about him, and +some few were so far independent as to hint of the possibility of +imposition. + +There were two who determined to find out, at all hazards, the name, +history, come from and go to, of the mysterious guest; and, to +accomplish their purpose, they found it necessary for them to go to +Baltimore early the subsequent morning. + +The morning came. After taking a measurement of the height, breadth +and bulk of the foreigner, as also a mental daguerreotype of his +personal appearance, they departed. + +Having been very politely invited, it is no strange matter of fact +that, just as the sun has turned the meridian, on the fifth of +March, a young man is seen walking slowly upon the shady side of +Butternut-street, Greendale. To him all eyes are directed. Boys stop +their plays, and turn their inquisitive eyes towards the pedestrian. +The loungers at Brim's tavern flock to the door, and gaze earnestly +at him; while Bridget the house-maid, and Dennis the hostler, hold a +short confab on the back stairs, each equally wondering whose +"bairn" he can be. + +As he continues on his way, he meets a couple of sociable old +ladies, with whom he formed an acquaintance at the sewing-circle. +They shake hands most cordially. + +"Abby and Nelly are waiting for you; they're expecting you," says +one of the ladies, as she breathes a blessing and bids him good-by, +with a hope that he will have a pleasant time at the deacon's. + +Let us now take a few steps in advance, and enter the hospitable +mansion to which our mysterious personage, who has given his name as +Sir Charles Nepod, is passing. + +Up these beautiful white steps walk with dainty tread. At this +highly-polished door ring with gentle hand. + +A stout serving-man answers our call, and a tittering serving-girl +scampers away and conceals herself behind the staircase, as we +enter. What, think you, can be going on? A wedding, +forsooth,--perhaps a dinner-party. + +A brace of charming girls, the deacon's only daughters, are seated +in the front parlor. We are introduced, and soon learn that they are +waiting the arrival of the talented, the benevolent Sir Charles; +and, as a matter of form and courtesy, rather than of sincerity and +hospitality, we are invited to remain and meet him in the +dining-room. We decline; bid them good-by, and leave. As we pass +out, we are hailed in a loud whisper by the man who first met us, +who glibly runs on with his talk as he leads the way, walking +sideways all the time to the door. + +"An' sirs,--sirs, dus yers know what the young Misthresses is afther? +Well, sirs, they's going' fur to hev' a greath dinner with the +furriner. Yes, sirs, with the furriner as come frum a furrin land, +and was n't born in this at all a' tall." + +As we reach the door, he steps up, whispers in our ears, "An' I +tells yer what, sirs, Kate,--that's the gal yer sees, sirs,--me and +she's goin' to see all frum the little winder beyant. This is +conveniently private to you, sirs, an' I hopes ye'll say nothing to +no one about it, sirs; 't is a private secret, sirs." + +What should induce this man to give us this information, we cannnot +conceive. However, we have no reason to doubt what he tells us, and +therefore understand that a dinner-party is to come off, with a +wedding in perspective. + +As we pass into the street, we meet Nepod. + +As he ascends the steps, the two girls, forgetting all rules of +etiquette, spring to the door, completely bewildering honest Mike, +who is at hand, and welcome the man of the age. + +"Mother and aunty have just gone out," says Nelly;--"they thought we +young folks would enjoy our dinner much better by ourselves alone." + +"How considerate!" replies the guest. "I met the good old ladies on +the street. How kind in them to be so thoughtful! How pleasantly +will pass the hours of to-day! This day will be the happiest of my +life." + +The three pass to the dining-room. Though early in March, the +weather is quite warm. In the haste of the moment, and somewhat +confused by his warm welcome, our hero has taken his hat and cloak +and laid them on a lounge near an open window. Seated at the table, +the company discourse on a variety of subjects, and the two sisters +vie with each other in doing the agreeable. + +Down town all was excitement, and a great crowd was gathered at the +tavern. The investigating committee had returned from the city, and +with the committee three men of mysterious look. To the uninitiated +the mystery that had puzzled them for so long a time grew yet more +mysterious. Nothing could be learned from the two who had returned, +respecting Sir Charles, or the additional strangers. Only dark and +mysterious hints were thrown out, rendering the whole affair more +completely befogged than before. + +Mr. Brim, the keeper of the tavern, silently conducted the new +comers out by a back passage, and soon they were seen in the same +path which Sir Charles had followed. + +One of the men quietly opened the front door of the deacon's home, +and, entering, knocked upon the door of the dining-room. A voice +said, "Come in;" and he proceeded to do so. + +In an instant, as if struck by an electric shock, the distinguished +guest sprang from the table, and leaped through the open window, +leaving his hat and cloak behind. But the leap did not injure him, +for he fell into the arms of a man who stood ready to embrace him; +and, mystery on mystery, they placed hand-cuffs on his wrists! + +Judge, if you can, of the astonishment and mortification of the +deacon's girls, when they were told that he who had been their guest +was a bold highwayman, who had escaped from the penitentiary. + +There was great ado in Greendale that afternoon and evening. Those +who had been unable to gain his attention said they knew all the +time he was a rogue. The young men's society voted to sell the frame +and destroy the printed speech; and the next Sabbath the good pastor +preached about a roaring lion that went about seeking whom he might +devour. + + + + + + +THE WAYSIDE DEATH. + + + + + +Not many years since, an old man, who had for a longtime sat by the +wayside depending upon the charity of those who passed by for his +daily bread, died a few moments after receiving an ill-mannered +reply to his request for alms. Subsequent inquiries proved that he +had been a soldier in the American Revolution. + + WHEN Freedom's call rang o'er the land, + To bring its bold defenders nigh, + Young Alfred took a foremost stand, + Resolved to gain the day or die. + And well he fought, and won the trust; + When the day's conflicts had been braved, + The foe's proud ensigns lay in dust, + While Freedom's banner victor waved. + But now he is a poor old man, + And they who with him, side by side, + Fought bravely in that little van, + Have left him, one by one,--have died. + And now to no one can he tell, + Though touched with patriot fire his tongue, + The story of those days which well + Deserve to be by freemen sung, + And cherished long as life shall last; + To childhood told, that it may know + Who braved the storm when came the blast, + And vanquished Freedom's direst foe. + He sits there on the curb-stone now, + That brave old man of years gone by; + His head 'neath age and care would bow, + But yet he raiseth it on high, + And, stretching out his feeble hands, + He asks a penny from man's purse, + Food for himself from off that land + He fought to save. Yet, but a curse + Falls from their lips to greet his ear; + And he, despairing, turns and sighs, + And bows his head,--there fills one tear, + It is the last-he dies. + Now men do rudely lift his hat, + To gaze upon his furrowed face, + And say, "It is the man who sat + Here for so long a foul disgrace." + Crowds gather round the spot to see, + And then pass idly on, and say, + To those who ask who it can be, + "'T is but a vagrant of the way." + Thus he who fought and bled to gain + The blessings which are round us strewn, + For one he asked, besought in vain, + Received man's curse, and died-unknown. + O, my own country! shall it be, + That they who through thy struggle passed, + And bore thy banner manfully, + Shall thus neglected die at last? + O, shall it be no help shall come + From thy overflowing wealth to bless? + Wilt thou be blind, wilt thou be dumb, + To pleas like theirs in wretchedness? + Answer! and let your answer be + A helping hand lowered down to raise + From want and woe those who for thee + Won all thy honor, all thy praise, + And made thee what thou art to-day, + A refuge and a hope for man; + Speak! ere the last one wings away; + Act! act while yet to-day you can. + + + + + + +BEAUTY AND INNOCENCE. + +[FOR AN ENGRAVING OF COTTAGE GIRL AND LAMB.] + + + + + + O, MAIDEN, standing in the open field, + On pasture sparkling with the morning dew! + What joy thou findest Nature now to yield + To hearts developed right,--hearts that are true! + Above is beauty, as along the sky + The dawn of light sends forth its herald ray + To arch the heavens, and myriad leagues on high + Proclaim the coming of the god of day. + Beneath is beauty; see the glistening gems + Around thy feet in rich profusion strewn; + Such as ne'er glows in kingly diadems, + Such as man's handiwork hath never shown. + Around is beauty; on each vale and hill, + In open field and in the shady wood, + A voice is whispering, soft, and low, and still, + "All, all is beautiful, for God is good." + Thou, too, art beautiful, O, maiden fair, + While Innocence within thine arms doth rest; + And thou wilt e'er be thus, no grief thou 'lt share, + If such a blessing dwell within thy breast + As that whose emblem now lies gently there. + + + + + + +NIGHT. + + + + + + I'VE watched the sun go down, and evening draw + Its twilight mantle o'er the passive earth, + And hang its robe of blue, all gemmed with stars, + High over all for mortal eyes to gaze at. + And now I come to tread this sodded earth, + To walk alone in Nature's vaulted hall; + Yet, not alone;--I hear the rustling leaf, + The cricket's note, the night-bird's early lay; + I feel the cool breeze as it fans my brow, + And scent the fragrance of the untainted air. + I love the night. There's something in its shade + That sends a soothing influence o'er the soul, + And fits it for reflection, sober thought. + It comes bearing a balm to weary ones, + A something undefinable, yet felt + By souls that feel the want of something real. + And now 't is night, and well it is that I + Am here. I stand, my hand on this old tree, + Pressing its mossy side, with no one near + I can call fellow in the human strife, + The great, unfinished drama of this life. + Alone, alone, with Nature and its God, + I'll sit me down, and for a moment muse + On busy scenes, and, like some warrior chief, + Behold, yet mingle not in earth's great acts. + To-night how various are the states of men! + Some, bowed by sickness, press their sleepless couch, + Wishing while day doth last that night would come, + And now that night is with them wish for day. + Remorse holds some in its unyielding grasp; + Despair, more cruel yet, haunts some men's souls; + Both, ministers of justice conscience sends + To do its fearful bidding in those breasts + Which have rebelled and disavowed its rule. + Perchance, a maiden happy as a queen + To-night doth fix her destiny. A happy throng + Gather around, and envy her her bliss. + They little know what magic power lies low + In the filled wine-cup as they pass it round; + They little think it plants a venomed dart + In the glad soul of her whose lips do press + Its dancing sparkles. + Sorrow's nucleus! + Round that cup shall twine memories so dark + That night were noonday to them, to their gloom. + Dash it aside! See you not how laughs + Within the chalice brim an evil eye? + Each sparkling ray that from its depth comes up + Is the foul tempter's hand outstretched to grasp + The thoughtless that may venture in his reach. + How to-night the throng press on to bend + The knee to Baal, and to place a crown + On Magog's princely head! Dollars and dimes, + A purse well-filled, a soul that pants for more; + An eye that sees a farthing in the dust, + And in its glitter plenitude of joy, + Yet sees no beauty in the stars above, + No cause for gladness in the light of day,-- + A hand that grasps the wealth of earth, and yields + For sake of it the richer stores of heaven; + A soul that loves the perishing of earth, + And hates that wealth which rust can ne'er corrupt. + How many such! How many bar their souls + 'Gainst every good, yet ope it wide to wrong! + This night they're all in arms. They watch and wait; + Now that the sun hath fled, and evening's shade + Doth follow in its path, they put in play + The plans which they in daylight have devised, + Entrapping thoughtless feet, and leading down + The flower-strewn path a daughter or a son, + On whose fair, white brow, the warm, warm moisture + Of a parent's kiss seems yet to linger. + Stay! daughter, son, O, heed a friend's advice, + Rush not in thoughtless gayety along! + Beware of pit-fills. Listen and you'll hear + From some deep pit a warning voice to thee; + For thousands low have fallen, who once had + Hopes, prospects, fair as thine; they listened, fell! + And from the depths of their deep misery call + On thee to think. O, follow not, but reach + A helping hand to raise them from their woe! + Clouds hide the moon; how now doth wrong prevail! + Wrong holdeth carnival, and death is near. + O, what a sight were it for man to see, + Should there on this dark, shrouded hour + Burst in an instant forth a noonday light! + How many who are deem‚d righteous men, + And bear a fair exterior by day, + Would now be seen in fellowship with sin! + Laughing, and sending forth their jibes and jeers, + And doing deeds which Infamy might own. + But not alone to wrong and base intrigue + Do minister these shades of night; for Love + Holds high her beacon Charity to guide + To deeds that angels might be proud to own. + Beneath the shadows that these clouds do cast, + Hath many a willing hand bestowed a gift + Its modest worth in secret would confer. + No human eye beheld the welcome purse + Dropped at the poor man's humble cottage door; + But angels saw the act, and they have made + A lasting record of it on the scroll + That bears the register of human life. + Many a patient sufferer watches now + The passing hours, and counts them as they flee. + Many a watcher with a sleepless eye + Keeps record of the sick man's every breath. + Many a mother bends above her child + In deep solicitude, in deathless love. + Night wears away, and up the eastern sky + The dawn approaches. So shall life depart,-- + This life of ours on earth,--and a new birth + Approach to greet us with immortal joys, + So gently on our inner life shall come + The light of heaven. + Time moveth on, and I must join again + The busy toil of life; and I must go. + And yet I would not. I would rather stay + And talk with these green woods,--for woods can talk. + Didst ever hear their voice? In spring they speak + Of early love and youth, and ardent hope; + In summer, of the noon of wedded life, + All buds and blossoms and sweet-smelling flowers; + In autumn, of domestic bliss with all its fund + Of ripe enjoyments, and then winter hears + The leafless trees sing mysterious hymns, + And point their long lean arms to homes above. + Yes, the old woods talk, and I might hold + A sweet communion here with them to-night. + Farewell to Night; farewell these thoughts of mine, + For day hath come. + + + + + + +NOT DEAD, BUT CHANGED. + + + + + + I SAT and mused o'er all the years gone by; + Of friends departed, and of others going; + And dwelt upon their memories with a sigh, + Till floods of tears, their hidden springs o'erflowing, + Betrayed my grief. Soon, a bright light above me, + Voices saying, "We're near thee yet to love thee," + Dispelled my tears. I raised my drooping head, + And asked, "Who, who,--the dead?" + When the angelic lost around me ranged + Whispered within my ear, "Not dead, but changed." + + + + + + +THE DISINHERITED. + + + + + +MY next door neighbor's name was Jotham Jenks. This was all I knew +about him, until the circumstance I am about to tell you occurred. + +One evening I had seated myself by my fire, and had taken up an +evening paper with which to occupy my time, until an acquaintance of +mine, who I momentarily expected, should arrive. It was +December,--cold, blustering, and by no means an agreeable time to be +out of doors, or away from a good fire. Such being the state of +affairs, as far as weather was concerned, I began to think I should +not see my friend that night, when a smart rap upon the outer door, +half a dozen times repeated, prevented me from further speculation. + +Why did n't he ring?-there was a bell. It must have been a stranger, +else he would have used it. + +Presently a servant came with the information that a stranger was at +the door with a carriage, and wished my immediate presence. + +"Request him to walk in," said I. + +"He cannot wait a moment," answered the servant;--"he wishes you to +put on your hat and coat, and go with him." + +"Where?" + +"He did not say." + +This was a strange interruption,--strange that a man, a stranger, in +fact, should call for me to go out with him on such a night; but I +mustered courage, and went out to meet him. I don't know what +induced me so readily to grant his request; but out I went, hatted, +coated and booted. As I approached, I heard the falling of steps, +and the voice of the coachman requesting me to hurry. Reaching the +carriage, I looked in and beheld Jotham Jenks. In I jumped, and +before I was seated the carriage was moving. + +The whip snapped, the wheels whirled round, and we passed through +the lighted streets with almost incredible speed. I ventured to make +an inquiry, and the reply was, + +"You are doing a good deed. My name is Jotham Jenks. Ask no +questions now." + +Thus was a veto put upon the movements of my tongue for the time +being. I, however, recognized the voice of Mr. Jenks; and though I +knew but little respecting him, I judged from his appearance that he +was a quiet, unoffending man; and such I afterwards found him. + +For thirty minutes the horses raced along, causing the water, ice +and snow, to take to themselves wings and fly upon pedestrians, +windows, and sundry other animate and inanimate objects of creation. +For myself, I began to experience some misgiving, for thus exposing +myself to what, I did not know. + +At length the carriage turned down a dark, narrow street, leading to +one of the wharves, upon which we finally found ourselves. The +driver jumped from his seat, opened the carriage-door, threw down +the steps, and we got out. + +Matters had reached a crisis. Was I to be thrown into the water? The +assurance of my companion that I was doing a good deed seemed to +disfavor this supposition, as what possible good could that do +myself or any one else? Yet, for what was I taken from a warm room, +on such a cold, dismal, dark night, and hurried to the wharf? + +"Now," said I to the stranger, "I must know the meaning of all +this,--the why and the wherefore." + +He took my hand in his. It was quite dark. I could not see, yet I +could tell by his voice that he wept, as he said, + +"In a berth in the cabin of that vessel lies a young man, far from +his home, among strangers,--sick, perhaps dying. No relative, other +than those of the great brotherhood of. mankind, is near to minister +to his wants, or to speak comfort to his troubled heart. He had been +here about two days, when I was informed of his situation by a +friend who came in the same vessel. I have brought you here that you +might listen to his statements, and assist me in assisting him. +There is much of romance in his narrative, and, as you are preparing +a volume of life-sketches, as found in town and country, I have +thought that what falls from his lips might fill a few pages with +interest and profit to your readers." + +I thanked him for his thoughtfulness. My suspicions and fears were +all allayed; I asked no more questions, but followed my friend as he +passed to the vessel, and descended the narrow stairway to the +cabin. + +A small lamp hung from the ceiling, and shed a sort of gloomy light +around. I had been in chambers of sickness, but never in a room +where more neatness was discernible, or more sufficiency for its +tenant, than in the cabin in which I then was. A sailor boy seated +by a berth indicated to me the spot where the sick man lay. We were +informed that he had just fallen into a sleep, and we were careful +not to awake him. + +But, notwithstanding all our care, our movements awoke him. He gazed +around as one often does after a deep sleep; but a consciousness of +his situation, and a recognition of my companion, soon dispelled his +vacant looks, and his features were illumed with as expressive a +smile as it has ever been my fortune to behold. + +I was introduced to the invalid, and soon we were as familiar as old +acquaintances. His name was Egbert Lawrence, and his age I should +judge from appearances to be about twenty-five. + +"It is possible that my dear, good friend, Mr. Jenks, has given you +some account of my circumstances," he remarked, addressing me. + +I replied that he had not, any further than to state that he was +friendless. He started, as I said this, and exclaimed, + +"Friendless! His own modesty, that sure mark of true merit, induced +him to say that; but, dear sir, I have a friend in him, greater than +in any other on earth now. I had a friend, but, alas! she's gone." + +I corrected his impression; remarked that I only intended to convey +the fact that he was in a strange country, among a strange people, +and that Mr. Jenks had told me he was worthy of assistance, and that +a sketch of his life would interest me. + +"Then you would like to hear of my past, would you?" + +"Most certainly," I replied; "and should consider it a favor should +you consent to give it to me." + +To this he at once consented. + +"I was born in the west of England," he began, "and can well +remember what a charming little village it was in which I passed my +earliest days. My mother was a woman of the finest +sensibilities,--too fine, in fact, for the rough winds of this world. +Her heart beat too strongly in sympathy with the poor and oppressed, +the weary-footed and troubled ones, to live among and not have the +weight of their sorrows and cares bear also upon her, and gradually +wear out the earth tenement of her spirit. + +"As far as a fine, sensitive feeling was hers, so far it was mine. I +inherited it. But I would not flatter myself so much as to say that +I, in like manner, partook of her heavenly, loving nature, or that I +in any of her noble traits was worthy of being her son. + +"Many times have I been the bearer of her secret charities. Many +times have I heard the poor bless the unknown hand that placed +bounties at their door. Many times have I seen my mother weep while +I told her of what I heard the recipients of her benevolence tell +their neighbors, and the many conjectures in their minds as to who +the donor could be. And, O, there was joy sparkling in her eyes when +I told her of what I had seen and heard! The grateful poor, +concluding, after all their surmising, that, as they could not tell +for a certainty who it was who gave them food and clothing, they +would kneel down and thank God; for, said they, in their honest, +simple manner, He knows. The benevolent hand cannot hide itself from +his presence, or escape his reward. + +"My father was quite a different person. How it was they met and +loved, I could not for a long time determine. But one evening my +mother told me all about it, and said he was not the man of her +choice, but of her parents' choice; and that she had never loved him +with that deep and earnest love that alone can bind two hearts in +one embrace. But she said she had endeavored to do her duty towards +him. Good woman! I knew that. 'T was her very nature to do that. 'T +was a law of her being, and she could not evade it. + +"My father was a rough, coarse-minded man. He held an office under +the government, and, from being accustomed to the exercise of some +little authority without doors, became habituated to a morose, +ill-natured manner of words and behavior within our home. I remember +how I changed my tone of voice, and my mode of action, when at night +he came home. With my mother I talked and laughed, and played +merrily in her presence, and rather liked to have her look on my +sports; but when my father came I never smiled. I sat up on my chair +in one corner as stiff and upright as the elm-tree, in front of our +house. I never played in his presence. I seldom heard a kind word +from him. My mother used to call me 'Berty, my dear,' when she +wished me; but my father always shouted, sternly, 'Egbert, come +here, sir!' and I would tremblingly respond, 'Sir.' + +"Few persons seemed to love him; those who did, did so with an eye +to business. It was policy in them to flatter the man who could +favor them pecuniarily, and they hesitated not to do so. One time, +when my father's vote and influence were worth five thousand pounds +to his party, and he exhibited symptoms of withholding them, he had +rich presents sent him, and every night some half a dozen or more +would call in and sit and talk with him, and tell him how admirably +all the schemes he had started for the good of the town had +succeeded, and in all manner of ways would flatter the old +gentleman, so that he would be quite pleasant all the next day. At +this time handsome carriages came to take him to ride, and gentlemen +proposed an afternoon's shooting or fishing, or sport of some kind, +and my father always accepted and was always delighted. The simple +man, he couldn't see through the gauze bags they were drawing over +his head! lie did not notice the nets With which they were +entangling his feet. When election came, he gave his vote, and did +not keep back his influence. + +"My father was not benevolent to any great degree. He gave, it is +true. He gave to missionary societies, to education and tract +societies, and his name was always found printed in their monthly +reports; but he never gave, as my mother did, to the poor around us, +unseen, unknown. Not even he knew of my mother's charitable acts; +but all the town knew of his, and he was looked upon by the great +mass of public mind to be the most benevolent. But it was not so. +Far from it. One shilling from my mother, given with the heart, with +sympathy, given for the sake of doing good, not for the sake of +popularity, was a greater gift than a hundred pounds from my +father's hand, given as he always gave it. + +"I attended school but little. My mother wished me to have a good +education, but my father said if I could 'figure' well it was +enough. I was taken from school and put in a store,--a place which I +abhorred. I was put there to sell tape, and pins, and thread, and +yarn; and I was kept behind the counter from early morn until late +at night. + +"I had one brother, but his mind was nothing like mine. He partook +of my father's nature. We seldom agreed upon any matter, and I +always chose to be alone rather than with him. I do not think I was +wrong in this, for our minds were of different casts. Neither of us +made our minds or our dispositions. There was, therefore, no blame +upon any one, if, on account of the difference in our mental +organizations, our affinities led us apart. It was a perfectly +natural result of a natural cause. + +"I will not weary you with more detail of my life to-night; but +to-morrow, if you have any interest in what I have begun to tell +you, I will tell you more." + +I had noticed that he began to be exhausted with his effort, and was +about to propose that a future time be allotted to what more he +chose to relate. + +I assured him of an increased interest in him, and suggested +removing him to a good boarding-house. He at first declined, but +upon further urging he accepted, and, having seen that all his wants +were for that night attended to, we left; with the understanding +that a carriage should convey him to more commodious quarters on the +morrow, if the weather permitted. + +I had no fears of my companion as we rode up the wharf and drove +through the streets, the storm beating down furiously around us. I +reached my home, and Mr. Jenks thanked me for my kindness in blindly +following him, and I in return thanked him for the pleasant +adventure to which he had introduced me. + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +The next morning the weather was clear and the air invigorating, as +is often the case after a severe storm. With my neighbor Jenks I +procured a good home for the wanderer, and in a short time he was +located in it. + +I was soon seated by his side, and he continued his narrative. + +"I told you last evening of my parents, and of my entrance upon +business life. About that time a great sorrow visited me. My mother +was taken sick, rapidly declined, and in a fortnight left this state +of existence. Beyond this world it seemed all dark to me then; but +now it is brighter there than here, and there is no uncertainty in +my mind respecting that coming state. + +"I have not told you she died. She did not die. There is no such +word as death in my vocabulary. She did not sleep even. She passed +from a crumbling, falling building into an enduring and beautiful +temple, not made with hands. But to me, then, as I have told you, it +was all dark; and it was not a wonder that I was sad, and that it +was indeed a heavy sorrow that rested on my spirit. Even with the +faith that she had, the thought of being left with a man such as my +father was would have made me sad. You will wonder, perhaps, that I +had not learned from such a mother as mine a clearer faith than that +which possessed my mind at the time of her departure; but I had not. +It was impossible for me to accept a truth with that amount of +evidence which satisfied her mind, and I doubted, at times, a future +existence. But I do not doubt it now. I have had proof,--abundant +proof; and, O, the joy that fills my soul is unfathomable. + +"My father now became more tyrannical than ever, and everything +tended to destroy whatever there was of my mother's disposition in +my character. But nothing could force it from me. I was sensitive as +ever to the remarks and the looks of all with whom I came in +contact, and the severe and unmerited reprimands of my father almost +crushed me. + +"Several years passed by. I wasted them in a retail store. It was, +however, not a complete loss to me, for there I formed an +acquaintance with a young lady, the daughter of a poor collier. Our +friendship ripened to mutual love, and we were happy only when in +each other's presence. Our interviews were frequent, and unknown to +any one but ourselves for a long time. At length my father became +acquainted with the facts. He called me to his room one night, and +scolded me, threatened to disinherit me, and treated me as though I +had been guilty of the most heinous crime. + +"'You miserable, good-for-nothing scamp!' said he. 'Why do you seek +to lower yourself in the estimation of every man, and bring disgrace +on the name and fame of my family, by associating with the poor +daughter of a worthless laborer?' + +"This fired my brain; but I was timid and dare not speak my thoughts +in his presence. I listened. He showered upon me all the evil +epithets his tongue could dispense, and, raving like a madman, he +pushed me to the door, and told me to cease my visits upon Evelina +or leave his house forever and change my name, for he would not +shelter me, or own any relationship to me. + +"Poor girl! She little thought how much I that night endured for +her, or how much I was willing to bear. She was a beautiful +being,--so much like my mother, so gentle, and loving, and +benevolent! We were one. True, no earthly law recognized us as such; +but God's law did,--a law written with his hand on our beating +hearts. We had been joined far, far back, ages gone by, when our +souls first had their birth,--long ere they became enshrined in earth +forms. The church might have passed its ceremonial bond about us, +but that would have been mere form--that would have been a union +which man might have put asunder, and often does. But of a true +union of souls it is useless to say 'what God has joined let no man +put asunder;' for he cannot any more than he can annul any other of +his great laws. + +"My father's reprimands and threatenings could not, therefore, +dissolve that bond which united me to Evelina, and she to me. So, as +soon as I left his room, I sought her presence. I told her all, and +she wept to think of what she had caused, as she said. But I tried +to convince her, and succeeded in doing so finally, that it was not +she who had caused it. She had not made her soul or its attributes. +God had made them, and if they were in unison with mine, or if they +had attractions that drew my. soul to hers, the law under which they +came together and would not be separated was God's law, and we could +not escape it. + +"That night we walked down by the river's side, and we talked of +those great principles that govern us. We studied, there in the +clear moonlight, God's works, and I asked her whether in loving the +beautiful and the good we did not love God. + +"Her mind opened a bright effulgence of light to my spirit. 'Yes,' +said she, 'it is even so. God is a spirit. He fills immensity,--and +if so, then he imbues this little flower with his own life, for he +is the life of all things. It is as he made it, and as we love it we +love him. When we love a being for his goodness, we love God; for +that goodness is of God." + +"'Yes,' I remarked; 'I see it is so. I do not love you as a material +being. It is not your flesh and bones merely that I love, but it is +the goodness dwelling in you. As that goodness is more abundant in +you than in others, in like degree does God dwell in you more than +in them. If, therefore, I love you more than I love them, I love God +more than I should did my supreme love find its highest object in +them. In loving you, therefore, I love God so far as you possess the +characteristics by which we personify that being. It is not wrong, +therefore, to love you or the flower; for goodness exists in one, +and beauty in the other, and they both are of God, and in loving +them we love God.' + +"We parted at a late hour. I went with her to the door of the little +cottage in which she dwelt with her father. Her mother had died, as +they call it, long years before; and, as I kissed her, and pressed +her hand and bade her good-by, I felt more strongly than ever a +determination to bear any privation, endure any suffering, for her +sake. + +"I reached my home. I found the doors fastened and all quiet. The +moon shone very clear, and it was nearly as light as at noon-day. I +tried the windows, and fortunately found one of them unfastened. I +raised it very carefully, and crept in, and up to my room. The next +morning at breakfast my father spoke not a word, but I knew by his +manner that he was aware of my disregard of his command, and I +thought that all that prevented him from talking to me was a want of +language strong enough to express the passionate feelings that ran +riot in his soul. + +"I judged rightly. For at night his passion found vent in words, and +such a copious torrent of abuse that I shuddered. Nevertheless, I +yielded not one position of my heart, and was conscious that I had a +strength of purpose that would ever defend the right, and could not +be swayed by mere words. + +"There was no limit to my father's abuse when it became known to a +few of his friends that I had been seen in company with the +collier's daughter. I endured all, and was willing to endure more. +He seemed to have a peculiar dislike of Evelina's father, as also to +her. This I could not account for. + +"At length I became of age, and on my birthday my father called me +to him, and, in his usual stern, uncompromising way, asked me if I +persisted in paying attention to Evelina. I answered promptly that I +did. I had had so many conflicts that I had lost much of my +timidity, and I now defined my position clear, and maintained it +resolutely. + +"'Then leave my house at once!' said my father. 'I throw you from me +as I would a reptile from my clothes; and go, go with my curse upon +you! Take your penniless girl, and build yourself a name if you can; +for you have lost the one you might have held with honor to yourself +and to me. I had chosen for you a wife, a rich and fashionable lady, +the daughter of a nobleman, and one of whom to be proud; but you +have thought best to be your own judge in such matters, and you made +a fool of yourself. But you shall not stamp my family with such +folly, or wed its name to dishonor.' + +"I endeavored to reply; but he would hear no word from my lips. He +sprang from his seat, walked the room in the greatest rage, and +whenever I opened my mouth to speak would shout, 'Stop your noise, +you ungrateful, heartless wretch!' + +"He was determined to carry out his threat. That night he locked me +out of the house, and took special pains to make the windows fast. +In the papers of the next day he advertised me as disinherited and +cast off, and warned the world against me. He also circulated false +reports respecting me, and spared neither money nor effort to injure +me. He prejudiced my employers, so that they at once discharged me, +without a moment's warning. And all this from a father! How often I +thought of that loving, sympathizing mother! How often I recognized +her presence in my silent hours of thought! Dear, sainted friend! +she was with me often, unseen but not unfelt. + +"Evelina faltered not. She bore all the opprobrium of false friends +with a brave heart, and rested on my promises as the dove rests its +weary head beneath its downy wing. Her father had confidence in me. + +"It was astonishing how changed all things were. The day previous, I +was the son of a wealthy and influential man. I was respected, +apparently, by all. Very many professed a friendship for me, and +told me how much they valued my company. Young ladies politely +recognized me as I passed through the streets; and old ladies +singled me out as an example for their sons to follow. But on that +day no one knew me. Not one of those who had professed such +friendship for me came and took me by the hand when I needed their +friendly grasp the most! Young ladies, when we met, cast their +glances on the earth, on the sky, anywhere but on me. Old ladies +scandalized me, and warned the objects of their paternal +consideration against a course like mine. + +"And why all this? It was because I loved Evelina,--a poor man's only +child!" + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +Egbert's health seemed to improve now that he was in more +comfortable quarters, and had sympathizing friends to whom he could +narrate the story of his life. In the course of a few days he rode +out a short distance. After a rest of a week, during which his +strength had increased, he continued his narrative, in which we had +become deeply interested. + +"I found a home at the cottage of Evelina. We made arrangements to +be married according to law, and in due time I applied to the +minister of the town to perform the ceremonies. I was surprised when +he refused; yet I well knew what inducements led him to act thus. My +father was the leading man in his church. The minister looked to him +as one of the chief pillars of support to his society, and +consequently to his means of livelihood. There was no one in the +town upon whom the public eye, religious or political, rested with +more hope than upon my father. He exhorted in the meetings with an +earnestness worthy of the most devoted follower of Cromwell; and was +as strict and rigid in the performance of his public religious +duties as the most precise Puritan of the old school could wish. Did +the chapel need repairs, my father was consulted. Was it proposed to +make a donation to the pastor, my father was expected to head the +list with a large subscription, and he did. Was it strange, then, +that he gave such a decided refusal to my simple request, knowing, +as he did, and everybody did, my circumstances? It seems not. +Perhaps it was foolish for me to ask a favor of such a man; but I +did, and he had an opportunity of exhibiting his allegiance to +public opinion, and his disregard of the voice within, that must +have commanded him to do right, and to adhere to truth and justice +in the face of all opposition. + +"It was soon noised abroad that I had endeavored to get married and +had failed. There was great rejoicing, and one old lady took the +trouble to send her man-servant to me with the message that she was +glad to know that her good pastor had indignantly refused to place +his seal on my bond of iniquity. + +"The dark cloud that all this time overshadowed my path rested also +on the path of Evelina's father. This was all that troubled me. He, +good man, had more true religion in his soul than the pastor and all +the people in theirs; yet he was scorned and ill-treated. All this +was not new to him. He had lived in that town four-and-forty years, +and had always been frowned upon by the boasting descendants of +proud families, and had received but little good from their hands. +The church looked upon him as a poor, incorrigible sinner. No one +spoke to him, unless it was to ask him to perform some hard job. It +was not strange that, judging from the works of the people who +called themselves Christians, he had a dislike to their forms. He +chose a living Christianity; and theirs, with all its rites, with +all its pretensions, with all its heralded faith, was but a mockery +to him. It was but a shadow of a substantial reality. He chose the +substance; he rejected the shadow, and men called him 'infidel' who +had not a tithe of vital religion in their own souls, while his was +filled to repletion with that heavenly boon. For a time the war of +persecution raged without, and slander and base innuendoes the +weapons were employed against us. But within all was peace and +quiet, and our home was indeed a heaven,--for we judged that heaven +is no locality, no ideal country staked off so many leagues this +way, and so many that; but that it is in our own souls, and we could +have our heaven here as well as beyond the grave. We thought Christ +meant so when he said 'the kingdom of heaven is within you'! We +pitied those who were always saying that when they reached heaven +there would be an end of all sorrow, and wished they could see as we +did that heaven was to reach them, not they to reach it. We feared +that the saying of Pope, 'Man never is, but always to be, blest,' +might prove true of them, and that even when they had passed the +boundary which they fancied divided them from heaven, they would yet +be looking on to so the future state for the anticipated bliss. + +"What cared we, in our home, for the jibes and sneers and falsehoods +without? Those who are conscious of being in the right have no fear +of the goal to which their feet are tending. I heard from my father +often, but never met him. By some means he always evaded me. That +which troubled him most was the calmness with which I received the +results of his course towards me. He knew that I was happy and +contented. This was what troubled him. Had I manifested a great +sorrow and writhing beneath what he deemed troubles, he would have +greatly rejoiced, and so would all his friends. I had accumulated a +small property, and was prospering, notwithstanding the efforts of +many to embarrass me. A few began to see that I was not so bad as I +had been represented to be, and they began to sympathize with me. +This aroused my father's anger afresh. We had been married by a +magistrate of another town, and the clouds above our outside or +temporary affairs seemed breaking away, when an event occurred that +frustrated all our plans. + +"One evening I heard the cry of 'fire,' and, on attempting to go +out, I found the entry of the house filled with a dense smoke. The +smoke poured into the room in which Evelina and her father were +seated. I rushed to the window, dashed it out, and, having seen my +wife and her father safely deposited without, secured what of the +property I could. In a few moments the cottage was enveloped in +flames, and it was not long before no vestige of our happy home +remained, except the smoking embers and a heap of ashes. We were +now, indeed, poor in gold and lands; but it seemed to each of us +that what had been taken from our purse had been put in our hearts, +for we loved each other more than ever before, if such a love were +possible; and, though we received but little sympathy from without, +we had a fund of sympathy within, that made us forget our seeming +sorrows, and rejoice in bliss unspeakable. + +"It was reported that I had fired the cottage. I well knew with whom +this charge originated, and I had good reasons for believing that +the match that fired our house came from the same source. + +"Our condition was such that we concluded to leave the place where +so much had been endured, and those who had strewn our path with +what they intended for thorns and brambles. + +"We left. We journeyed to Liverpool, and engaged a passage in a New +York packet for the United States. It was a beautiful morning when +we set sail, and everything seemed reviving in the possessing of +life. Our ship's flags looked like smiling guardians as they +fluttered above us, and all on board the 'White Wing' were happy. +There were about three hundred passengers. There were old and young; +some travelling on business, some for a place they might call their +home, some for pleasure, and a few for the improvement of their +health. There were entire families, and, in some cases, those of +three generations. How varied were the hopes that filled their +souls! how different the objects that led them forth over the deep +and trackless sea, exposing themselves to countless perils! + +"Evelina and myself mused thus as we sat on the deck at twilight of +the first day out, and watched the movements, and listened to the +various expressions that fell from the lips of the crowded +passengers. + +"She always had a bright gleam of religious, philosophical thought, +with which to illumine every hour of our existence, and radiate, +with heavenly joy, our every conversation. 'There are not more +dangers here than on land,' said she; 'to be true to our inner +consciousness, we must say that wherever we are we are exposed to +peril, and wherever we are we are protected from evil. I have known +a man to cross the ocean a hundred times, and fall at last at his +own door, and by it become maimed for life. There is no such a thing +as an accident. Every result has a legitimate cause. Everything acts +in obedience to undeviating laws of God. We complain when we fall, +but the same law that causes us to fall guides planets in their +course, and regulates every motion of every object. It is only when +we disobey these laws that evil comes, and every transgression +receives its own penalty. It is impossible that it should be +otherwise.' + +"We soon became acquainted with a number of the passengers, and +passed very many pleasant and profitable hours together. Evelina was +the light of every circle, and the days flew by on rapid wings. The +ship had made a rapid passage, and we were fast nearing our destined +haven. + +"One Sabbath evening a storm commenced. The wind blew a hurricane. +Everything on deck was lashed, and the sea rolled and pitched our +vessel about as though it had been but a feather on its surface. We +had all day expected the storm, and were prepared for it. As night +advanced the storm increased. The rain fell in torrents, and the +darkness was most intense. After a while, the lightning came, and +the thunder reverberated with terrific peals over us. There were +shrieks and wailings aboard our vessel, and many a brave heart +quailed beneath the terror upon us. + +"I cared not for myself. My chief concern was for my dear wife and +her father. We kept our state-room for a long time, but at length +deemed it prudent to leave it. As we did so, we heard an awful +crash, and many a shriek and hurried prayer. I myself began to fear, +as the mast and flying rigging went by us; but Evelina, even in such +an hour, had words to cheer us all. She seemed, indeed, more of +heaven than earth; and I cared not for my fate, provided we both met +the same. + +"The captain ordered the boats to be got in readiness, and it was +quickly done. Soon another crash, and another mast fell, bearing to +the raging abyss of waters another company of helpless men, women +and children. + +"I clasped my wife in my arms, and, amid the wreck and frantic crowd +of passengers, sprang to a boat. I placed Evelina in it, and was +just about to assist her father to the same boat, when a large wave +dashed over the ship and bore me alone over the wide waters. I +remembered no more until I opened my eyes, and the sun was shining +brightly all around me, and a young man was bathing my head, and +brushing back my wet hair, while some were standing by expressing +great joy. + +"I soon became conscious of my situation, and I asked for Evelina. +What a sadness filled my soul when I was told she was not +there,--that they had not heard of any such person! Human language is +weak with which to express the sorrow I then felt. Through all my +varied life I had had nothing that so crushed my spirit, and filled +it with a sense of loneliness which it is impossible to describe. I +ascertained that I was on board of a vessel bound to Boston; that I, +was found holding on a raft, almost insensible when found, and quite +so a few moments afterwards. For a long time no one expected that I +would recover my consciousness, but the constant efforts of the +passengers and crew were finally crowned with success, and I opened +my eyes. + +"I gave all the information I could respecting the fate of the +vessel, but thoughts of my wife, and surmisings as to her fate and +that of her father, often choked my utterance, and my words gave way +for my tears. + +"The next morning I was delirious, with a fever. My anxiety for my +wife, and the exposure I had suffered, brought my body and mind into +a very critical state. For several days I talked wildly. At the +close of the fifth, I became sane in mind. I was yet quite ill. That +night the ship entered Boston harbor. It anchored in the stream, and +the next morning it hauled up to a wharf." + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + +"I was a perfect stranger. The captain was attentive to my wants, +and made me as comfortable as he could. You will remember how neat +and quiet all appeared when, with my friend Jenks, you called on me. +All of the passengers took an interest in my welfare, and made up a +purse for me; but they could not remain long with me. They had been +long absent from home, and were desirous of seeing their families +and friends, or else they had business in this or some other place. +One of them introduced my friend Jenks to me; and, O, sir, he has +been, indeed, a good friend to one having so few claims on his +attention. He told me one night of you, and, agreeable to his +promise, he brought you to the cabin of the vessel. The rest you +know." + +Egbert had regained his strength to a great degree, and gave me the +close of his narrative while we were having a pleasant drive through +the country. A month had passed since we first met, and though many +of the passengers had been heard from, the names of Evelina and her +father had not been reported. + +When we reached our home, from our afternoon's drive, I took up an +evening paper, and the first paragraph I read was the following: + +"MORE FROM THE WHITE WING.-The Orion, which arrived at this port +this morning, brought fifteen passengers, rescued from the boats of +the 'White Wing.' Among the names mentioned in the above notice were +these: "Mrs. Evelina Lawrence and her father, of England;" and, at +the conclusion, was the following item: + +"The case of Mrs. Lawrence and her father is one of those that +loudly call for a bestowal of public sympathy and aid in her behalf. +She has lost a beloved husband,--one who, judging from the heavy +sorrow that oppresses her, and the sighs and tears that break her +recital of the events of their last hours together, was bound with +the closest bonds of soul affinity to her own spirit. They must have +been one, and are, indeed, one now, though to mortal eyes separated. +We commend her to the kind charities of those who would follow the +golden rule of doing unto others as they, in like circumstances, +would have others do unto them." + +Egbert noticed my interest in that which I was reading; indeed, it +would have been strange if he had not; for I could not suppress my +joy, and it found expression in an occasional exclamation. + +At length, I handed him the paper. + +"My God! my wife!" he exclaimed, and he actually danced with joy and +thankfulness. He would have rushed into the street, and by sudden +exposure have caused a relapse of disease, had not I taken him by +the hand, and forcibly, for a few moments, restrained him. So +excessive was his happiness that, for a short time, he was delirious +with joy. He laughed and wept by turns: at one moment extending +his arms, and folding them as if clasping a beloved form; the next, +trembling as if in some fearful danger. But this did not long +continue. He soon became calm and rational, and we called a carriage +for the purpose of going to the vessel on board of which he expected +to greet his wife and her father. + +My neighbor Jenks accompanied us, and, as we rode hastily along, my +mind reverted to the night when first I met Egbert. That eventful +evening came more vividly to mind as we found ourselves on the same +wharf, and the carriage door was opened, and we alighted on nearly +the same spot that we did at that time. + +Egbert leaped from the carriage, and at one bound was on the +vessel's deck. He flew to the cabin, and in a moment I heard the +loud exclamations on either side, "My Evelina!" "My Egbert!" Mr. +Jenks and myself followed below. An old gentleman met us, and, +though a stranger, he grasped a hand of ours in each of his, and +wept with joy as he bade us welcome. The cabin was witness of a +scene which a painter well might covet for a study. In close embrace +Egbert and Evelina mingled joys that seldom are known on earth. The +old man held our hands, his face raised, eyes turned upward, while +tears of happiness, such as he had never before known, coursed down +his features. The officers of the ship came hurrying in, and the +crew darkened the gangway with their presence. What a joyous time +was that! The evening was passed in recounting the adventures of +each; and even I had something to add to the general recital. It +appeared that the boat in which Egbert had placed his charge was +safely cleared of the wreck; and, after being floated about two +days, was met by an English ship bound to London. They, together +with about twenty others who were in the boat, were soon comfortably +cared for. At the expiration of a few weeks, they reached London, +and were there placed on board a vessel bound to Boston, at which +place they in due season arrived. The grief of Mrs. L. during all +this time I will not attempt to describe. The mind of my reader can +better depict it than I can with pen. Hope buoyed her up. And, +though she had seen him swept from her side into the waters where +waves towered up to the skies and sank again many fathoms below, yet +she did hope she might see him again on earth. + +In the silent hour of night, as she lay and mused of those things, +she thought she could hear a sweet voice whispering in her ear, +"Berty lives, and you will meet him once again." And, as if in +response to the voice, she said in her own mind, "I know he lives; +but it may be in that bright world where, unencumbered with these +mortal frames, we roam amid ever-enduring scenes." The voice again +said, "On earth, on earth." + +But now they had met. It was no mere vision now, and the truth +flashed upon her mind that that voice she had heard and thought a +dream was not all a dream. And then she mused on as she was wont to +do, and, after relating to us the incident, she said, "May it not be +that much of our life that we have thought passed in dreamland, and +therefore among unreal things, has been spent with actual +existences? For what is an 'unreal thing'? It would not be a 'thing' +had it no existence; and what is the 'it' that we speak of? Can we +not then conclude that there is nothing but what is and must have an +existence, though not so tangible to our senses as to enable us to +handle it or see it? What we call 'imagination' may be, after all, +more real than the hard stones beneath our feet-less indestructible +than they." + +Thus she spake, and her theory seemed very plausible to me, though +my friend Jenks, who was an exceedingly precise, matter-of-fact man, +could not see any foundation for the theory. + +It was a late hour when Mr. Jenks and myself passed to our homes. +The next day Evelina and her father were coseyly quartered at the +house in which Egbert had boarded. + +In the course of a a few weeks they arranged to go to the west, and +locate in a flourishing town on the banks of the Ohio, not many +miles above Cincinnati. + +Mr. Jenks and myself accompanied them to the cars; and, amid our +best wishes for their success, and their countless expressions of +gratitude to us, the train started, and in a few moments the +Disinherited was going to an inheritance which God had provided, and +which lay in rich profusion awaiting their possession. + +Our hearts went with them. We could truly say they were worthy God's +blessing; yet we had not need ask him to bestow it upon them; for +their very existence was a proof that he gave it to them. + + + + + + +THE SEASONS ALL ARE BEAUTIFUL. + + + + + + THE seasons all are beautiful, + There is not one that's sad,-- + Not one that does not give to thee + A thought to make thee glad. + I have heard a mournful cadence + Fall on my listening ear,-- + 'T was some one whispering, mournfully, + "The Autumn days are here." + But Autumn is not sorrowful,-- + O, full of joy is it; + I love at twilight hour to watch + The shadows as they flit,-- + The shadows of the falling leaves, + Upon their forest bed, + And hear the rustling music tones + Beneath the maiden's tread. + The falling leaf! Say, what has it + To sadden human thought? + For are not all its hours of life + With dancing beauty fraught? + And, having danced and sang its joy, + It seeketh now its rest,-- + Is there a better place for it + Than on its parent's breast? + Ye think it dies. So they of old + Thought of the soul of man. + But, ah, ye know not all its course + Since first its life began, + And ye know not what future waits, + Or what essential part + That fallen leaf has yet to fill, + In God's great work of art. + Count years and years, then multiply + The whole till ages crowd + Upon your mind, and even then + Ye shall not see its shroud. + But ye may see,--if look you can + Upon that fallen leaf,-- + A higher life for it than now + The life you deem so brief. + And so shall we to higher life + And purer joys ascend; + And, passing on, and on, and on, + Be further from our end. + This is the truth that Autumn brings,-- + Is aught of sorrow here? + If not, then deem it beautiful, + Keep back the intrusive tear. + Spring surely you'll call beautiful, + With its early buds and flowers, + Its bubbling brooks, its gushing streams, + And gentle twilight hours. + And Summer, that is beautiful, + With fragrance on each breeze, + And myriad warblers that give + Free concerts 'mong the trees. + I've told you of the Autumn days, + Ye cannot call them sad, + With such a lesson as they teach, + To make the spirit glad. + And Winter comes; how clear and cold, + In dazzling brilliance drest!- + Say, is not Winter beautiful, + With jewels on his crest? + Thus are all seasons beautiful; + They all have joy for thee, + And gladness for each living soul + Comes from them full and free. + + + + + + +SPRING. + + + + + +IT is early spring-time. The winter has passed with reluctant step, +and even now the traces of its footsteps are discernible on every +side. At noon of these bright days the sun looks down smilingly upon +the soil it seeks to bless with its cheerful, cheering rays. The +tiny grass-blades peep out, and stretch forth their graceful forms, +as if to thank the unknown source from which their enjoyments +spring. "Unknown," I said. Is it "fancy" that makes my soul withdraw +that word, and suggest that it may be that even that blade of grass +recognizes the hand that ministers to all its wants? I think not. I +think that what we term "fancy" and "imagination" are the most real +and enduring portions of existence. They are of that immortal part +that will live after crumbling column and the adamantine foundations +of earth have passed away, and lost their present identity in +countless forms of a higher existence. Are not all the forces of +nature unseen, yet are they not real? Most assuredly they are. But I +am talking of spring. I hinted at winter's tardy withdrawal. Look +you how that little pile of snow hides itself in yonder shady +nook,--right there where the sun's rays never come; right there, as +if ashamed, like a man out of place,--pity that it lingers. Here and +there, at the side of the brook, a little ice is waiting to be +dissolved, that it may bound away, bright and sparkling, over the +glistening pebbles. + +The farmer opens his barn doors that the warm, fresh breeze may +ramble amid its rafters. The cattle snuff the refreshing winds, that +bear tidings of green fields. The housewife opens door and windows, +and begins to live more without than within. + +Let us to the woods. How the old leaves rustle beneath our tread! +Winter bides his cold, wet hand underneath these leaves and +occasionally we feel his chilling touch as we pass along. But from +above the pleasant sunshine comes trickling down between the +branches, and the warm south wind blows cheeringly among the trees. +Didst thou not hear yon swallow sing, Chirp, chirp?--In every note he +seemed to say, "'T is spring, 't is spring." + +Yes, 't is spring; bright, glorious season, when nature awakes to +new life and forest-concerts begin. + +Up with the window, throw open the closed shutter, let the fresh air +in, and let the housed captive breathe the invigorating elixir of +life; better by far than all your pills and cordials, and more +strengthening than all the poor-man's plasters that have been or +ever will be spread. + +The bale and hearty youth, whose clear and boisterous laugh did the +old man good, as he heard it ring forth on the clear air of a +winter's night, has become satiated with the pleasures of +sleigh-rides and merry frolics, and welcomes the spring-time of year +as a man greeteth the return of an old friend from a long journey. +How his bright eye flashes with the joyous soul within him, as he +treads the earth, and beholds the trees put forth their buds, and +hears the warblings of the birds once again, where a few weeks since +winter brooded in silence! + +In town and country, the coming of spring changes the general +appearance of affairs. Not early nature, but men change. There is no +longer the cold and frigid countenance. Men do not walk with quick +and measured tread, but pass carelessly, easily along, as though it +was a luxury and not a task to walk. Children are seen in little +companies, plucking the flowers and forcing the buds from their +stems, as though to punish them for their tardiness. + +The very beasts of burden and of the field partake of the general +joy; as Thomson says, "Nor undelighted by the boundless spring Are +the broad monsters of the foaming deep From the deep ooze and, gelid +cavern roused, They flounce and tumble in unwieldy joy." + +In the town storekeepers obtain fresh supplies of goods; the +mechanic contracts new jobs; the merchant repairs his vessel, and +sends it forth, deeply freighted with the productions of our own +clime, to far distant, lands; and the people generally brush up, and +have the appearance of being a number of years younger than they +were a month since. + +In the country, the farmer is full of work. The ploughs are brought +forth from their winter quarters, the earth is opened, that the warm +sun and refreshing rains may prepare it for use; old fences are +repaired, and new ones made; the housewife brushes up inside and +out, and with the aid of the whitewash every old fence and shed is +made clean and pleasing to the eye. + +Welcome spring, a hearty welcome to thee! Touch the cheek of the +maiden, and make it as bright as the rose; with thy fresh air give +health to the sick and joy to the downcast. Thou bringest with thee +sweet-smelling flowers, and the birds of the woods carol forth thy +welcome. + + + + + + +A TEXT FOR A LIFETIME. + + + + + +ONE word for humanity. One word for those who dwell in want around +us. O, ye who know not what it is to hunger, and have naught to meet +your desire; ye who never are cold, with naught to warm your chilled +blood, forget not those who endure all these things. They are your +brethren. They are of the same family as yourself, and have a claim' +upon your love, your sympathy, your kindness. + +Live not for yourselves. The world needs to learn this lesson. +Mankind have to learn that only as they bless others are they +themselves blest. It was the fine thought of the good Indian, +Wah-pan-nah, that man should not pile up his dollars,--they may fall +down and crush him,--but spread them out. + +"There be dark spot on you brother's path,--go lay dollar there and +make it bright," said he. + +And since that suggestion came we have thought it over and over, and +have found it a text for a lifetime of goodness. Go place the bright +dollar in the poor man's hand, and the good you do will be reflected +in rays of gratitude from a smiling face, and fall on you like the +warm sunshine, to cheer and refresh and strengthen your own soul. + +There are in this world too many dollars "piled up," and on the +surface we see but the brightness of one. Were these all spread out, +what a wide field of radiant beauty would greet our vision! Instead +of being a useless encumbrance, a care, a constant source of +perplexity to one man, this wealth would make every man comfortable +and happy. It would perform its legitimate work, were it not chained +by avarice,--that canker-worm that destroys the fairest portions of +our social system. + +And there is a joy in doing good, and in dispensing the bounties +with which we are blest, that hath no equal in the household of man. +To know that we have fed the hungry, clothed the naked, wiped away +one tear, bathed in the sunlight of hope one desponding spirit, +gives to us a happiness that hoarded wealth, though broad as earth +and high as heaven, cannot impart. + +This is the true wealth. This the wealth that rust cannot corrupt. +There is no other real wealth in the universe. Gold and silver, +houses and lands, are not wealth to the longing, aspiring soul of +man. The joy of the spirit, which is the reward of a good deed, +comes a gift from God, a treasure worthy of being garnered into the +storehouse of an immortal being. + +There was one spot on earth where joy reigned. It was not in marble +palace; but in a low cot, beneath a roof of thatch. + +There was an indwelling sense of duty done; a feeling somewhat akin +to that which we might suppose angels to feel, when a poor, +earth-wearied traveller is relieved by them. + +That was a subject fit for a Raphael's pencil, as she, of form and +feature more angelic than human, sat beside that cottage door, and +her mild blue eye gazed steadfastly up to heaven, and the light of +the moon disclosed to mortal view her calm and beautiful features. + +Two hours previous, over a sick and languishing child a mother bowed +with maternal fondness. She pressed her lips to his chilled +forehead, and wiped the cold sweat from his aching brow. + +"Be patient, my child," said she; "God will provide." And why did +she bid him "be patient"? None could have been more so; for through +the long hours of that long summer day he had lain there, suffered +and endured all; yet not one sigh had arisen from his breast, not +one complaint had passed his parched lips. + +"I know it," said he. And the mother kissed him again, and again +said, + +"God will provide." + +Mother and son! the one sick, the other crushed down with poverty +and sorrow. Yet in this her hour of adversity her trust in the God +of her fathers wavered not; she firmly relied on Him for support, +whom she had never found forgetful of her. The widow and the +fatherless were in that low tenement, and above was the God who had +promised to protect them. + +Again she whispered in the lad's ear, "God will provide." + +The light of that day's sun had not rested upon food in that +dwelling. Heavily the hours passed by. Each seemed longer than that +which had preceded it. + +A rap at the door was heard. She arose and hastened to it. No person +was in sight; but in the moon's bright rays stood a basket, on which +lay a card, stating that it and its contents were for her and her +child, and that on the morrow a nurse and every comfort they might +want would be provided. + +She bowed herself beside it, and thanked God for the gift. Then with +a joyful heart she carried it within, and her child's eye sparkled +as he heard the glad news, that He who watcheth the sparrows had not +forgotten them. + +Let us return now to that thatched cottage. She, whose mild eye +gazeth up to heaven, whilst passing the door of the famishing mother +and child an hour previous, had heard the words with which that +mother had encouraged her dying son. + +With speed the maiden hastened to her home, and from her own limited +store carried forth that basket, and heaven-like bestowed the gift +unseen and unknown, save by Him who seeth and who rewardeth. The +deed of mercy accomplished, she hastened to her home; and now, as +she looks upward, how her eye beams with joy, and her heart breaks +forth in songs of gratitude to Him who made her the instrument of so +much good! + +Gold, with all its power, cannot bring joy unless dealt forth with a +willing heart like hers. The king in his palace, whose sceptre's +sway extends over vast dominions, hath no pleasures capable of +rivalling that which, by an act of charity, was brought to the soul +of that young cottage girl. + +Reader, whatever your condition, you can possess a joy like hers. If +you have not what men call wealth, with which to help the weak and +desponding, you have a smile of sympathy, a look of kindness, a word +of love. Give those, and you shall know what a blessed thing is +Charity. + + + + + + +NOW CLOSE THE BOOK. + + + + + + NOW close the book. Each page hath done its part, + Each thought hath left its impress on the heart. + O, may it be that naught hath here been traced + That after years may wish to have effaced! + O, may it be Humanity hath won + Some slight bestowment by the task now done! + If struggling Right hath found one cheering word, + If Hope hath in desponding heart been stirred, + If Sorrow hath from one lone soul been driven + By one kind word of Sympathy here given, + Then in my soul a living joy shall dwell, + Brighter than art can paint or language tell. + Yes, close the book: the story and the song + Have each been said, and sung. I see the throng + Of gentle ministrants who've led my pen + Withdraw their aid. I hear the word, Amen. + And now to you, who have been with me through + The "Town and Country," I must bid adieu. + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 4669 *** diff --git a/4669.txt b/4669.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f68a273 --- /dev/null +++ b/4669.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13571 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Town and Country, or, Life at Home and Abroad +by John S. Adams + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg file. + +Please do not remove this header information. + +This header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to +view the eBook. 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Adams + +Release Date: November, 2003 [Etext #4669] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on February 26, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Town and Country, or, Life at Home and Abroad +by John S. Adams +******This file should be named 4669.txt or 4669.zip****** + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +The "legal small print" and other information about this book +may now be found at the end of this file. Please read this +important information, as it gives you specific rights and +tells you about restrictions in how the file may be used. + +*** +This etext was created by Charles Aldarondo (Aldarondo@yahoo.com). + +TOWN & COUNTRY. + +OR LIFE AT HOME AND ABROAD, WITHIN & WITHOUT US. + +BY JOHN S. ADAMS. + +BOSTON: + +1855. + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + + + +SAVED BY KINDNESS +THE LOVE OF ELINORE +'TIS SWEET TO BE REMEMBERED +I CALL THEE MINE +THE OLD TREE AND ITS LESSON +VOICES FROM THE SPIRIT LAND +THE BEACON LIGHT +BEAR UP +A WELCOME SONG TO SPRING +THE HOPE OF THE FALLEN +THOUGHTS THAT COME FROM LONG AGO +DETERMINED TO BE RICH +THE HEAVEN-SENT, HEAVEN-RETURNED +FLOWERS, BRIGHT FLOWERS +FORGET ME NOT +WHAT IS TRUTH +THE HOMESTEAD VISIT +THE MARINER'S SONG +LOVE'S LAST WORDS +LIGHT IN DARKNESS +MT. VERNON, AND THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON +FREEDOM'S GATHERING +SONG OF THE BIRD +I CHANGE BUT IN DYING +HE IS THY BROTHER +THE WINE-DEALER'S CLERK +ANGELINA +FAREWELL, MY NATIVE LAND +UNLEARNED TO LOVE +WHAT WAS IT? +LETTERS AND LETTER-WRITING +A VISION OF REALITY +JEWELS OF THE HEART +LIGHT FROM A BETTER LAND +POOR AND WEARY +THE BANDBOX MOVEMENT +NEW ENGLAND HOMES +LOVE THAT WANES NOT. +ONWARD COURAGEOUSLY +A FOREST PIC-NIC SONG +THE WARRIOR'S BRIDE +THE ADVENT OF HOPE +CHILD AND SIRE +A BROTHER'S WELCOME +THE IMMENSITY OF CREATION +A VISION OF HEAVEN +THERE'S HOPE FOR THEE YET +SOLILOQUY OVER THE GRAVE OF A WIFE +THE FUGITIVES +THE UNIVERSAL JUBILEE +THE BATTLE OF THE RED MEN +SUNLIGHT ON THE SOUL +A SONG FROM THE ABSENT +TO THE LOVED ONE AT HOME +TWILIGHT FOREST HYMN +THE SUMMER SHOWER +AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN AUTOMATON +TO THE UNKNOWN DONOR OF A BOUQUET +TO A SISTER IN HEAVEN +I DREAMED OF THEE LAST NIGHT, LOVE +THEY TELL OF HAPPY BOWERS +MAN CANNOT LIVE AND LOVE NOT +BETTER THAN GOLD +GONE AWAY +LINES TO MY MIFE +CHEER UP +TRUST THOU IN GOD +THE MINISTRATION OF SORROW +GIVING PUBLICITY TO BUSINESS +THE MISSION OF KINDNESS +A PLEA FOR THE FALLEN +JOY BEYOND +THE SUMMER DAYS ARE COMING +THE MAN WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING +PRIDE AND POVERTY +WORDS THAT TOUCH THE INNER HEART +OUR HOME +SPECULATION AND ITS CONSEQUENCE +RETROSPECTION +NATURE'S FAIR DAUGHTER, BEAUTIFUL WATER +THE TEST OF FRIENDSHIP +WEEP NOT +RICH AND POOR +THE HOMEWARD BOUND +THE POOR OF EARTH +IF I DON'T OTHERS WILL +NOT MADE FOR AN EDITOR +HERE'S TO THE HEART THAT'S EVER BRIGHT +MORNING BEAUTY +THE RECOMPENSE OF GOODNESS +BRIDAL SONGS +THE JUG AFLOAT +GIVE, AND STAY THEIR MISERY +THE SPIRIT OF MAN +PAUSE AND THINK +LITTLE NELLY +WE SHALL ALL BE HAPPY SOON +REUNION +THE VILLAGE MYSTERY +THE WAYSIDE DEATH +BEAUTY AND INNOCENCE +NIGHT +NOT DEAD, BUT CHANGED +THE DISINHERITED +THE SEASONS ALL ARE BEAUTIFUL +SPRING +A TEXT FOR A LIFETIME +NOW CLOSE THE BOOK + + + + + + +TOWN AND COUNTRY. + +SAVED BY KINDNESS. + +A kind word is of more value than gold or precious stones. + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + + + +"THEN you are here!" said a stern, gruff voice, addressing a pale, +sickly-looking youth, whose frame trembled and whose lip quivered as +he approached one who sat at the side of a low pine table;--it was +his master, a man of about forty, of athletic form, and of power +sufficient to crush the feeble youth. + +"Well," he continued, "if you are sure that you gave it to him, go +to bed; but mind you, whisper-breathe not the secret to a living +soul, on peril of your life! You may evade my grasp, but like blood +I will track you through life, and add a bitter to your every cup of +sweet." + +The lad had no sooner left the room than a man entered, whose +carelessly arranged apparel and excited appearance indicated that +something of vast importance-at least, as far as he was +concerned-burthened his mind. + +"Harry," he said, throwing himself upon a chair, "I fear we are +betrayed-discovered--completely used up." + +"Discovered!" shouted the person addressed. "How? where? why?" + +"It is so, friend Harry. The boy you sent made a sad error." + +"Then murder the boy!" and, clutching a dagger, he motioned to leave +the room, and would have done so to plunge it in the bosom of the +lad, had not his informant interfered, and thus prevented him from +executing so rash and cruel an act. + +"What!-I will-will do it!" he shouted, endeavoring to release +himself from the hands of the other. + +"Never!" was the bold, unwavering response. "Move a step, and death +shall be thy doom. Seest thou that?" and the speaker drew from his +bosom a richly-mounted pistol. + +"Doubtless thou art right," said Harry, in a more calm manner; "the +excitement of the moment urged me to desperation, and, if any but +you had arisen in my path, the glistening steel should have met his +heart. But, Bill, how,--I am confused, my eyes swim,--tell me, how are +we discovered? Must the last act in the great drama of our +fortune-making be crushed in the bud?-and who dare do it?" + +"If you will restrain your indignation, I will tell you." + +"A hard task, yet I will try." + +"That answer will not do; you must say something more positive." + +"Then I say, I will." + +"Enough,--the boy Sim handed the note to the kitchen-girl." + +"But, Bill, think you she suspected its contents?" + +"That I cannot say, but she is inquisitive, and has been known to +unseal letters committed to her care, by some ingenious way she has +invented. She looked uncommonly wise when she handed it to me and +said, 'Mr. Bang, that's of no small importance to you.'" + +"The deuce she did! I fear she deserves the halter," said Harry. + +"What, with the h off?" + +"No, there is too much Caudleism in her to make her worthy of that; +but this is no time for our jokes. Your suspicions are too true; but +how shall we act? what plans shall we adopt?" + +"None, Harry, but this;--we must act as though we were the most +honest men on earth, and act not as though we suspected any of +suspecting us." + +"O, yes, I understand you, Bill; we must not suspect anything wrong +in her." + +"That's it," answered Bill, and, plunging his hand into his pocket, +he drew from thence a small scrap of greasy, pocket-worn paper, and +read a few words in a low whisper to his friend Harry. A nod from +the latter signified his approval. He returned the mysterious +memorandum to his pocket, and planting upon his head a poor, very +poor apology for a hat, swung his body round a few times on his +heel, and leaving the house; pushed open a small wicket-gate, and +entered the street. He hurriedly trudged along, heaping silent +curses upon the head of Harry's boy, the kitchen-girl, and sundry +other feminine and masculine members of the human family not yet +introduced to the reader. + +Bold Bill gone, Harry sat for some considerable length of time +ruminating upon the strange turn affairs had taken, and indulging in +vague speculations upon whether the next would be as unfavorable; +and at this point of our story we will divulge somewhat of his +history. + +Henry Lang had been in years past a man well-to-do in the world; he +was once a merchant respected for his strict integrity and +punctuality in business affairs; but by a false step, a making haste +to be rich, he was ruined. The great land speculation of '37 and +thereabout was the chief, and in fact the only cause of his +misfortune. On one day he could boast of his thousands, and no paper +held better credit than that signed or endorsed by him. The next, +the bubble broke, his fortune was scattered, his riches took to +themselves wings and flew away, his creditors, like vultures, +flocked around and speedily devoured what little remained of his +once large possessions. He was a man easily affected by such +occurrences, and they deeply wounded his sensitive feelings. What +should he do? He looked around upon those who once professedly loved +him; but no hand was extended, no heart sympathized with him in the +hour of trouble. He left his country, and with it a wife and one +child, a daughter, lovely, if not in personal appearance, in highly +virtuous and intellectual qualities, which, after all, will be +admitted to be of more value than that which time withers and +sickness destroys. + +With a sad heart Mr. Lang left these and the spot of earth around +which many fond recollections clustered. After twenty months of +tedious wanderings, he returned, but he was a changed man; his +ambitious spirit had been crushed, all his hopes: had departed, and +he gave himself up to the fanciful freaks of a disordered mind. +Defeated in his honest endeavors to obtain a livelihood, he was now +seeking out dishonest ways and means to retrieve his fallen fortune. +He sought for those of a kindred spirit, nor was he long in finding +such; in a short time he became acquainted, and soon after +connected, with a gang of adventurous men, about six in number, who +by various fraudulent means were each amassing much wealth. + +"And he deserted me in this my time of need! Can it be true that he +has gone? For him I would willingly have endured any privation. Did +he not know that my love was strong? Could he not believe me when I +said, that, as I joyed with him in his prosperity, I would mourn +with him in its reverse?-that I could ever be near to comfort and +console,--one with him at all times, under all circumstances?" + +"Comfort yourself, dear mother!" said a calm voice, "Remember that +these trials are for our good, and that the sorrows of earth are but +to prepare us for the joys of heaven. Cheer up, mother! let those +thoughts rejoice thy heart! Despair not, but take courage!" + +With such words did the daughter administer consolation to the +afflicted, when hearing that her husband had forsaken her and sailed +for a foreign port. It was indeed a heavy blow, and she felt it +severely. She could have endured the thought of having all her +earthly possessions taken from her,--but to be deserted, to be left +at such a time dependent upon the charities of the world for a +subsistence, such a thought she was not prepared to withstand. + +The few words of Julia having been said, a deep silence for some +moments pervaded the room. She sat and gazed up into the face of her +mother, whose tears bore witness to the deep anguish of her soul. +The silence was interrupted by the rising of the latter, who for a +few moments paced the room, and then sank helplessly into a chair. +The attentive child sprang to her relief, a few neighbors were +called in, she was laid upon her bed. That night a severe attack of +fever came upon her; for many days her life was despaired of; but at +length a ray of hope cheered the solitude of the chamber of the +sick, and at the close of six weeks her health was in a great degree +restored. + +"Time heals all wounds," is a common saying, true in some cases, but +not in all. Some wounds there are that sink deep in the heart,--their +pain even time cannot remedy, but stretch far into eternity, and +find their solace there. Others there are which by time are +partially healed;--such was that of Mrs. Lang. During her sickness, +many of the little incidents that before had troubled her passed +from her mind. She now yielded submissively to her sad allotment, +believing, as during her sickness she had often been told, that +afflictions come but for our own good, however paradoxical such a +statement might seem to be. + +The kindness of a neighbor enabled her, with her daughter, to remove +their place of residence. This neighbor-a lady of moderate pecuniary +circumstances-furnished them with needle-work, the compensation for +which enabled them to obtain supplies necessary for a comfortable +living. + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +For some time Mr. Henry Lang sat with his head resting upon his +hands, and with them upon the table. Deep silence prevailed, broken +only, at lengthy intervals, by the loud laugh following the merry +jest of some passer-by, or the dismal creaking of the swing-sign of +an adjacent tavern. + +How long Mr. Lang might have remained in that position is not for us +to determine. But it would have been much longer, had not a loud rap +at the outer door awakened him from his drowsy condition. + +He started at the sound, and, taking in his hand a dim-burning +candle, proceeded to answer the call. Opening the door, a man +closely enveloped in a large cloak and seal-skin cap, the last of +which hung slouchingly about his head and face, inquired, in a +gruff, ill-mannered voice, whether a person unfavorably known to the +police as "Bold Bill" had been there. Harry trembled, knowing his +interrogator to be one of the city watch; yet he endeavored to +conceal his fears and embarrassment by a forced smile, and remarked: + +"That is indeed a strange name, and one of which I have never before +heard. Tell me what he has been about." + +"Why do you think he has been about anything, or why think you I am +acquainted with his actions?" inquired the stranger, in a stern +voice, as though the supreme majesty of the law represented by him +was not to be spoken lightly of. His scrutinizing features relaxed +not in the least, but he looked our hero steadfastly in the face. + +"By the appearance of your dress I judge you to be a watchman, and +as such I suppose you to be in search of that odd-named person on +account of his being suspected of having broken the law." + +"You are right," answered the officer. "I am a watchman! The +authority invested in me is great. I trust I duly appreciate it. I +guard your dwelling when you are slumbering, unconscious of what +takes place around you." + +"You are very kind," remarked Harry, suddenly interrupting him, and +speaking rather ironically than otherwise. + +The watchman continued: "Life is to me nothing unless I can employ +it in doing good. Do you understand me?" + +"Perfectly." + +"Will you walk in?" inquired Mr. Lang, as a sudden gust of wind +nearly extinguished his light. + +"No, I thank you; that would be of no service to my fellow-men; and, +as I am in search of the man who committed the robbery, ten minutes +ago, upon Mr. Solomon Cash, the broker, I must-" + +"Robbery!" exclaimed Harry, appearing perfectly astonished at the +thought. "O, the degeneracy of the nineteenth century,--the +sinfulness of the age!" + +"Amen!" responded the officer; and, pulling his large, loose cloak +more closely about him, he made a motion to continue on in the +service of his fellow-men. + +"But wait, my good man," said Harry. "Am I to suppose, from what you +said, that 'Bold Bill' is the perpetrator of this base crime?" + +"Precisely so," was the laconic reply; and the man moved on in +execution of his benevolent designs. + +"He should be brought to justice," said Harry, as he turned to +enter. No sooner, however, had he closed the door, than he burst +forth in a loud laugh. This was soon changed to seriousness, for he +became confident that his friend Bill was in danger. To shield him, +if guilty, from detection, and protect him, if innocent, was now his +great object. But where should he find him? That was a problem he +could not solve. The boy was sleeping soundly; he must awaken him, +he must go out in search of his friend. + +With this intention, he dressed himself in a stout, heavy overcoat, +and, locking the door hurriedly, walked up the street. On he went, +as though his life depended upon whether he reached a certain square +at a certain time. He looked at nothing save some far-distant +object, from which, as it approached, he withdrew his eyes, and +fixed them on an object yet distant. Turning a corner, a collision +took place between him and another man, who appeared to be in as +much haste as himself. He was about to proceed, when he who had met +him so abruptly struck him very familiarly upon the shoulder, +saying, as he did so, "Harry, how are you?-good luck-tin-lots of +it-watch-haste." + +The person thus addressed was not long in discovering who it was +that spoke to him, and from his words and actions that he had reason +to be in some haste. It was he for whom he was in search; and, being +aware that the nature of the case demanded despatch, he cordially +grasped his hand, and, without another word between them, they in a +short time reached the dwelling of Mr. Lang. + +"What are the facts now?" inquired Harry, after having narrated the +incident that had occurred since he left, namely, the watchman's +visit. + +"Then you think there is no danger in my staying here?" inquired +Bill. + +"Not in the least," replied Harry; "for I positively asserted that +you was not here, and strongly intimated that I knew no person of +your name. Danger! there is none; so proceed, friend Bill,--but a +little wine." + +Wine is an indispensable with all rogues; it nerves to lawlessness, +and induces them, when under its influence, to commit acts which in +their sober moments they would scorn to perform. + +The wine-glass emptied, Bill proceeded in his narrative. + +"When I left here, I started intending in a direct course to go +home. Musingly I walked along, cursing my fate, and several other +things, too numerous to mention, and speculating upon the probable +success of our scheme, till I arrived in front of the old broker's. +He was just putting up his iron-clamped shutters. I was on the +opposite side, at some distance, yet not so far but that I plainly +saw him enter and pack snugly away in his little black trunk divers +articles of apparently great worth. I carelessly jingled the last +change in my pocket, of value about a dollar or so; and the thought +of soon being minus cash nerved me to the determination of robbing +the broker. Thus resolved, I hid myself behind a pile of boxes that +seemed placed there on purpose, till I heard the bolt spring, and +saw the broker, with the trunk beneath his arm, walk away. As he +entered that dark passage, 'Fogg-lane,' I pulled my cap down over my +face, and dogged him, keeping the middle of the passage; and, seeing +a favorable opportunity, I sprang upon him from behind, and snatched +the box; then left him to his fate. + +"I ran off as fast as my legs, urged on by the cry of 'stop thief,' +would carry me. Notwithstanding the speed at which I ran, I found +the crowd bearing down upon me; and, my hope almost failing, I had +resolved to give in and suffer the consequences, when, seeing a dark +lane, I ran into it, then dodged behind a pump. The crowd ran on; I +found I had escaped. Now, Harry, a friendly shake in honor of my +good luck." + +"As you say," answered Harry, "and it is my humble opinion you are +not entirely free from change." + +"Really, Harry, I don't know what the box contains; however, 't is +confounded heavy. It is full of gold or iron." + +"My face for a scrubber, if small change is n't pretty much the +contents; the fourpences and dimes lie pretty near together, friend +Bill." "But," continued Harry, "'t is best to secrete yourself, box +and all, till the law dogs are silenced. If they come here, I will +throw them a bone; but hark!-" + +The two remained silent; for the sound of approaching footsteps +momentarily grew more distinct. It sounded nearer, and now was in +front of the door. + +"To the closet," whispered Harry; and in a moment Mr. Lang was the +only occupant of the room. He was right in his supposition; for the +door opened; and the same man, in the same cloak, with the same +consequential air, accompanied by others, entered abruptly, and +interrogated Harry rather closely. "Positively, I know nothing about +him," said Mr. Lang. This declaration seemed to have a wonderful +effect upon each of the officers. They gazed steadfastly at him, +then at each other, and their features indicated their belief in +what he said. + +"Benevolent as I am," said the officer, "I must require a strict +search;--not that we suspect him to be on your premises, noble sir, +but my duty demands it." + +The officer, having thus far declared what he thought to be his +duty, proceeded to its performance by pushing open the doors through +which egress could be had to the street, and all others. As chance +would have it, the right door was by them unobserved. But where was +the fugitive? He had been hurried into a closet. It was not after +the manner of most closets. It was about three feet square, at one +side of which was a door communicating with the cellar, through +which any person might pass, and from thence into the street. He +could not stand long and listen to the loud converse of those +without. He felt himself in danger if he remained, and determined +upon leaving the closet. So, having passed into the cellar, he +entered the street. + +The night was dark; the hour late, and no persons stirring. Softly +he crept beneath the window, and, perceiving none in the room but +Harry, softly tapped the glass. Mr. Lang raised his arm, by which +signal Bill understood that he was aware of his having left the +closet. Then through back lanes, seldom pedestrianated, and narrow +passages, he wended his way, with his stolen treasure closely held +beneath the loose folds of his jacket. He passed on, till, reaching +a dark street, he beheld a dim light in a low oyster-cellar; he +entered. A black fellow was the proprietor, cook, &c. Bill asked for +lodgings. + +"Well, massa, dem I 'ave; but I always take pay in advance from +gemmen." + +Bill asked the price. + +"Wall, 'tis fourpance on a chest, and threepance on de floor." + +Mr. Bang availed himself of the best accommodations, and accepted +the chest. He stretched himself upon it, having settled the bill, +but slept little. His mind was continually roaming. Now he imagined +himself in the closet, with scarcely room to breathe, and an +officer's hand on the latch; now groping along untraversed paths, +till, falling into some hole, he awoke from his revery. + +'T was near the dawn of day when, from his house, accompanied by the +boy, Mr. Lang passed out in search of Bill. A light rain was +falling, and in perspective he saw a dull, drizzly sort of a day,--a +bad air for a low-spirited individual. The "blues" are contagious on +such a day. Yet he strove to keep his spirits up, and to make the +best of a bad job. + +As he passed by the office of the broker, he perceived a crowd, and +many anxious inquiries were heard respecting the robbery. It +appeared the broker had received but little injury, and was as busy +as any one in endeavoring to find out the rogue. Harry put on as +bold a face as possible, and inquired of the broker the +circumstances, which he very minutely narrated. + +"Have you any suspicions of any one?" inquired Mr. Lang. + +"Of no one," was the brief response. + +"It would be very sad if the rascal could not be found," continued +Mr. Lang. "The gallows is too good for one who would make such a +cowardly attack, and treat with such baseness one who never harmed +his fellow." + +"I am of your opinion," answered the broker; and the two, having +thus fully expressed their opinion, parted. + +Mr. Lang was not much troubled in finding his companion. He entered +the cellar just as the latter had arisen from his chesty couch, and +a cordial grasp of the hand bore witness that friends had met. + +Both were aware that the place in which they were was not of very +good repute, and made all possible haste to remove. But, to effect +this successfully, it was necessary that Mr. Lang should have a +change of dress. + +He was making this change when half a dozen men unexpectedly +entered. "You are my prisoner," said one, catching hold of Mr. Lang +by the coat-collar. "Tropes, secure the other." + +They were now both in custody, and the officers, after a little +search, discovered the broken box, and arrested the black man. + +"For what am I arrested?" inquired Mr. Lang. + +"That you will soon know," was the reply. + +"But I demand an answer now. I will not move a step till I get it." + +"What! what's that?" said a stout, rough-looking man, striking the +prisoner, and treating him more like a dog than what he was. + +"I demand an answer to my inquiry. For what am I arrested?" + +"He's a dangerous man," remarked another of the officers; "it's best +to put him in irons;" whereupon he drew from a capacious pocket a +pair of rusty manacles. Mr. Lang, and his two fellows in trouble, +found it best to coolly submit, and did so. Five minutes passed, and +the cold walls of a prison enclosed them. + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +Daylight breaks, and the dwellers upon a thousand hills rejoice in +the first rays of the morning sun. + +"Didst thou ever hear that promise, 'God will provide'? inquired a +pale, yet beautiful girl, as she bent over the form of a feverish +woman, in a small, yet neatly-furnished room. + +"Yes," was the reply; "and he who allows not a sparrow to fall +unnoticed, shall he not much more care for us? Yes, Julia, God will +provide. My soul, trust thou in God!" + +It was Mrs. Lang. The good lady who had befriended her was suddenly +taken ill, and as suddenly died. Mrs. Lang, with her daughter, left +the house, and, hiring a small room at an exorbitant rent, +endeavored, by the use of her needle, to live. She labored hard; the +morning's first light found her at her task, and midnight's silent +hour often found her there. The daughter too was there; together +they labored, and together shared the joys and sorrows of a worse +than widowed and orphaned state. Naturally of a feeble constitution, +Mrs. Lang could not long bear up under that labor, and fell. Then +that daughter was as a ministering angel, attending and watching +over her, and anticipating her every want. Long was she obliged to +labor to provide the necessaries of life; often working hard, and +receiving but ten to fifteen cents a day for that which, if paid for +as it should be, would have brought her a dollar. It was after +receiving her small pittance and having returned to her home, that +the words at the commencement of this chapter fell from her lips. +Her mother, with deep solicitude, inquired her success. + +"He says he can get those duck trousers made for three cents, and +that, if I will not make them for that, he can give me no more work. +You know, mother, that I work eighteen hours of the twenty-four, and +can but just make two pair,--that would be but six cents a day." + +"My child," said the mother, rising with unusual strength, "refuse +such a slavish offer. Let him not, in order to enrich himself, by +degrees take your life. Death's arrows have now near reached you. Do +not thus wear out your life. Let us die!" + +She would have said more; but, exhausted by the effort, she sank +back upon her pillow. Then came the inquiry, "Didst thou ever hear +that promise, 'God will provide'?" + +The question had been put, and the answer given, when a slight rap +at the door was heard. Julia opened it; a small package was hastily +thrust into her hand, and the bearer of it hasted away. It was a +white packet, bound with white ribbon, and with these words, "Julia +Lang," legibly written upon it. She opened it; a note fell upon the +floor; she picked it up, and read as follows: + +Enclosed you will find four five-dollar bills. You are in want; use +them, and, when gone, the same unknown hand will grant you more. + +"Let me break now a secret to you which I believe it is my duty to +divulge. You will recollect that your father mysteriously abandoned +you. He is now in this city, in--street jail, awaiting his trial. +I am confident that he is innocent, and will be honorably acquitted; +and I am as confident that it needs but your presence and your kind +entreaty to bring him back once again to his family and friends. I +have spoken to him, but my words have had no effect except when I +spoke of his family. Then I could see how hard he strove to conceal +a tear, and that I had found a tender chord, that needed but your +touch to cause it to work out a reformatory resolution. + +"I write because Mr. Lang was a friend of mine in his days of +prosperity. I know he has no heart for dishonesty; but, thinking +himself deserted by those who should cling to him, he madly resolved +to give himself up, and follow where fate should lead. Yours, truly, +"CHARLES B--. + +N.B. Others have also spoken with him; but their appeals have been +in vain. If you will be at the corner of L--avenue and W--street, +at three o'clock to-day, a carriage will be in readiness to convey +you to his presence. C. B. + +Anxiously did Mrs. Lang watch the features of her child as she stood +perusing the letter; and as she sat down with it unfolded, +apparently in deep thought, her inquisitiveness increased. She +inquired-she was told all. "Go," said she to her daughter, "and may +the blessings of Heaven attend you!" + +Julia stood wondering. She had doubted before; she feared it might +be the scheme of some base intriguer; but now her doubts vanished, +and hope cheered her on. + +Long seemed the intervening hours, and many were the predictions +made concerning the success of her mission; yet she determined to +go, in the spirit of Martin Luther, though every stone in the prison +should arise to persecute her. + +The appointed hour came, and, letter in hand, she left her room, and +repaired to the spot. There she found a carriage; and the driver, +who, it appeared, was acquainted with her, inquired whether she +desired to go to--street jail. Replying in the affirmative, she +entered, and the carriage drove off. When she had reached the +street, and came in full view of the prison, her timidity almost +overcame her; but, recollecting the object she had in view, she +resisted a desire that involuntarily arose to return. + +"Is the warden in?" inquired the driver of the gate-keeper. + +"He is;--another feast for the lion, eh?" and the keeper, who had +more self-assurance than manners, having laughed at his own +nonsense, pulled a bell-cord, and the warden appeared. + +"The gentleman who came this morning to see Mr. Lang wished me to +bring this young lady here, and introduce her to you as Mr. Lang's +daughter." Having said this, the hack-man let down the steps, and +aided her out. The gate-keeper retired into a sort of sentry-box, +and amused himself by peeping over the window-curtain, laughing very +immoderately when anything serious was said, and sustaining a very +grave appearance when anything having a shade of comicality +occurred. + +The warden very politely conducted Julia into his office, and soon +after into the jail. It was a long building inside of a building, +with two rows of cells one above the other, each numbered, and upon +each door a card, upon which was written, in characters only known +to the officers of the prison, the prisoner's name, crime, term of +imprisonment, and general conduct whilst confined. + +As Mr. Lang was waiting trial, he was not in one of these cells, but +in one of large dimensions, and containing more conveniences. + +As they entered, he was seated at a small table, with pen, ink and +paper, engaged in writing. He did not at first recognize his child, +but in a moment sprang to her, and clasping her in his arms, said, +"My child." + +Such a change in him needs some explanation. + +After being committed to prison, his first thought was upon the +change of his condition from what it formerly was; and his first +resolution was to reform. He thought of the deep plots he and his +companion had laid to amass a fortune; but, supposing that the +latter would be convicted, and condemned to serve a long time in +confinement, he concluded that that scheme was exploded. + +"Yet," thought he, "if there be none on earth I can call my +friends,--if my family forsake me (yet just would it be in them +should they reject my company),--of what avail would my reformation +be, except to a few dogging creditors, who would jeer and scoff at +me at every corner, and attempt to drive me back to my present +situation? It might be some satisfaction to them to see me return; +but what feelings would it arouse within me,--with what hatred would +I view mankind! No; if none will utter a kind word to me, let me +continue on; let the prison be my home, and the gallows my end, +rather than attempt to reform while those who were once my friends +stand around to drive me lack by scoffing remarks!" + +Such were the sincere thoughts of Mr. Lang. He would return, but +none stood by to welcome him. A few had visited him, most of whom +had severely reflected upon his misdeeds. They opened a dark +prospect for him in the future. "Now," said they, "you must here +remain; receive retribution for your evil deeds, and a sad warning +to others not to follow in your steps, lest they arrive at the same +goal." Was there encouragement in this? Surely not; he deemed them +not the words of friendship, and he was right in his judgment. + +"Why did you visit this dark prison?" inquired Mr. Lang. + +"Because you are here, father!" was the artless reply. + +"And could you forgive your father? How could you seek him, when he +forsook you?" Mr. Lang could not make this last observation without +becoming affected even to tears. + +Julia seemed to take courage; new energies seemed to be imparted to +her. She felt an unseen influence at her side, and a holy calmness +resting upon her soul. + +"Prison-walls cannot bar you from my heart, though in the worst +place on earth. Though friends laugh me to scorn when I seek your +presence, you are my father still, and ungrateful would I be did I +not own you as such! + +"In thinking of the present, I do not forget the past; I remember +the days of old, the years in which we were made glad;--and you, +father, when free from these walls, will you not return again to +your family, and make home what it once was? To-day I will see Mr. +Legrange; he wants a clerk, and, by a little persuasion, I am +certain I can get you the situation. Will you not reform?" + +She could say no more; yet her actions spoke louder than words could +possibly do, and her imploring attitude went home to the heart of +her parent. He, for the first time since the commencement of his +wayward course, felt that the hand of sympathy was extended to greet +him, should he make a motion to return. And why should he not grasp +it? He did. There, in that prison-cell, upon his knees, he promised +to repent and return. + +"Pleasant residence, Miss!" said the gate-keeper, as our heroine +left the yard, and then laughed as though he had committed a pun +that would immortalize him from that time forth. + +She noticed not his ill-mannered remark, but, reentering the +carriage, thought of nothing but the joy her mother would feel upon +learning her success, till the carriage stopped and the driver let +down the steps. Having related her adventure, she left her home with +the intention of seeing Mr. Legrange. + +Mr. Legrange was a merchant on Cadiz wharf; he was wealthy, and as +benevolent as wealthy. Notices were often seen in the papers of +large donations from him to worthy institutions, sometimes one and +sometimes three thousand dollars. His fellow-men looked upon him as +a blessing to the age. There was no aristocracy in him; he did not +live like a prince in the costliest house in the city, but a small, +neat tenement was pointed out as his abode. Not only was he called +the "Poor Man's Friend," but his associate and companion. He did not +despise the poor man, and wisely thought that to do him good he must +live and be upon an equality with him. + +Mr. Legrange had just opened an evening paper, when a light rap at +his counting-house door induced him to lay it aside. Opening it, a +young woman inquired if Mr. Legrange was in. + +"That is my name," was the reply. "Good-morning, Miss Lang." + +Julia was rejoiced that she was recognized. She had not spoken to +Mr. Legrange since her father's failure in business; previous to +that sad occurrence she had known him personally, yet she scarcely +thought he would know her now. + +"This is a lovely day," said Mr. Legrange, handing her a chair. +"Your mother is well, I hope." + +"As well as might be expected: she will recover fast, now." + +"Indeed! What? Some glad news?" + +"Yes, sir; father is in the city, and has reformed." + +"Thank God for that!" said Mr. Legrange. "It is one of the blessings +of this life to hope for better days." + +"He has reformed," continued Miss Lang, "yet he may be led back +unless he gets steady employment; and I heard that--" + +"--that I want a clerk," said Mr. Legrange, anticipating her in her +remarks; "and," continued he, "your father is just the man I want. I +knew him in his better days, before a fatal misstep felled him to +the ground. Miss Lang, let your father call next Tuesday; to-morrow +I start on a journey, and shall not return till then." + +With many sincere thanks, Julia left the room; her heart overflowed +with gratitude to the Giver of all things. She saw his hand and felt +his presence. + +It was well that Mr. Legrange was about to leave the city, as Mr. +Lang's examination was to be had the next day, and Mrs. Lang and her +daughter confidently expected he would be acquitted. + +The morrow came; the examination began and terminated as they had +expected. William Bang was remanded back to prison to await his +trial for robbery. Mr. Lang was acquitted, and, joining a company of +friends whom Julia had collected, left for the residence of his +family. + +What a meeting was that! Angels could but weep for joy at such a +scene, and drop their golden harps to wipe away their tears of +gladness. Long had been their separation. What scenes had the +interval disclosed! And how changed were all things! She was in +health when he left, but now in sickness; yet it was not strange. + +That day was the happiest he had spent for many months, and he +rejoiced that an angel of light, his daughter, had sought him out. +She had been, indeed, a ministering spirit of good to him, and in +the happy scene then around her she found her reward,--O, how +abundant! + +With a light and joyous step did Henry Lang repair to the store of +Mr. Legrange. The sun's rays were just peering over the house-tops, +and he thought that he, like that sun, was just rising from +degradation to assume new life, and put forth new energy. + +We need not lengthen out our the by narrating what there ensued. He +that day commenced his clerkship, and to this day holds it. He often +received liberal donations from his employer in token of his regard +for him, and by way of encouraging him in his attempts to regain his +lost fortune. + +It was on a December evening that a family circle had gathered +around their fireside. The wild wind whistled furiously around, and +many a poor wight lamented the hard fate that led him abroad to +battle the storm. "Two years ago this night," said the man, "where +was I? In an obscure house, planning out a way to injure a +fellow-man! Yea, would you believe it? the very man who has since +been my benefactor,--my employer!" + +The door-bell rang, and the conversation was abruptly terminated. + +In a few minutes none other than Mr. Legrange entered; he received a +hearty welcome, and was soon engaged in conversation. + +"Mr. Lang," said he, as he was about to depart, "your daughter +remembers receiving an anonymous letter signed 'Charles B--.' I do +not say it to please my own vanity, but I ordered my clerk to write +it, and sent it by my son. I thought of you when you little thought +you had a friend on earth who cared for you, and rejoice that I have +been the humble instrument in effecting your reformation." + +"Here," he continued, handing him a paper, "this is the deed of a +house on--street, valued at eight thousand dollars; accept it as a +present from me to you and your family, and remember this, that a +kind word is of more value than gold or precious stones. It was that +which saved you, and by that you may save others. Good-evening; I +will see you at the store tomorrow." + +Having said this, he left, waiting not to receive the thanks that +grateful hearts desired to render him. + +And now, reader, our story is ended. If you have followed us thus +far, neglect not to receive what we have faintly endeavored to +inculcate; and ever remember, while treading life's thorny vale, +that "a kind word is of more value than gold or precious stones." + + + + + + +THE LOVE OF ELINORE. + + + + + + SHE stood beside the sea-shore weeping, + While above her stars were keeping + Vigils o'er the silent deep; + While all others, wearied, slumbered, + She the passing moments numbered, + She a faithful watch did keep. + Him she loved had long departed, + And she wandered, broken-hearted, + Breathing songs he loved to hear. + Friends did gather round to win her, + But the thoughts that glowed within her + Were to her most fond and dear. + In her hand she held bright flowers, + Culled from Nature's fairest bowers; + On her brow, from moor and heath, + Bright green leaves and flowers did cluster, + Borrowing resplendent lustre + From the eyes that shone beneath. + Rose the whisper, "She is crazy," + When she plucked the blooming daisy, + Braiding it within her hair; + But they knew not, what of gladness + Mingled with her notes of sadness, + As she laid it gently there. + For her loved one, ere he started, + While she still was happy-hearted, + Clipped a daisy from its stem, + Placed it in her hair, and told her, + Till again he should behold her, + That should be her diadem. + At the sea-side she was roaming, + When the waves were madly foaming, + And when all was calm and mild, + Singing songs,--she thought he listened,-- + And each dancing wave that glistened + Loved she as a little child. + For she thought, in every motion + Of the ceaseless, moving ocean, + She could see a friendly hand + Stretched towards the shore imploring, + Where she stood, like one adoring, + Beckoning to a better land. + When the sun was brightly shining, + When the daylight was declining, + On the shore she'd watch and wait, + Like an angel, heaven-descending, + 'Mid the ranks of mortals wending, + Searching for a missing mate. + Years passed on, and when the morning + Of a summer's day gave warning + Of the sweets it held in store, + By the dancing waves surrounded, + Like a fairy one she bounded + To her lover's arms once more. + Villagers thus tell the story, + And they say a light of glory + Hovereth above the spot + Where for days and years she waited, + With a love all unabated, + And a faith that faltered not. + There's a stone that is uplifted, + Where the wild sea-flowers have drifted; + Fonder words no stone o'er bore; + And the waves come up to greet them, + Seeming often to repeat them, + While afar their echoes roar- + "DEATHLESS LOVE OF ELINORE." + + + + + + +'TIS SWEET TO BE REMEMBERED. + + + + + + 'T IS sweet to be remembered + In the turmoil of this life, + While toiling up its pathway, + While mingling in its strife, + While wandering o'er earth's borders, + Or sailing o'er its sea,-- + 'T is sweet to be remembered + Wherever we may be. + What though our path be rugged, + Though clouded be our sky, + And none we love and cherish, + No friendly one is nigh, + To cheer us in our sorrow, + Or share with us our lot,-- + 'T is sweet to be remembered, + To know we're not forgot. + When those we love are absent + From our hearth-stone and our side, + With joy we learn that pleasure + And peace with them abide; + And that, although we're absent, + We're thought of day by day;-- + 'T is sweet to be remembered + By those who are away. + When all our toils are ended, + The conflict all is done, + And peace, in sweetest accents, + Proclaims the victory won; + When hushed is all the tumult, + When calmed is all the strife, + And we, in patience, meekly + Await the end of life: + Then they who, when not present, + In spirit yet were near, + And, as we toiled and struggled, + Did whisper in our ear, + "'Tis sweet to be remembered, + And thou art not forgot," + If fortune smile upon us, + Shall share our happy lot. + + + + + + +I CALL THEE MINE. + + + + + + YES, ever such I'll call thee, will ever call thee mine, + And with the love I bear thee a wreath of poesy twine; + And when the stars are shining in their bright home of blue, + Gazing on them, thou mayest know that I like them are true. + Forget thee! no, O, never! thy heart and mine are one. + How can the man who sees its light forget the noonday sun? + Or he who feels its genial warmth forget the orb above; + Or, feeling sweet affection's power, its source-another's love? + Go, ask the child that sleepeth upon its mother's breast + Whether it loves the pillow on which its head doth rest; + Go, ask the weary mariner, when the dangerous voyage is o'er, + Whether he loves the parent's smile that meets him at the door: + But ask not if I love thee when I would call thee mine, + For words are weak to tell thee all, and I the task resign; + But send thy spirit out for love, and when it finds its goal, + 'T will be encircled and embraced within my deepest soul. + + + + + + +THE OLD TREE AND ITS LESSON. + + + + + +THERE is a story about that old tree; a biography of that old +gnarled trunk and those broad-spread branches. + +Listen. + +Many, very many years ago,--there were forests then where now are +cities, and the Indian song was borne on that breeze which now bears +the sound of the Sabbath bell, and where the fire of the work-shop +sends up its dense, black smoke, the white cloud from the Indian's +wigwam arose,--yes, 't was many years ago, when, by the door of a +rough, rude, but serviceable dwelling, a little boy sat on an old +man's knee. He was a bright youth, with soft blue eyes, from which +his soul looked out and smiled, and hair so beautiful that it seemed +to be a dancing sunbeam rather than what it really was. + +The old man had been telling him of the past; had been telling him +that when he was a child he loved the forest, and the rock, and the +mountain stream. + +Then he handed the lad a small, very small seed, and, leading him a +short distance, bade him make a small hole in the ground and place +the seed within it. He did so. And the old man bent over and kissed +his fair brow as he smoothed the earth above the seed's +resting-place, and told him that he must water it and watch it, and +it would spring up and become a fair thing in his sight. + +'Twas hard for the child to believe this; yet he did believe, for he +knew that his friend was true. + +Night came; and, as he lay on his little couch, the child dreamed of +that seed, and he had a vision of the future which passed with the +shades of the night. + +Morning dawned, and he hastened to water and to watch the spot where +the seed was planted. + +It had not come up; yet he believed the good old man, and knew that +it would. + +All day long he was bending over it, or talking with his aged +companion about the buried seed. + +A few days passed, then a little sprout; burst from the ground; and +the child clapped his hands, and shouted and danced. + +Daily it grew fairer in the sight of the child, and rose higher and +higher. And the old man led him once more to the spot, and told him +that even so would the body of his little sister rise from the grave +in which a short time before it hid been placed, and, rising higher +and higher, it would never cease to ascend. + +The old man wept; but the child, with his tiny white hand, brushed +away his tears, and, with child-like simplicity, said that if his +sister arose she would go to God, for God was above. + +Then the mourner's heart was strengthened, and the lesson he would +have taught the child came from the child to him, and made his soul +glad. + +A few weeks passed, and the old man died. + +The child wept; but, remembering the good friend's lesson, he wiped +away his tears, and wept no more; for the seed had already become a +beautiful plant, and every day it went upward, and he knew that, +like that, his sister and his good friend would go higher and higher +towards God. + +Days, weeks, months, years passed away. The plant had grown till it +was taller than he who had planted it. + +Years fled. The child was no more there, but a young man sat beneath +the shade of a tree, and held a maiden's hand in his own. Her head +reclined on his breast, and her eyes upturned met the glances of his +towards her, and they blended in one. + +"I remember," said he, "that when I was young a good old man who is +now in heaven, led me to this spot, and bade me put a little seed in +the earth. I did so. I watched the ground that held it, and soon it +sprang up, touched by no hand, drawn forth, as it would seem, from +its dark prison by the attractive power of the bright heaven that +shone above it. See, now, what it has become! It shades and shelters +us. God planted in my heart a little seed. None but he could plant +it, for from him only emanates true love. It sprang up, drawn forth +by the sunlight of thy soul, till now thou art shadowed and +sheltered by it." + +There was silence, save the rustle of the leaves as the branches +bowed assent to the young man's words. + +Time drove his chariot on; his sickle-wheels smote to earth many +brave and strong, yet the tree stood. The winds blew fiercely among +its branches; the lightning danced and quivered above and around it; +the thunder muttered forth its threatenings; the torrent washed +about its roots; yet it stood, grew strong and stately, and many a +heart loved it for its beauty and its shade. + +The roll of the drum sounded, and beneath a tree gathered crowds of +stalwart men. There was the mechanic, with upturned sleeves and +dusty apron; the farmer, fanning himself with a dingy straw hat; the +professional man and trader, arguing the unrighteousness of +"taxation without representation." + +Another roll of the drum, and every head was uncovered as a young +man ascended a platform erected beneath the tree. In a soft, low +voice, he began. As he proceeded, his voice grew louder, and his +eloquence entranced his auditors. + +"Years ago," said he, "there were an old man and a young child. And +the child loved the man, and the man loved the child, and taught him +a lesson. He took him by the hand, and, leading him aside, gave him +a seed and told him to plant it. He did so. It sprang up. It became +mighty. Independent it stood, sheltering all who came unto it. That +old man went home; but here stands the child, and here the tree, +great and mighty now, but the child has not forgotten the day when +it was small and weak. So shall the cause we have this day espoused +go on; and though, to-day, we may be few and feeble, we shall +increase and grow strong, till we become an independent nation, that +shall shelter all who come unto it." + +The speaker ceased, and immediately the air resounded with loud +shouts and huzzas. + +The struggle for independence came. Victory ensued. Peace rested +once more upon all the land, But not as before. It rested upon a +free people. Then, beneath that same tree, gathered a mighty host; +and, as oft as came the second month of summer, in the early part of +it the people there assembled, and thanked God for the lesson of the +old tree. + +An old man lay dying. Around his bedside were his children and his +children's children. + +"Remove the curtain," said he. "Open the window. Raise me, and let +re see the sun once more." + +They did so. + +"See you yonder tree? Look upon it, and listen. I was a child once, +and I knew and loved an old man; and he knew me and loved me, and he +led me aside, placed in my hand a tiny seed, and bade me bury it in +the earth, and I did so. Night came, with its shade and its dew; +day, with its sunshine and its showers. And the seed sprang +up,--but the old man died. Yet, ere he went, he had taught me the +lesson of that seed, which was, that those who go down to the earth +like that, will arise, like that, towards heaven. You are looking +upon that tree which my friend planted. Learn from it the lesson it +hath taught me." + +The old man's task was performed, his life finished, and the +morrow's light lit the pathway of many to his grave. They stood +beneath the shadow of that tree; and deeply sank the truth in every +heart as the village pastor began the burial service and read, "I am +the resurrection and the life." + + + + + + +VOICES FROM THE SPIRIT-LAND. + + + + + + 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; + And they, words of comfort whispering, + Say they'll watch on every hand, + And my soul is cheered in hearing + Voices from the spirit-land. + In my wanderings, oft there cometh + Sudden stillness to my soul; + When around, above, within it + Rapturous joys unnumbered 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. + Loved ones who have gone before me + Whisper words of peace and joy; + Those who long since have departed + Tell me their divine employ + Is to watch and guard my footsteps,-- + O! it is an angel band! + And I love, I love to list to + Voices from the spirit-land. + + + + + + +THE BEACON-LIGHT. + + + + + + DIMLY burns the beacon-light + On the mountain top to-night; + Faint as whisper ever fell, + Falls the watcher's cry,--"All's well;" + For the clouds have met on high, + And the blast sweeps angry by; + Not a star is seen this night,-- + God, preserve the beacon-light! + Lo! a man whom age doth bow + Wanders up the pathway now; + Wistfully his eye he turns + To the light that dimly burns; + And, as it less glow doth shed, + Quicker, quicker is his tread; + And he prays that through the night + God may keep the beacon-light. + Far below him, rocks and waves + Mark the place of others' graves; + Other travellers, who, like him, + Saw the beacon-light burn dim. + But they trusted in their strength + To attain the goal at length;-- + This old traveller prays, to-night, + "God, preserve the beacon-light!" + Fainter, fainter is its ray,-- + Shall its last gleam pass away? + Shall it be extinguished quite? + Shall it burn, though not as bright? + Fervently goes up his prayer; + Patiently he waiteth there, + Trusting Him who doeth right + To preserve the beacon-light. + Look you now! the light hath burst + Brighter than it was at first; + Now with ten-fold radiance glows, + And the traveller homeward goes. + As the clouds grow darker o'er him, + Brighter grows the light before him; + God, who doeth all things right, + Hath preserved the beacon-light. + Thus upon the path we tread + God a guiding light hath shed; + Though at times our hearts are weary, + Though the path we tread is dreary, + Though the beacon's lingering ray + Seems as if 't would pass away,-- + Be our prayer, through all the night, + "God, preserve the beacon-light!" + Threatening clouds may gather o'er us, + Countless dangers rise before us: + If in God we seek for strength, + He will succor us at length: + He his holy light will send, + To conduct us to the end. + Trust thy God, through day and night, + He'll preserve thy beacon-light. + + + + + + +BEAR UP. + + + + + + BEAR up, bear up, though Poverty may press thee, + There's not a flower that's crushed that does not shed, + While bowing low, its fragrance forth to bless thee, + At times, more sweet than when it raised its head; + + When sunlight gathered round it, + + When dews of even crowned it, + By nature nursed, and watched, and from its bounty fed + Bear up, bear up! O, never yield nor falter! + God reigneth ever, merciful and just; + If thou despairest, go thou to his altar, + Rest on his arm, and in his promise trust. + + There Hope, bright Hope, will meet thee; + + There Joy, bright Joy, shall greet thee; + And thou shalt rise to thrones on high from out the dust. + + + + + + +A WELCOME SONG TO SPRING. + + + + + + SHOUT a welcoming to Spring! + Hail its early buds and flowers! + It is hastening on to bring + Unto us its joyous hours. + Birds on bough and brake are singing, + All the new-clad woods are ringing; + In the brook, see Nature flinging + Beauties of a thousand dyes, + + As if jealous of the beauties + Mantling the skies. + Hail to Beauty! Hail to Mirth! + All Creation's song is gladness; + Not a creature dwells on earth + God would have bowed down in sadness! + Everything this truth is preaching, + God in all his works is teaching, + As if man by them beseeching + To be glad, for he doth bless; + + And to trust him, for he's mighty + In his tenderness. + + + + + + +THE HOPE OF THE FALLEN. + +CHAPTER I. + + + + + +IT was at the close of a beautiful autumnal day that Edward Dayton +was to leave the place of his nativity. For many years he had looked +forward, in joyous anticipation, to the time when he should repair +to the city, and enter upon the business of life. And now that that +long looked-for and wished-for day had arrived, when he was to bid +an adieu to the companions of his youth, and to all the scenes of +his childhood, it was well for him to cast a retrospective glance; +and so he did. + +Not far distant, rearing its clear white steeple far above the +trees, stood the village church, up the broad, uncarpeted aisle of +which he had scores of times passed; and, as the thought that he +might never again enter those sacred walls came to his mind, a tear +glistened in his eye that he could not rudely wipe away. + +Next was the cot of the pastor. He had grown old in the service of +his Master, and the frosts of nearly three-score winters rested +their glory upon his head. All loved and respected him, for with +them he had wept, and with them he had rejoiced. Many had fallen +around him; withered age and blooming youth he had followed to the +grave; yet he stood forth yet, and, with clear and musical voice, +preached the truths of God. + +An old gray building, upon whose walls the idler's knife had carved +many a rude inscription, was the village school. There, amid those +carvings, were seen the rough-hewn initials of many a man now +"well-to-do in the world." Some, high above the rest, seemed as +captains, and almost over-shadowed the diminutive ones of the little +school-boy, placed scarce thirty inches from the ground. + +Edward was a pet among the villagers. He had taken the lead in all +the frolickings, and many a bright-eyed lass would miss his +presence, and loud, clear laugh, at the coming "huskings." + +Young and old reluctantly bade him "good-by," and, as the stage +wound its circuitous way from the village, from many a heart +ascended a prayer that He who ruleth over all would prosper and +protect him. + +"Good luck to him, God bless him!" said dame Brandon, as she entered +the house. "He was always a kind, well-meant lad," she continued, +"and dame Brandon knows no evil can befall him; and Emily, my dear, +you must keep your eye on some of the best fruit of the orchard, for +he will be delighted with it, and much the more so if he knows your +bright eyes watched its growth and your hands gathered it." + +These words were addressed to a girl of seventeen, who stood at an +open window, in quite a pensive mood. She seemed not to hear the +remark, but gazed in the direction the stage had passed. + +The parents of Edward had died when he was quite young, and he, +their only child, had been left to the care and protection of dame +Brandon; and well had she cared for him, and been as a mother to the +motherless. + +"Now, Emi', don't fret! Edward won't forget you. I've known him +long; he has got a heart as true as steel." + +'T was not this that made her sad. She had no fears that he would +forget his Emi', but another thought pressed heavily on her mind, +and she said, + +"But, aunty, city life is one of danger. Temptations are there we +little think of, and stronger hearts than Edward's have quailed +beneath their power." + +"Well done!" quoth Mrs. B., looking over her glasses; "a sermon, +indeed, quite good for little you. But girls are timid creatures; +they start and are frightened at the least unusual sound." She +assumed a more serious manner, and, raising her finger, pointing +upwards, said, "But know you not there is a Power greater than that +of which you speak?" + +Emily seemed to be cheered by this thought. She hummed over a +favorite air, and repaired to the performance of her evening duties. + +Emily Brandon was a lovely creature, and of this Edward Dayton was +well aware. He had spent his early days with her. His most happy +hours had been passed in her company. Together they had frolicked +over the green fields, and wandered by their clear streams. Hours +passed as minutes when in each other's company; and, when separated, +each minute seemed an hour. + +Now, for the first time, they were separated; and ever and anon, as +she passed about at her work, she cast a fitful glance from the +window, as if it were possible he might return. + +How she wished she could have gone with him, to gently chide when +sinners should entice, and lead him from error's path, should gay +temptation lure him therein! She was young in years, yet old in +discretion; and had a heart that yearned for the good of all. + +"Well, aunt," said she, "I hope good luck will betide him, but sad +thoughts will come when I think of what he will have to bear up +under." + +"O, hush!" said the old lady; "simple girls have simple stories." + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +It was a late hour in the evening that the coach entered the +metropolis. Railroads were not then in vogue, and large +baggage-waggons, lumbering teams and clumsy coaches, were drawn by +two or more horses, over deep-rutted roads, and almost endless +turnpikes. + +The bells had-rang their nine o'clock peal; most of the stores were +closed; the busy trader and industrious mechanic had gone to their +respective homes, and left their property to faithful watchers, +whose muffled forms moved slowly through the streets of the great +city. + +Not all had left their work; for, by the green and crimson light +that streamed from his window, and served to partially dissipate the +darkness, it was seen that he of pestle and mortar labored on, or, +wearied with his labor, had fallen asleep, but to be awakened by the +call of some customer, requesting an antidote for one of the many +"ills which flesh is heir to." + +Other open places there were, whose appearance indicated that they +were bar-rooms, for at their windows stood decanters filled with +various-colored liquids. Near each of these stood a wine-glass in an +inverted position, with a lemon upon it; yet, were not any of these +unmistakable signs to be seen, you would know the character of the +place by a rumseller's reeling sign, that made its exit, and, +passing a few steps, fell into the gutter. + +In addition to these other signs, were seen scattered about the +windows of these places, in characters so large that he who ran +might read, "Bar-room," "Egg-pop," "N. E. Rum," etc. + +Those were the days of bar-room simplicities. "Saloons" were not +then known. The refined names which men of the present day have +attached to rum, gin and brandy, were not then in use. There were no +"Wormwood-floaters" to embitter man's life, and Jewett had not had +his "fancy." + +The coach rolled on, and in a short time Edward was safely ensconced +in a neatly-furnished room in a hotel known as "The Bull's Horn." It +was indeed a great disadvantage to him that he came to a city in +which he was a total stranger. He had no acquaintance to greet him +with a friendly welcome; and the next day, as he was jostled by the +crowd, and pushed aside by the hurried pedestrian, he realized what +it was to be a stranger in a strange land, and an indescribable +sensation came upon him, known only to those who have been placed in +similar circumstances. + +He looked around,--strange forms met his view. No one greeted him, no +hand of friendship was held forth to welcome him. All the world +seemed rushing on for something, he knew not what; and, disheartened +at the apparent selfishness that pervaded society, he returned to +his room, and wished for the quietness of his own sweet village, the +companionship of his own dear Emi'. + +The landlord of the tavern at which our hero had housed himself was +a stout, burly man, and quite communicative. From him Edward learned +much of importance. Mr. Blinge was his name. He was an inveterate +smoker, and his pet was a little black pipe, dingy and old, and by +not a few deemed a nuisance to "The Bull's Horn." This he held +between his teeth, and, seating himself behind his bar, puffed away +on the high-pressure principle. + +Edward had not been many minutes in his room before Mr. Blinge +entered with his pet in his mouth, hoped he did n't intrude, +apologized, and wished him to walk below, saying that by so doing he +might become acquainted with some "rare souls." + +By "below" was meant a large, square room, on the ground floor, of +dimensions ample enough to hold a caucus in. By some it was called a +"bar-room," by others the "sitting-room," and others the +"gentlemen's parlor." + +Entering, Edward encountered the gaze of about twenty individuals. +Old gentlemen with specs looked beneath them, and young gentlemen +with papers looked above them. A young man in white jacket and green +apron was endeavoring to satisfy the craving appetites of two +teamsters, who were loudly praising the landlord's brandy, and +cursing the bad state of the roads in a manner worthy of "our army +in Flanders." + +One young man, in particular, attracted the attention of our hero. +He was genteelly dressed, and possessed an air of dignity and +self-command, that would obtain for him at once the good will of +any. Edward was half inclined to believe his circumstances to be +somewhat similar to his own. He was reading an evening paper, but, +on seeing our hero enter, and judging from his manner that he was a +stranger, laid it aside, and, politely addressing himself to him, +inquired after his health. + +The introduction over, they engaged in conversation. The young man +seemed pleased in making his acquaintance, and expressed a hope that +a friendship so suddenly formed might prove lasting and beneficial +to each. + +"I also am from the country," said he, after Edward had informed him +of his history, "and, like you, am in search of employment. Looking +over the evening paper, I noticed an advertisement of a concern for +sale, which I thought, as I read, would be a capital chance to make +a fortune, if I could find some one to invest in it with me. I will +read it to you. + +For SALE.-The stock and stand of a Confectioner, with a good +business, well established. One or two young men will find this a +rare opportunity to invest their money advantageously. For other +particulars inquire at No. 7 Cresto-st. + +"Now, I tell you what," said the young man, before Edward had an +opportunity to utter a word, "it is a fine chance. Why, Lagrange +makes enough on his wines and fancy cordials to clothe and feed a +regiment. Just pass there, some evening, and you will see a perfect +rush. Soda-water, ice creams, and French wines, are all the rage, +and Lagrange is the only man in this city that can suit the bon +ton!" + +"You half induce me to go there," said Edward. "How far is it from +this place?" + +"Not far, but it is too late; to-morrow morning we will go there. +Here, take my card-Othro Treves is my name; you must have known my +father; a member of Congress for ten years, when he died;--rather +abused his health-attended parties at the capital-drank wine to +excess,--took a severe cold-fell ill one day, worse the next, sick +the next, and died soon after. Wine is bad when excessively indulged +in; so is every good thing." + +Edward smiled at this running account of his new-formed +acquaintance, and, bidding him "good-night," betook himself to his +chamber, intending to accompany Othro to the confectioner's in the +morning. + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +The next morning the sun shone bright and clear in a cloudless sky, +and all were made joyous by its gladsome rays. + +Edward was awakened at an early hour by the departure or +preparations to depart, of the two teamsters, who, having patronized +rather freely the young man in white jacket and green apron, were in +a delightful mood to enjoy a joke, and were making themselves quite +merry as they harnessed up their sturdy horses. + +It was near nine when Othro and Edward found themselves on the way +to the confectioner's. Edward was glad on account of finding one +whom he thought he could trust as a friend, and congratulated +himself on his good luck. + +Near the head of Cresto-street might have been seen, not many years +since, over the door of a large and fashionable store, a sign-board +bearing this inscription: "M. Lagrange, Confectioner and Dealer in +Wines and Cordials." We say it was "large and fashionable;" and +those of our readers who recollect the place of which we speak will +testify to the truth of our assertion. + +Its large windows, filled with jars of confectionary and preserves, +and with richly-ornamented bottles of wine, with the richest pies +and cake strewed around, presented a showy and inviting appearance, +and a temptation to indulge, too powerful to resist, by children of +a larger growth than lisping infants and primary-school boys. Those +who daily passed this store looked at the windows most wistfully; +and this was not all, for, at their weekly reckonings, they found +that several silver "bits" had disappeared very mysteriously during +the previous seven days. + +To this place our hero and his newly-formed acquaintance were now +hastening. As they drew near, quite a bevy of ladies made their exit +therefrom, engaged in loud conversation. + +"Lor!" said one, "it is strange Lagrange advertised to sell out." + +"Why, if I was his wife," said another, "I'd whip him into my +traces, I would; an' he shouldn't sell out unless I was willin',--no, +he shouldn't! Only think, Miss Fitzgabble, how handy those wines +would be when one has a social soul step in!" + +"O yes," replied Miss Fitzgabble, "and those jars of lozenges! How +enchantingly easy to elevate the lid upon a Sabbath morn, slip in +one's hand, and subtract a few! How I should smell of sassafras, if +I was Mrs. Lagrange!" + +The ladies passed on, and were soon out of hearing. Edward and his +companion entered the store, where about a dozen ladies and +gentlemen were seated, discussing the fashions, forging scandal, and +sipping wine. + +Mr. Lagrange was actively engaged when the two entered; but, seeing +them, and supposing them to have called on the business for which +they actually had called, he called to one of the attendants to fill +his place, and entered into conversation with Messrs. Dayton and +Treves, which in due time was terminated, they agreeing to call +again the next day. + +First impressions are generally the most lasting. Those Edward and +Othro received during their visit and subsequent conversation were +favorable to the purchase. + +On their return they consulted together for a long time, and finally +concluded to go that day, instead of waiting till the next, and make +Mr. Lagrange an offer of which they had no doubt he would accept. + +Mr. Lagrange's chief object in selling out was that he might +disengage himself from business. He had been a long time in it; he +was getting somewhat advanced in life, and had accumulated +sufficient to insure him against want, and he deemed it best to step +out, and give room to the young-an example worthy of general +imitation. + +That the business was profitable there could be no doubt. As Othro +had said, the profit on the wines was indeed immense. + +On pleasant evenings the store was crowded; and, as it was filled +with the young, gay, and fashionable of wealthy rank, not much +difficulty was experienced in obtaining these large profits. + +The return of the young men was not altogether unexpected by Mr. +Lagrange. He was ready to receive them. He set before them his best +wines. They drank freely, praised the wine, and extolled the store, +for they thought it admirably calculated to make a fortune in. + +Mr. Lagrange imparted to them all the information they desired. They +made him an offer, which he accepted, after some thought; and +arrangements were entered into by which Messrs. Dayton and Treves +were to take possession on the morning of the following Monday. + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + +No one commences business without the prospect of success. Assure a +man he will not succeed, and he will be cautious of the steps he +takes, if, indeed, he takes any. + +If he does not expect to gain a princely fortune; he expects to earn +a comfortable subsistence, and, at the same time, accumulate enough +to shelter him in a rainy day, and be enabled to walk life's busy +stage in comfort and respectability, and, as occasion may demand, +relieve the wants of his less fortunate brethren. + +For this all hope, yet the experience of thousands shows that few, +very few, ever realize it. On the contrary, disappointment, in its +thousand malignant forms, starts up on every hand; yet they struggle +on, and in imagination see more prosperous days in the future. Thus +they hope against hope, till the green sod covers their bodies, and +they leave their places to others, whilst the tale is told in these +few words: "They lived and died." + +The next Monday the citizens were notified, by the removal of his +old sign, that Mr. Lagrange had retired from business. During the +day, many of Mr. Lagrange's customers came in, that they might +become acquainted with the successors of their old friend. To these +Messrs. Dayton and Treves were introduced, and from them received +promise of support. + +A colored man, who had been for a long time in the employ of Mr. +Lagrange, was retained in the employ of the store. Ralph Orton was +his name. He having been for a long time in the store, and during +that time having had free access to the wines, had formed an +appetite for them, in consequence of which he was often intoxicated. + +His inebriation was periodical, and not of that kind whose subjects +are held in continual thraldom; yet, to use his own words, "when he +was drunk, he was drunk, and no mistake." He obeyed the old +injunction of "what is worth doing is worth doing well," and as long +as he got drunk he got well drunk. + +He had ofttimes been reasoned with in his days of soberness, and had +often promised to reform; but so many around him drank that he could +not resist the temptation to drink also, and therefore broke his +promise. This habit had so fastened itself upon him, that, like one +in the coil of the serpent, the more he strove to escape the closer +it held him. + +If there is any one habit to which if a man becomes attached he will +find more difficulty to escape from than another, it is that of +intemperance; yet all habits are so one with our nature that the +care taken to guard against the adoption of evil ones cannot be too +great. + +Behold that man! He was tempted,--he yielded. He has surrendered a +noble estate, and squandered a large fortune. Once he had riches and +friends; his eye sparkled with the fire of ambition; hope and joy +beamed in each feature of his manly countenance, and all bespoke for +him a long life and happy death. Look at him now! without a penny in +his pocket, a wretched outcast, almost dead with starvation. Habit +worked the change-an evil habit. + +Perchance some one in pity may bestow a small sum upon him. Utterly +regardless of the fact that his wife and children are at home +shivering over a few expiring embers that give no warmth, without a +crumb to appease their hunger, and although he himself a moment +before believed that if aid did not come speedily he must perish, he +hastens to the nearest groggery, and, laying down his money, calls +for that which has brought upon him and his such woe. + +If there is any scene upon earth over which demons joy, it must be +when that rumseller takes that money. + +This propensity of Ralph's was a serious objection to him as a +servant; yet, in every other respect, he was all that could be +desired. He was honest, faithful and obliging, and, knowing as they +did that he was well acquainted with the trade of the city, and +could go directly to the houses of Mr. Lagrange's customers, Messrs. +Dayton and Treves were induced to have him remain. + +At the end of a month, Edward found himself in prosperous +circumstances, and wrote to his old village friends of the fact. +They, as a matter in course, were overjoyed in the reception of such +intelligence, and no one more so than Emily Lawton. + +Edward had entered into a business in which temptations of a +peculiar nature gathered about him. Like nearly every one in those +days, he had no scruples against the use of wine. He thought no +danger was associated with its use; and, as an objection against +that would clash with the interests of his own pecuniary affairs, he +would be the last to raise it. In dealing forth to others, how +strong came the temptation to deal it to himself! Othro drank, and +pronounced a certain kind of wine a great luxury. Edward could not +(or, at least, so he thought) do otherwise; and so he drank, and +pronounced the same judgment upon it. + +"What say you for an evening at the theatre?" said Othro, one +evening, as they were passing from their place of business, having +left it in care of their servants. "At the Gladiate the play is +'Hamlet,' and Mr. Figaro, from the old Drury, appears." + +Edward had been educated in strict puritanic style, and had been +taught to consider the theatre as a den of iniquity. It is not our +purpose to defend or oppose this opinion. It was his, and he freely +expressed it. In fact, his partner knew it to be such before making +the request. + +"I suppose," said Mr. Treves, "you oppose the theatre on account of +the intoxicating drinks sold there. Now, I am for a social drop +occasionally. Edward, a glass of pure 'Cogniac,' a nice cigar, and a +seat in front of a grate of blazing coal, and I'll be joyful." + +"You may be joyful, then," replied Mr. Dayton; "but your joy might +be changed to grief, and your buoyancy of spirit be turned to +sadness of heart." + +"Indeed, Edward! Quite a lecture, I declare! Been studying theology, +eh?" + +"Not so; you are mistaken, Othro," said he. "There," he continued, +pointing to a reeling sot that passed them, "ask that man where he +first went for joy, and he may tell you of the theatre, or of social +glasses of brandy, cigars, and such like." + +They had now arrived in front of the "Gladiate," a massive stone +structure, most brilliantly illuminated. Long rows of carriages +stood in front, and crowds of the gay and fashionable were flocking +in. + +All was activity. Hackmen snapped their whips. Boys, ragged and +dirty, were waiting for the time when "checks" would circulate, and, +in fact, were in much need of checks, but those of a different +nature from those they so eagerly looked for. + +Anon, the crowd gathered closer; and the prospect of a fight put the +boys in hysterics of delight, and their rags into great commotion. +To their sorrow, it was but the shadow of a "row"; and they kicked +and cuffed each other, in order to express their grief. + +A large poster announced in flaming characters that that night was +the last but two of Mr. Figaro's appearance, and that other +engagements would prevent him from prolonging his stay, however much +the public might desire him to do so; whilst, if the, truth had been +told, the public would have known that a printer was that moment +"working off" other posters, announcing a re‰ngagement of Mr. Figaro +for two weeks. + +"Will you enter?" inquired Othro. Edward desired to be excused, and +they parted; one entering the theatre, the other repairing to his +home. + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + + +The "tavern" at which our hero boarded was of the country, or, +rather, the colony order of architecture,--for piece had been added +to piece, until what was once a small shed was now quite an +extensive edifice. + +As was the case with all taverns in those days, so also with +this,--the bar-room was its most prominent feature. Mr. Blinge, the +landlord, not only smoked, but was an inveterate lover of raw +whiskey, which often caused him to perform strange antics. The fact +that he loved whiskey was not strange, for in those days all drank. +The aged drank his morning, noon and evening potations, because he +had always done so; the young, because his father did; and the +lisping one reached forth its hands, and in childish accents called +for the "thugar," and the mother, unwilling to deny it that which +she believed could not harm it, gave. + +Those were the days when seed was being sown, and now the harvesting +is in progress. Vain were it for us to attempt its description; you +will see it in ruined families, where are gathered blasted hopes, +withered expectations, and pangs, deep pangs of untold sorrow. + +The child indulged has become a man, yet scarce worthy of the name; +for a habit has been formed that has sunken him below the brute, and +he lives not a help, but a burden, not a blessing, but a curse, to +his fellow-men. + +Although Edward was opposed to the use of intoxicating drinks, his +business led him to associate with those who held opposite opinions. + +Among the boarders was one, a bold, drinking, independent sort of a +man, who went against all innovations upon old customs with a fury +worthy of a subject of hydrophobia. + +His name was "Pump." Barrel, or bottle, would have been more in +accordance with his character; but, as the old Pump had not +foresight enough to see into the future, he did not know that he was +inappropriately naming his son. + +Every Pump must have its handle, on the same principle that "every +dog must have his day." The handle to the Pump in question was a +long one; 't was "Onendago." + +"Onendago Pump" was written with red ink on the blank leaf of a +"Universal Songster" he carried in his pocket. + +Dago, as he was called, lived on appearances; that is, he acted the +gentleman outwardly, but the beggar inwardly. He robbed his stomach +to clothe his back: howbeit, his good outside appearance often got +for him a good dinner. + +By the aid of the tailor and the barber, he wore nice cloth and +curled hair; and, being blessed with a smooth, oily voice, was +enabled, by being invited to dinner here and to supper there, to +live quite easy. + +Edward had just seated himself, when a loud rap on the door was +heard, and in a moment Mr. Onendago Pump, with two bottles, entered. +With a low bow, he inquired as to our hero's health, and proposed +spending an evening in his company. + +"Ever hear me relate an incident of the last war?" said he, as he +seated himself, and placed his two bottles upon the side-table. + +"Never," replied Edward. + +"Well, Butler was our captain, and a regular man he; right up and +down good fellow,--better man never held sword or gave an order. +Well, we were quartered at-I don't remember where-history tells. We +led a lazy life; no red coats to fire at. One of the men came home, +one night, three sheets in the wind, and the fourth bound round his +head; awful patriotic was he, and made a noise, and swore he'd shoot +every man for the good of his country. Well, Captain Butler heard of +it, and the next day all hands were called. We formed a ring; Simon +Twigg, he who was drunk the day before, stood within it, and then +and there Captain Butler, who belonged to the Humane Society, and +never ordered a man to be flogged, lectured him half an hour. Well, +that lecture did Mr. Dago Pump immense good, and ever since I have +n't drank anything stronger than brandy. + +"Never a man died of brandy!" said Mr. Pump, with much emphasis. +"Brandy's the word!" and, without saying more, he produced a +cork-screw, and with it opened a bottle. + +A couple of glasses soon made their appearance. "Now, you will take +a glass with me," said Dago; "it is the pure Cogniac, quality one, +letter A." + +"Drink, now," said he, pushing a glass towards him. "Wine is used by +the temperance society. They'll use brandy soon. Ah, they can't do +without their wine, and we can't do without our brandy! They want to +bind us in a free country, what my father bled and almost died for,-- +bind us to drink cold water!" said Mr. Pump, sneeringly. "Let 'em +try it! I go for freedom of the press,--universal, everlasting, +unbounded freedom!" + +When this patriotic bubble had exploded and the mist cleared away, +he sang a bacchanalian song, which he wished every free man in the +world would commit to memory. "What is the difference," said he, +"between this and wine? Neither will hurt a man; it is your +rum-drinking, gin-guzzling topers that are harmed;--anything will +harm them. Who ever heard of a genteel wine or brandy drinker +becoming a pest to society? Who ever heard of such an one rolling in +the mire? No; such men are able to take care of themselves. Away +with the pledge!" + +"Perhaps you are right," replied Edward; "yet we should be careful. +Although all around me drink, I have until this moment abstained +from the use of brandy; but now, at your request, I partake of it. +Remember, if I, by this act, am led into habits of intemperance, if +I meet a drunkard's grave, the blame will rest upon you." + +"Ha, ha, ha! Well done! So be it! I'll shoulder the blame, if a +respectable man like you falls by brandy." + +Edward drank the contents of a glass, and, placing it upon the +table, said "We must be careful!" + +"True!" said Mr. Pump, as he again filled the glass; "we cannot be +too much so. We must avoid rum and gin as we would a viper! How I +abhor the very name of rum! O, Mr. Dayton, think of the misery it +has brought upon man! I had a sister once, a beautiful, kind-hearted +creature. She was married to an industrious man; all was fair, +prospects bright. By degrees he got into bad company; he forgot his +home, loved rum more than that, became dissipated, died, and filled +a drunkard's grave! She, poor creature, went into a fever, became +delirious, raved day after day, and, heaping curses upon him who +sold her husband rum, died. Since then, I have looked upon rum as a +curse; but brandy,--it is a gentle stimulant, a healthy beverage, a +fine drink, and it can do no harm." + +Onendago swallowed the contents of his glass, and Edward, who, +having taken the first, found it very easy to take the second, did +the same. Yet his conscience smote him; he felt that he was doing +wrong. + +Like the innocent, unthinking bird, who, charmed by the serpent's +glistening eyes, falls an easy prey to its crushing embrace, was he +at that moment. He the bird, unconscious of the danger behind the +charm. + +This is no fictitious tale. Would to Heaven it contained less of +truth! The world has seen many men like "Mr. Pump," and many have +through their instrumentality fallen; many not to rise till ages +shall have obliterated all memory of the past, with all its +unnatural loves! Whilst others, having struggled on for years, have +at length seen a feeble ray of light penetrating the dark clouds +that overshadowed their path, which light continued to increase, +till, in all its beauty, the star of temperance shone forth, by +which they strove ever after to be guided. + +It was near midnight when Mr. Pump left. The two had become quite +sociable, and Mr. Pump saw the effect of his brandy in the unusual +gayety of Edward. + +The latter was not lost to reflection; and now that he was alone, +thoughts of home, his business, and many other matters, came +confusedly into his mind. + +Letters he had received of warning and advice. He took them in his +hands, looked over their contents, and with feelings of sadness, and +somewhat of remorse, thought of his ways. + +A bundle of old letters! A circle of loved friends! How alike! There +is that's pleasant, yet sad, in these. How vividly they present to +our view the past! The writers, some, perhaps, are dead; others are +far away. Yet, dead or alive, near or far distant, we seem to be +with them as we read their thoughts traced out on the sheet before +us. + +As Edward read here and there a letter, it did seem as though his +friends stood beside him, and spoke words of advice which conscience +whispered should be heeded. Love was the theme of not a few, yet all +warned him to flee from evil. He returned the parcel, and, as he did +so, he pledged himself that if he drank any it should be with +moderation: and that, as soon as he felt its ruinous effects, to +abstain altogether. + +The next morning Othro was late at the store; yet, when he arrived, +he was full of praise of the play. + +"Figaro acted Hamlet to a charm," said he; "and Fanny Lightfoot +danced like a fairy. But two nights more! Now, Edward, if you do not +wish to offend me, and that exceedingly, say you will go with me +to-morrow night." + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + + + +Three years had elapsed since the events of the last chapter. Edward +had often visited his native village, and, as the results of these +visits, Emily Lawton became Mrs. Dayton; and she, with Mrs. Brandon, +was removed to an elegantly furnished house in the city. Yet, with +all its elegance, Mrs. Brandon, who had been accustomed to rural +simplicity, did not feel happy except when in her own room, which +Edward had ordered to be furnished in a style answering her own +wishes. + +Messrs. Dayton and Treves had been highly successful in their +business operations; and, enjoying as they did the patronage of the +‚lite of the city, they, with but little stretch of their +imaginative powers, could see a fortune at no great distance. + +Becoming acquainted with a large number of persons of wealth, they +were present at very many of the winter entertainments; and, being +invited to drink, they had not courage to refuse, and did not wish +to act so ungenteel and uncivil. Others drank; and some loved their +rum, and would have it. Edward had taken many steps since the events +of our last chapter; yet, thought he, "I drink moderately." + +There was to be a great party. A musical prodigy, in the shape of a +child of ten years, had arrived, and the leaders of fashion had +agreed upon having a grand entertainment on the occasion. + +Great was the activity and bustle displayed, and in no place more +than at the store of Dayton and Treves. As ill-luck would have it, +Ralph had been absent a week on one of his drunken sprees, and his +employers were obliged to procure another to fill his place. + +The event was to take place at the house of a distinguished city +officer; and, as Messrs. Dayton and Treves were to provide +refreshment, their time was fully occupied. + +The papers were filled with predictions concerning it; and the +editors, happy fellows, were in ecstasies of joy on account of +having been invited to attend. Nor were Messrs. Dayton and Treves +forgotten; but lengthy eulogies upon their abilities to perform the +duty assigned them occupied prominent places, and "steamboat +disasters," "horrid murders," and "dreadful accidents," were obliged +to make room for these. + +In the course of human events the evening came. Hacks were in +demand, and the rattling of wheels and the falling of carriage-steps +were heard till near midnight. + +The chief object of attraction was a small boy, who had attained +considerable proficiency in musical knowledge, not of any particular +instrument, but anything and everything; consequently a large +assortment of instruments had been collected, upon which he played. +As music had called them together, it was the employment of the +evening, and the hour of midnight had passed when they were summoned +to the tables. + +Those gentlemen who desired had an apartment to themselves, where +wine and cigars circulated freely. Some, in a short time, became +excited; whilst others, upon whom the same cause had a different +effect, became stupid. One poor fellow, whose bloated countenance +told a sad tale, lay almost senseless; another sat dreamingly over +his half-filled glass, whilst another excited the risibilities of +not a few by his ineffectual attempts to light his cigar. + +Our hero, like his companions, was a little overcome by too frequent +potations from the bottle. It was a sad sight to a reflective mind. +The majority were young men, whose eyes had been blinded to the +danger they were in, by adhering to a foolish and injurious custom. + +As hour passed hour, they became more excited, until a high state of +enthusiasm existed. + +All the ladies had retired, except one, and she strove hard to +conceal her rising sorrow by forced smiles; yet she could not +restrain her feelings,--her heart seemed bursting with grief. In vain +did officious servants seek to know the cause. To the inquiries of +the lady of the house she made no reply. She dare not reveal the +secret which pierced her very soul; but, burying her face in her +hands, seemed resolved upon not being comforted. Finally, yielding +to the persuasive influence of Mrs. Venet, she expressed her fears +that Edward had tarried too long at the bowl. + +Mrs. Venet tried to comfort her by saying that, if what she so much +feared was true, yet it was nothing uncommon; and mentioned several +men, and not a few ladies, who had been carried away in a senseless +condition. + +These words did not comfort her; on the contrary, they increased her +fears, and led her to believe that there was more danger at such +parties than there was generally thought to be; and the fact that +Edward had often attended such parties increased her sorrow, for she +knew not but that he had been among that number of whom Mrs. Venet +spoke. + +Imagination brought to her view troubles and trials as her future +lot; and last, not least, the thought of Edward's temperament, and +of how easily he might be led astray, rested heavily upon her heart. +Mrs. Venet at length left her, and repaired to the gentleman's +apartment, in order to learn the cause of his delay. + +"Who in the devil's there, with that thundering racket?" inquired a +loud voice. + +"It is Mrs. Venet," replied the lady. + +"O, it is, is it? Well, madam, Dayton the confectioner, and a dozen +jovial souls, are having a rare time here. Put that down in your +memorandum-book, and leave us to our meditations." + +"Yes, and these to profit and loss," said another, and the breaking +of glasses was heard. + +"If Mr. Dayton is within, tell him his lady is waiting for him," +said Mrs. Venet. + +"Ed, your wife's waiting,"' said one of the party. + +"Then, friends, I-I-I must go," said the inebriated man, who, though +badly intoxicated, had not wholly forgotten her. + +His companions endeavored to have him remain, but in vain. He +unbolted the door, and, leaving, closed it upon them. + +Mrs. Venet, who was standing without, laid hold of his coat, and, +knowing the excited state of Mrs. Dayton, and fearing that the +appearance of her husband would be too much for her to bear, +endeavored to induce him not to enter the room, or, at least, to +wait until he had recovered from the effects of his drinking. + +He appeared rational for a while, but, suddenly breaking away, +shouted, "Emily, where are you?" + +The sound of his voice resounded through the building, and his +drunken companions, hearing it, made the building echo with their +boisterous laughter. + +He ran through the entries gazing wildly around, and loudly calling +for his wife. + +The servants, hearing the tumult, hastened to the spot; but neither +they nor Mrs. Venet could induce him to become quiet. + +The latter, finding she could have no influence upon him, repaired +to the room in which she left Mrs. Dayton, and found her senseless +upon the floor, and to all appearances dead. She had heard his wild +cries, and what she had so much feared she then knew to be true. + +Mrs. Venet rang for the servants, and ordered some restoratives. +These were soon obtained, and by their free use she had nearly +recovered, when her husband rushed into the room. + +Upon seeing his wife, the raging lion became as docile as a lamb. A +sudden change came over him; he seemed to realize the truth, and it +sent an arrow to his soul. + +Again the injured wife fainted, and again the restoratives were +faithfully applied; but it was evident that if Mr. Dayton remained +in her presence it would be difficult to restore her, and the man +who before would not be approached was led quietly away. In a short +time Mrs. Dayton became sensible, and her first words were to +inquire after Edward. Being told, she was induced to lie down, and, +if possible, enjoy a little sleep; but sleep she could not. Her mind +became almost delirious, and fears were entertained by her +attendants that she would lose her reason. + +The effects of Edward's carousal were entirely dissipated by the +sudden realization of the truth. + +To Mrs. Dayton this was an hour of the deepest sorrow. She looked +back upon the past, and saw happiness; in the future nothing but +misery seemed to await her. Yet a change came over her; she thanked +God for his past mercies, and wisely trusted him for their +continuance. She implored pardon for past ingratitude, and prayed +that she might be more grateful in future, and that, having tasted +of the cup of sorrow, she might not drink the bitter draught. + + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + + + +The next morning Edward repented of his crime, and in his inmost +soul felt it to be such,--a crime of deepest dye. + +Emily wept as she bent over him. + +"Cease thy tears," said he, "and forgive; it is but that word, +spoken by thee, that can send peace to my soul. Yet what peace can I +expect? I have wronged thee!"-and the wretched man wept like a +child. + +New thoughts continually sprang into existence,--the days of his +youth, the bliss of home, and his present situation. He felt +disgraced;--how should he redeem his character? + +"O, that the grave would hide me," continued Edward, "and that in +death I might forget this crime! But no! I cannot forget it; it will +cling to me through life, and the future--" + +He would have said more, but the strong emotions of his soul choked +his utterance. + +He arose and paced the room in agony of feeling which pen cannot +describe. Suddenly halting, he gazed steadfastly upon the face of +his wife. It was deadly pale, and a tear dimmed the usual lustre of +her eye. + +"Comfort thyself," said he; "no further evil shall come upon thee. +It shall never be said you are a drunkard's wife,--no, no, no, +never!" + +"Let us, then, forget the past," said Mrs. Dayton. + +"What! forget those days when I had not tasted? O, misery indeed, if +I cannot retain their remembrance!" said Edward. + +"Not so, Edward; we would remember those, but forget the evil that +has befallen us,--all will be well." + +"Do you-can you forgive?" + +"God will forgive; and shall not I?" + +"Then let this be a pledge of the future;" and, taking her hand in +his, he said; "I resolve to walk in the path of right, and never +more to wander, God being my witness and my strength." + +"'T is well thou hast pledged thyself," said she; "but know thou the +tempter is on every side. Should the wine-cup touch thy lips, dash +it aside, and proclaim yourself a pledged man." + +"I will!" was the response, and, taking a pen, he boldly placed his +name to the following pledge: + +"PLEDGE.-We pledge ourselves to abstain from the use of all +intoxicating drinks, except the moderate use of wine, beer and +cider." + +Such was the pledge to which he affixed his name, and such the +pledge by which men of those days endeavored to stay the tide of +intemperance. Did not every man who signed that pledge himself to +become a moderate drinker; and is not every moderate drinker pledged +to become a drunkard? What a pledge! Yet we should not blame the men +of former years for pursuing a course which they conscientiously +thought to be right. That was the first step. It was well as far as +it led; but it paused at the threshold of the ark of safety, and +there its disciples fell. They had not seen, as have men of late +years, the ruinous tendency of such a course; and knew not, as we +now do, that total abstinence is the only sure course. + +The pledge Edward had signed was no preventive in his case. He had +tasted; in fact, he had become a lover of strong drink; and the +temptation of having it constantly beside him, and daily dealing it +out to others, was too strong for him to resist. When he drank, he +did think, as Emily had bade him, that he was a pledged man; but +that pledge permitted him to drink wine. The remedy such a pledge +applied was of no avail. It failed to reach the fountain-head, and +strove to stop the stream by placing slight resistances in its way. + +A long time must elapse before a man can know the heart of his +fellow-man, if, indeed, it can ever be known; and it was not until +Edward had become addicted to habits of intemperance that he +discovered the professed friendship of Mr. Treves to be insincere. +Words of warning seldom came from his lips. What cared he if Edward +did fall? Such being the case, the business would come into his own +hands; and such "a consummation devoutly to be wished" it was very +evident that if Edward did not soon reform was not far distant. + +Now Emily Dayton began to experience anxious days and sleepless +nights, and Mrs. Brandon begged of Edward to reform. Often he would +do so. He would sign that pledge; but it was like an attempt to stay +a torrent with a straw. That pledge! 'twas nothing! yea, worse than +nothing! + +Six months of sorrowing passed, and what a change we behold! +Experience has shown to Edward that the use of brandy is dangerous, +and good dame Brandon has been led to believe that there are +temptations in the city which she little thought of. + +Edward, driven from his business, revels in bar-rooms, and riots at +midnight; whilst the patient, uncomplaining, enduring Emily, forced +by creditors from her former home, finds shelter from the storm in a +small tenement; where, by the aid of her needle, she is enabled to +support herself and aged aunt, whilst a prattling infant plays at +her side, and, laughing in its childish sports, thinks not of the +sorrows it was born to encounter, and knows not the sad feelings of +its mother's wounded heart. + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + + + +In a low, damp, dark cellar, behold a man washing the glasses of a +groggery. His ragged dress and uncombed hair, his shabby and dirty +appearance, do not prevent us from seeing indications of his once +having been in better circumstances, and that nature never designed +that he should be where he now is. + +Having rinsed a few cracked tumblers, he sat down beside a red-hot +cylinder stove, and, bending over till his head rested upon his +hands, he, in a half-audible voice, talked to himself. + +"Here 't is, eighteen forty-some years since I saw that Dayton cove; +eh, gone by the board? The daily papers say he was up for a common +drunkard; but, being first time, was lectured and sent home. Plaguy +poor home his, I reckon! Wonder if the lecture did him as much good +as Old Batter's did me. Ah! he liked that brandy, and said I should +bear the blame if he was ruined; but he an't that yet. Here I am, +ten times worse off than he is, and I an't ruined. No! Mr. Dago Pump +is a man yet. Well, well! what shall I say?-business awful dull, and +it's damp and dark here; I feel cold 'side of this red-faced stove." + +Mr. Onendago Pump poked the fire, and continued to do so till a +ragged little boy, without shoes, stockings or cap, came down the +slippery steps, and asked for "two cents' worth of rum, and one +cent's worth of crackers." + +The proprietor of this subterraneous establishment threw aside an +old wire that served as a poker, and demanded payment in advance. +The child handed him the three cents, received his rum and crackers, +and left. + +Mr. Pump, who for a long time had lived on appearances, could do so +no longer; for, persisting in his opinion that brandy could not hurt +him, he drank so much that bad soon supplanted good appearances, and +his company was soon discarded. + +Mr. Blinge would not have him about his premises, although the one +drank as much as the other, and a great similarity existed between +them. + +He was turned out of the tavern, and, having purchased four +shillings' worth of brandy, commenced business in the cellar we have +alluded to, replenishing his stock by daily applying to a +neighboring pump; and, for every gill of brandy he drew from the +tap, poured a gill of water in at the bung, and thus kept up a stock +in trade. + +In a short time, a collection of drinking loafers met daily at his +place, and Dago Pump could see no difference between his +respectability as proprietor of a bar-room, and his who, being owner +of thousands, fitted up "oyster saloons," which places had suddenly +sprung up in all large cities. + +Edward had fallen; he had become what was termed a "common +drunkard." His wife wept tears of anguish; she entreated; she begged +him to reform. She prayed to Heaven for its aid; yet week passed +week, month followed month, on Time's unending course, and she was a +drunkard's wife still. All friends had forsaken her. Friends! shall +we call them such? No; they did not deserve the name. Their +friendship only had an existence when fortune smiled; when a frown +mantled its countenance, or a cloud intervened, they fled. Yet God +was raising up friends for her, and from a class of society from +whom she little expected aid. God was working, in his mysterious +way, a deliverance. He had heard the prayers that for many long +years had gone up to his throne from thousands of wretched families; +and, moved to pity, he was to show them that he was a God of mercy. + +Othro Treves-where is he? Not in that elegant store; it long since +passed into other hands. Has he made his fortune, and retired? Such +we might suppose to be the case, did we not know that he trusted to +moderate drinking. Man might as well trust a leaky vessel to bear +him across the ocean, as to trust that. + +The clock struck twelve. + +"'T is midnight," said a female voice, "and he has not come. God +send repentance to his heart! Hope has almost failed me; yet I will +hope on." + +"Another glass of brandy for me," said a man, addressing Mr. Dago +Pump. + +"And rum for me," said another. + +"Gin with a hot poker in it for me," said the third; and Mr. Pump +poured out the poisons. + +Half a dozen men stood in front of some rough boards that served as +a "bar." + +One of these-a tall, well-formed man-gazed fixedly upon the glasses, +seemingly in deep thought. + +"Stop!" he suddenly exclaimed. Mr. Pump nearly dropped the bottle. +It was as an electric shock to him: an ashy paleness came over his +face. "Stop!" he again exclaimed. All eyes were fixed upon him. Some +tried to laugh, but could not. Dago set down the bottle, and the +glasses, half filled, stood upon the bench before him. + +"I have been thinking," said he who had caused this strange effect, +"is it right for us to drink that? It does us no good; it brings +upon us much evil; that's what I've been a-thinking while 'twas +being poured out." + +"So have I," exclaimed another. + +"And I," said a third. "I would have been worth fifty thousand +dollars, this day, had I never touched stuff like that. I tell you +what, coveys, let's come out." + +"Hurra!" shouted yet another; "I've spent a good fortune in +rum-shops. That's what I say; let's come out." + +"Yes," said the first speaker, "let us come out. We have been in +long enough;--in the gutter, in the grog-shop, in misery, in +disgrace, in poverty, in jail, and in ruin. I say, let us come out, +out of all these." + +"Amen!" responded all. + +"Let us come out," he continued; "but what can temperance folks do? +I have signed the pledge, and signed, and signed, but I cannot keep +it. I had no friends; temperance folks never came to me. I have +often thought that, if a friend would reach forth his hand, and help +me from the gutter when I have lain there, I would do anything for +such a friend. But when I am drunk they laugh at and jeer me. Boys +stone and cuff me, and men stand by and laugh at their hellish +sport. Yes, those calling themselves 'friends of temperance' would +laugh at me, and say, 'Miserable fool, nothing can save him! When +such are dead, we can train up a generation of temperate people.' I +am kicked and cuffed about like a dog, and not a hand is extended to +relieve me. When I first tasted, I told him who gave it me the blame +should rest on him if I fell. Where he is now, I know not; but, +wherever he is, I know his is a miserable existence. Years have +passed since then, and here I am, a miserable drunkard. My +wife-where is she? and my good old aunt-where is she? At home in +that comfortless room, weeping over my fall, and praying for my +reform. Brothers, let us arise; let us determine to be men-free +men!" + +"It is done," said one and all; and the keeper of the cellar dashed +bottle after bottle against the wall. + +"Yes, let us renounce these habits; they are hard to renounce; +temptation is hard to resist." + +"The present pledge is not safe for us," said the keeper of the +cellar, as he took a demijohn of liquor up the steps, and emptied it +in the gutter. + +"Then let us have one of our own," said the first speaker. "Let it +be called 'The Hope of the Fallen;' for we are indeed fallen, and +this, our last refuge from more fearful evils, is our only hope. May +it not disappoint us! May we cling to it as the drowning man grasps +the rope thrown out for his rescue! And not for us alone shall this +hope exist. Let us go to every unfortunate in our land, and speak +kindly to him. Al, my friends, we know the value of a kind word. Let +us lift him from the gutter, place him upon his feet, and say, +'Stand up! I myself also am a man.'" + +Having said this, he sent out for pen, ink and paper, and a pledge +was carefully drawn up, of which the following is a copy: + +"We, whose names are hereunto affixed, knowing by sad experience +that the use of wine, beer, cider, rum, brandy, gin, and all kinds +of intoxicating drinks, is hurtful to man, beast and reptile, do +hereby pledge ourselves most solemnly to abstain now, henceforth, +and forever, from the use of them in whatever shape they may be +presented; to neither eat, drink, touch, taste, nor handle them; and +in every place, and on every occasion, to use our influence in +inducing others to do the same." + +The speaker was the first to place his name to this document; and +the keeper of the cellar started when he read the name of "Edward +Dayton." + +"Is it possible!" said he, and, grasping his hand, he shook it most +heartily. + +Edward was as much astonished as he. Such a change had taken place +that they could not at first recognize each other. + +"Yes," said Edward, "you tempted me to drink. I forgive. I now tempt +you to sign this pledge." + +No words were required to induce all present to sign. + +They all spake of their past lives, related the sorrows they had +felt, the misery they had endured; and such was the interest +manifested by each in listening to these plain, unvarnished tales, +that they resolved upon meeting in that same place the next night. + +The next day, the report spread like wild-fire about the city that +drunkards themselves were reforming. Many doubted, and would not +believe such to be the case. + +"They are past reforming," said public opinion; "let them die; let +us take care of the young." + + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + + + +They met in the same place the next night, but the next they did +not. Their numbers had so increased that the cellar would not +contain them; and they engaged a large hall, and gave public notice +that a meeting would be held at which reformed drunkards would +speak. Those who before doubted did so no more; yet from many the +sneering, cold-hearted remark was heard, "They will not hold on." + +At the hour appointed, hundreds thronged to the place, and hundreds +departed, being unable to gain admittance. That night, nearly five +hundred signed the new pledge, and new additions were made daily. + +It had a power which no previous pledge had possessed; a power, with +God's, aid, to bring man from the lowest depths of woe, place him on +his feet, and tell him, "Sin no more." + +The new society increased in numbers. In other cities the same +feeling arose, and societies of the same kind were formed. The +papers were filled with accounts of their meetings, and the cause +spread, to the astonishment and grateful admiration of all. + +Days of prosperity gladdened the heart of Edward. Joy took the place +of sorrow in his family. He, like his thousands of brethren, had +been snatched as a brand from the burning, and stood forth a living +monument to the truth that there was a hope for the fallen. + +Twelve years have passed since that ever-memorable night. Millions +have become better men, and yet the pledge remains to exert its +influence, and who can doubt that God directs its course? + +'T is sending joy to the mourning, and many a wounded heart it +heals. Is there a power that can exceed this? Is there another +pledge that has effected as much good? + +Let us, then, push on the car. Let our influence be such as will +advance, and not retard, its progress. Let us do this, and ere long +we may rejoice together, and earth hold a grand jubilee, and all men +shall testify that the Pledge is the "hope of the fallen." + + + + + + +THOUGHTS THAT COME FROM LONG AGO. + + + + + + THERE are moments in our life + When are hushed its sounds of strife; + When, from busy toil set free, + Mind goes back the past to see: + Memory, with its mighty powers, + Brings to view our childhood hours; + Once again we romp and play, + As we did in youth's bright day; + And, with never-ceasing flow, + Come the hours of Long Ago. + Oft, when passions round us throng, + And our steps incline to wrong, + Memory brings a friend to view, + In each line and feature true; + Though he long hath left us here, + Then his presence seemeth near, + And with sweet, persuasive voice, + Leads us from an evil choice;-- + Thus, when we astray would go, + Come restraints from Long Ago. + Oft, when troubled and perplexed, + Worn in heart and sorely vexed; + Almost sinking 'neath our load, + Famishing on life's high road,-- + Darkness, doubt, and dark despair + Leading us we know not where,-- + How hath sweet remembrance caught + From the past some happy thought! + And, refreshed, we on would go, + Cheered with hopes from Long Ago. + What a store-house, filled with gems + Of more worth than diadems, + Each hath 'neath his own control, + From which to refresh his soul! + Let us, then, each action weigh, + Some good deed perform each day, + That in future we may find + Happy thoughts to bring to mind; + For, with ever ceaseless flow, + Thoughts will come from Long Ago. + + + + + + +DETERMINED TO BE RICH. + + + + + + RISE up early, sit up late, + Be thou unto Avarice sold; + Watch thou well at Mammon's gate, + Just to gain a little gold. + Crush thy brother neath thy feet, + Till each manly thought is flown; + Hear not, though he loud entreat, + Be thou deaf to every moan. + Wield the lash, and hush the cry, + Let thy conscience now be seared; + Pile thy glittering gems on high, + Till thy golden god is reared. + Then before its sparkling shrine + Bend the neck and bow the knee; + Victor thou, all wealth is thine, + Yet, what doth it profit thee? + + + + + + +THE HEAVEN SENT, HEAVEN RETURNED. + + + + + + PURE as an infant's heart that sin ne'er touched, + That guilt had ne'er polluted; and she seemed + Most like an angel that had missed its way + On some kind mission Heaven had bade it go. + Her eye beamed bright with beauty; and innocence, + Its dulcet notes breathed forth in every word, + Was seen in every motion that she made. + Her form was faultless, and her golden hair + In long luxuriant tresses floated o'er + Her shoulders, that as alabaster shone. + Her very look seemed to impart a sense + Of matchless purity to all it met. + I saw her in the crowd, yet none were there + That seemed so pure as she; and every eye + That met her eye's mild glance shrank back abashed, + It spake such innocence. + One day she slept,-- + How calm and motionless! I watched her sleep + Till evening; then, until the sun arose; + And then, would have awakened her,--but friends + Whispered in my ear she would not wake + Within that body more, for it was dead, + And she, now clothed in immortality, + Would know no more of change, nor know a care. + And when I felt that truth, methought I saw + A bright angelic throng, in robes of white, + Bear forth her spirit to the throne of God; + And I heard music, such as comes to us + Oft in our dreams, as from some unseen life, + And holy voices chanting heavenly songs, + And harps and voices blending in one hymn, + Eternal hymn of highest praise to God + For all the good the Heaven-sent one had done + Since first it left the heavenly fold of souls, + To live on earth, and show to lower man + How pure and holy, joyous and serene, + They may and shall assuredly become + When all the laws that God through Nature speaks + Are kept unbroken! * * * + * * * She had now returned, + And heaven resounded with angelic songs. + Before me lay the cold, unmoving form; + Above me lived the joyous, happy one! + And who should sorrow? Sure, not I; not she; + Not any one! For death,--there was no death,-- + But that which men called death was life more real + Than heart had o'er conceived or words expressed! + + + + + + +FLOWERS, BRIGHT FLOWERS! + + + + + + FLOWERS from the wild-wood, + Flowers, bright flowers! + Springing in desert spot, + Where man dwelleth not,-- + Flowers, bright flowers, + Cheering the traveller's lot. + Given to one and all, + Flowers, bright flowers! + When man neglecteth thee, + When he rejecteth thee, + Flowers, bright flowers, + God's hand protecteth thee! + Remnants of paradise, + Flowers, bright flowers! + Tinged with a heavenly hue, + Reflecting its azure blue, + Flowers, bright flowers, + Brightest earth ever knew! + Cheering the desolate, + Flowers, bright flowers! + Coming with fragrance fraught, + From Heaven's own breezes caught, + Flowers, bright flowers, + Teachers of holy thought! + Borne to the curtained room, + Flowers, bright flowers! + Where the sick longs for light, + Then, for the shades of night, + Flowers, bright flowers, + Gladdening the wearied sight! + High on the mountain-top, + Flowers, bright flowers! + Low in sequestered vale, + On cliff, mid rock, in dale, + Flowers, bright flowers, + Ye do prevail! + + + + + + +FORGET ME NOT. + + + + + + FORGET me not when other lips + Shall whisper love to thee; + Forget me not when others twine + Their chaplets for thy brow; + Forget me not, for I am thine, + Forever onward true as now, + As long as time shall be. + There may be words thou mayest doubt, + But when I tell thee "I am thine," + Believe the heart's assurance true, + In sorrow and in mirth + Forever it doth turn to you, + Confiding, trusting in thy worth. + Thou wilt, I know, be mine. + + + + + + +WHAT IS TRUTH? + + + + + +LONG, long ago, one whose life had been one of goodness-whose every +act had been that of charity and good will-was persecuted, hated and +maligned! He came with new hopes. He held up a light, whose rays +penetrated far into the future, and disclosed a full and glorious +immortality to the long doubting, troubled soul of man. + +He professed to commune with angels! He had healed the sick; he had +given sight to the blind; caused the lame to walk; opened +prison-doors, and had preached the Gospel to the poor. Those he +chose for his companions were from humble rank. Their minds had not +become enslaved to any creed; not wedded to any of the fashionable +and popular forms of the day, nor immovably fixed to any of the +dogmas of the schools. He chose such because their minds were free +and natural; "and they forsook all and followed him." + +Among the rulers, the wealthy and the powerful, but few believed in +him, or in the works he performed. To them he was an impostor. In +speaking of his labors some cant phrase fell from their wise lips, +synonymous with the "it is all a humbug" of our day. His healing of +the sick was denied; or, if admitted, was said to be some lucky +circumstance of fate. His opening of the eyes of the blind was to +them a mere illusion; the supposed cure, only an operation of the +imagination. + +All his good deeds were underrated; and those who, having seen with +their own eyes, and heard with their own ears, were honest enough to +believe and openly declare their belief; were looked upon by the +influential and those in high places as most egregiously deceived +and imposed upon. + +But, notwithstanding the opposition, men did believe; and in one day +three thousand acknowledged their belief in the sincerity of the +teacher, and in the doctrines which he taught. + +Impressed deeply with the reality and divinity of his +mission,--looking to God as his father, and to all mankind as his +brethren,--Jesus continued his way. To the scoffs and jeers of the +rabble, he replied in meekness and love; and amid the proud and +lofty he walked humbly, ever conscious of the presence of an angelic +power, which would silence the loudest, and render powerless the +might of human strength. + +He spoke as one having authority. He condemned the formalism of +their worship; declared a faith that went deeper than exterior rites +and ceremonies; and spoke with an independence and fearlessness such +deep and soul-searching truths, that the people took up stones to +stone him, and the priests and the rulers held council together +against him. + +At length the excited populace, beholding their cherished faith +undermined, and the new teacher day by day inculcating doctrines +opposed to those of Moses and the prophets, determined to take his +life, and thus terminate his labors and put a stop to his heresies. + +They watched his every movement. They stood by and caught the words +as they fell from his lips, hoping thus to get something by which to +form an accusation against him. In this they failed. Though what he +said was contrary to their time-worn dogmas, yet nothing came from +his lips but sentiments of the purest love, the injunctions of +reason and justice, and the language of humanity. Failing in this +plan to ensnare him, justice was set abide, and force called in to +their aid. + +See him now before a great tribunal, and Pilate, troubled in soul, +compelled to say, "I find no fault in this man." + +Urged to action by the mad crowd around him, balancing his decision +between justice, the prisoner's release, and injustice, the call to +crucify him, he knows not what to do. In an agony of thought, which +pen cannot describe or human words portray, he delays his +irrevocable doom. + +In the mean time, the persecutors grow impatient; and louder than +ever, from the chief priests and the supporters of royalty, goes up +the infamous shout, "Crucify him, crucify him!" At this moment, the +undecided, fearful Pilate casts a searching glance about him. As he +beholds the passionate people, eager for the blood of one man, and +he innocent, and sees, standing in their midst, the meek and lowly +Jesus, calm as an evening zephyr over Judea's plains, from whose eye +flows the gentle love of an infinite divinity,--his face beaming in +sympathy with every attribute of goodness, faith and humanity,--all +this, too, before his mad, unjust accusers, from whose eyes flash in +mingled rays the venom of scorn and hate,--his mind grows strong with +a sense of right. His feelings will not longer be restrained, and, +unconscious of his position, forgetting for the moment the dignity +of his office, he exclaims, with the most emphatic earnestness, +"WHAT IS TRUTH?" + +Eighteen hundred years have intervened between that day and this; +and now the same inquiry is heard, and often with the same +earnestness as then. Men ask, and often ask in vain, "what is +truth?" and yet the great problem to millions remains unsolved. + +Generations pass on, and leave to others the great question for them +to ask, and they, in turn, to leave unanswered. The child, ere it +can speak in words, looks from its wistful eye, "What is truth?" +Youth comes, and all the emotions of the soul are awakened. It +arises from the playfulness of childhood, forgets its little games, +and, finding itself an actor in the drama of life, looks over the +long programme of parts from which it is to choose its own, and +anxiously inquires "What is truth?" Manhood feels the importance of +the question; and Age, though conscious of its near approach to the +world of revealed truth, repeats it. + +The present is an era of thought. Men begin to assume a spirit of +independence, and to look less upon human authority, and more upon +that light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world. And +it is well that it is so. It is well that we begin to look upon +liberty in another light than a mere absence of iron bonds upon our +hands and feet; that we begin to discern that "He is a freeman whom +the truth makes free, And all are slaves beside." We are pressing on +to know the truth. We have grown weary of darkness, and are seeking +the light. We should remember, in our researches, that, to find out +truth, we must not be pledged to any form, any opinion, or any +creed, however old or dearly cherished such limitations may have +been with ourselves or others. We must come to the task like little +children, ready to learn. We must leave our beliefs behind us. We +must not bring them, and attempt to adapt our discoveries in the +realms of eternal truth to them; but we must build up the structure +with the material we find in the universe of God; and then, when +reared, if we find that in doing so we have a stone from our old +temple nicely adjusted in the new, very well;--let it remain, and +thank God for it. + +Men have trusted too much in the views of past ages, and taken for +truth many an error, because some one back in by-gone ages +introduced it as such, and it has been believed in and held most +sacred. + +Let our course be our own course, and not that of others. Let us +seek for truth as truth. Let us be honest and press on, trusting in +God the rewarder of all, who will bless all our efforts to ascertain +his truths, and our duty to him, to our fellow-men, and to +ourselves. + + + + + + +THE HOMESTEAD VISIT. + + + + + +He had wandered far and long, and when, on his return to the scenes +of his early life, he came in full view of the old house, in which +and around which those scenes were clustered, he throw down his +oaken staff, raised his hands, and clapped them like a child. Then a +tear would roll down his face; then a smile illumine it; then he +would dance with joy. As he approached the building, he observed +that the door was open; and the large, hospitable-looking room was +so inviting, and there being no one present, he entered, and +indulged in thoughts like these: + + I STAND where I have stood before: + The same roof is above me, + But they who were are here no more, + For me to love, or love me. + I listen, and I seem to hear + A favorite voice to greet me; + But yet I know that none are near, + Save stranger forms, to meet me. + I'll sit me down,--for I have not + Sat here since first I started + To run life's race,--and on this spot + Will muse of the departed. + Then I was young, and on my brow + The rays of hope were shining; + But Time hath there his imprint now, + That tells of life's declining. + How great the change!-though I can see + Full many a thing I cherished- + Yet, since beneath yon old oak tree + I stood, how much hath perished. + Here is the same old oaken floor, + And there the same rough ceiling + Each telling of the scenes of yore, + Each former joys revealing. + But, friends of youth-they all have fled; + Some yet on earth do love us; + While others, passed beyond the dead, + Live guardian ones above us. + Yet, o'er us all one powerful hand + Is raised to guard forever, + And all, ere long, one happy band + Be joined, no more to sever. + I've trimmed my sail on every sea + Where crested waves are swelling; + Yet oft my heart turned back to thee, + My childhood's humble dwelling. + I've not forgot my youthful days, + The home that was my mother's, + When listening to the words of praise + That were bestowed on others. + See, yonder, through the window-pane, + The rock on which I rested; + And on that green how oft I've lain- + What memories there are vested! + The place where once a sister's hand + I held-none loved I fonder; + But she's now with an angel band, + Whilst I a pilgrim wander. + There was a pretty, blue-eyed girl, + A good old farmer's daughter; + We used the little stones to hurl, + And watch them skip the water. + We'd range among the forest trees, + To gather woodland flowers; + And then each other's fancy please + In building floral bowers. + Within this room, how many a time + I've listened to a story, + And heard grandfather sing his rhyme + 'Bout Continental glory! + And oft I'd shoulder his old staff, + And march as proud as any, + Till the old gentleman would laugh, + And bless me with a penny. + Hark! 't is a footstep that I hear; + A stranger is approaching; + I must away-were I found here + I should be thought encroaching. + One last, last look-my old, old home! + One memory more of childhood! + I'll not forget, where'er I roam, + This homestead and the wild-wood. + + + + + + +THE MARINER'S SONG. + + + + + + O THE sea, the sea! I love the sea! + For nothing on earth seems half as free + As its crested waves; they mount on high, + And seem to sport with the star-gemmed sky. + Talk as you will of the land and shore; + Give me the sea, and I ask no more. + I love to float on the ocean deep, + To be by its motion rocked to sleep; + Or to sit for hours and watch the spray, + Marking the course of our outward way, + While upward far in a cloudless sky + With a shriek the wild bird passeth by. + And when above are the threatening clouds, + And the wild wind whistles 'mid the shrouds, + Our masts bend low till they kiss the wave, + As beckoning one from its ocean cave, + Then hurra for the sea! I love its foam, + And over it like a bird would roam. + There is that's dear in a mountain home, + With dog and gun 'mid the woods to roam; + And city life hath a thousand joys, + That quiver amid its ceaseless noise; + Yet nothing on land can give to me + Such joy as that of the pathless sea. + When morning comes, and the sun's first rays + All around our gallant topmast plays, + My heart bounds forth with rapturous glee, + O, then, 't is then that I love the sea! + Talk as you will of the land and shore; + Give me the sea, and I ask no more! + + + + + + +LOVE'S LAST WORDS. + + + + + + THEY knew that she was going + To holier, better spheres, + Yet they could not stay the flowing + Of their tears; + And they bent above in sorrow, + Like mourners o'er a tomb, + For they knew that on the morrow + There'd be gloom. + There was one among the number + Who had watched the dying's breath, + With an eye that would not slumber + Until death. + There, as he bent above her, + He whispered in her ear + How fondly he did love her, + Her most dear. + "One word, 't will comfort send me, + When early spring appears, + And o'er thy grave I bend me + In my tears. + A single word now spoken + Shall be kept in Memory's shrine, + Where the dearest treasured token + Shall be thine." + She pressed his hand-she knew him- + With the fervor of a child; + And, looking fondly to him, + Sweetly smiled. + And, smiling thus, she started + For her glorious home above, + And her last breath, as it parted, + Whispered "Love." + + + + + + +LIGHT IN DARKNESS. + + + + + + SOMETIMES my heart complaineth + And moans in bitter sighs; + And dreams no hope remaineth, + No more its sun will rise. + But yet I know God liveth, + And will do all things well; + And that to me he giveth + More good than tongue can tell. + And though above me linger + At times dark Sorrow's shroud, + I see Faith's upraised finger + Point far beyond the cloud. + + + + + + +MT. VERNON, AND THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON. + + + + + +THE heat of noon had passed, and the trees began to cast their +evening shadows, when, in company with a friend, I seated myself in +a carriage, and drove off in the direction of Mount Vernon. We +crossed the long bridge, and found ourselves in the old State of +Virginia. + +It was a delightful afternoon; one just suited to the purpose to +which we had devoted it. The trees were clad in fresh, green +foliage, and the farms and gardens were blooming into early life. To +myself, no season appears so beautiful as that of spring. All +seasons to me are bright and glorious, but there is a charm about +spring that captivates the soul. Then Nature weaves her drapery, and +bends over the placid lake to jewel herself, as the maiden bends +before her mirror to deck her pure white brow with diamonds and +rubies. All is life, all animation, all clothed with hope; all +tending upward, onward to the bright future. "The trees are full of +crimson buds, the woods are full of birds, And the waters flow to +music, like a tune with pleasant words." + +In about one hour we reached the city of Alexandria. Between this +place and Washington a steamboat plies, going and returning four +times a day. The road from Washington to Alexandria is about decent; +but the road from thence to Mount Vernon is in the worst possible +condition,--so bad, in fact, that we dismounted and walked a +considerable distance, it being far less tiresome to walk than to +ride. The road winds in a very circuitous route through a dense +forest, the lofty trees of which, rising upon either hand, cast +their deep shadows upon us. The place, that would otherwise have +been gloomy, was enlivened by the variable songs of the +mocking-birds, and the notes of their more beautiful-plumed though +less melodious companions. + +Occasionally we passed the hut of a negro, and met a loaded team +from some Virginian farm, drawn by three or four ill-looking, yet +strong and serviceable horses. These teams were managed by +negroes,--never less than two, and in some cases by three or four, +or, as in one instance, by an entire family, man, wife and children, +seated on their loads, whistling and singing, where also sat a large +black-and-white mastiff. Long after we passed and they had receded +from our view, we could distinctly hear their melodious voices +singing their simple yet expressive songs, occasionally interrupted +by a "gee, yawh, shau," as they urged on their dilatory steeds. + +The homes of the negroes were in some cases built of stone; mostly, +however, of boards, put loosely together, and in some instances of +large logs, the crevices being filled with mud, which, the sun and +wind having hardened, were white-washed, presenting a very strong +though not very beautiful appearance, the architecture of which was +neither Grecian nor Roman, but evidently from "original designs" by +a not very fastidious or accomplished artist. + +Groups of women and children were about these houses; some seated on +the grass, in the shade of the tall trees; others standing in the +doors, all unemployed and apparently having nothing to do but to +talk, and this they appeared to engage in with a hearty good will. + +We continued our way over stones, up steep, deep-rutted hills, +covered partly with branches and brambles, and down as steep +declivities, through ponds and brooks, now and then cheered by the +pleasing prospect of a long road, evidently designed to illustrate +the "ups and downs of life." + +After a tiresome journey, partly walked, partly ridden, which was +somewhat relieved of its tediousness by the romantic and beautiful +scenery through which we passed, we came in view of Mount Vernon. + +An old, infirm, yet good, sociable negro met us at the gate, and +told us that there was another road to the Mount, but that it was +not as good as the one we came over, and also that there was a +private road, which was not as good as either of the others! We +smiled, threw out a hint about a‰rial navigation. He smiled also, +and, thinking we doubted his word, said, "Indeed, it is not as good; +I would n't tell you a lie about it." Mercy on pilgrims to Mount +Vernon! If you ever go there, reader, do provide yourself with a +conscience that can't be shaken out of you. + +Having been kindly furnished with a letter from Mr. Seaton, the +editor of the Intelligencer, and Mayor of Washington city, to the +proprietor of the estate, we inquired whether he was at home, and +with pleasure learned that he was. + +We passed into what we deemed an almost sacred enclosure, so linked +is it with the history of our country, and the glorious days that +gave birth to a nation's freedom. It seemed as though we had entered +an aviary, so many and so various the birds that floated in the air +around us, and filled it with the rich melody of their songs. + +At a short distance stood a beautiful deer, as if transfixed to the +spot, his large, black, lustrous eyes turned towards us, his ears +erect, till, suddenly starting, he darted away, and leaped down the +steep hill-side to the water's brink. + +The house I need not describe, as most persons are acquainted with +its appearance, from seeing the numerous engraved representations of +it. It shows many evidences of age and decay. Time is having his own +way with, it, as the hand that would defend it from his ravages, and +improve its looks, is kept back, that it may remain as nearly as +possible in the same condition as when occupied by our first +president. We entered and passed through several rooms, endeavoring +to allay our curiosity by asking more questions than our attendant +could conveniently answer and retain his senses. + +We saw the massive key of that old French prison-house, the Bastile, +presented to General Washington by that friend of freedom and +humanity, General Lafayette, soon after the destruction of that +monument of terror. We noticed that depredations had been committed +by visitors upon the costly marble fire-frame, which was a gift to +Washington. + +Mr. Washington being called to the farm, we availed ourselves of the +services of the old negro before mentioned, who led us around the +estate. On our way to the tomb, we passed through what we judged to +be a kitchen. The floor was brick, and a fireplace occupied nearly +all of one side of the room; one of those old-fashioned contrivances +which were in vogue in those days when people went more for comfort +than appearance. Half a score of negroes were in the room, who gazed +at us as we entered, covered with dust and dirt, the real free soil +of Virginia. They seemed to think our intentions more of a warlike +than a peaceable nature. We soon inclined them to the latter belief, +however, by gently patting a curly-headed urchin upon the head, and +distributing a few pennies among the crowd. + +Five minutes' walk, and we were at the tomb. + +"There is the old General," said the aged negro, as he touched +lightly the sarcophagus with his cane; "that, yonder, is his wife," +pointing to a similar one at the left. + +Silently I stood and gazed at the marble coffin that held the mortal +remains of him whom, when he lived, all people loved, and the memory +of whom, now that he has passed from our material vision, all people +revere. A few branches of cypress lay upon it, and at its base a few +withered flowers. + +The sarcophagus that holds the dust of Washington is placed upon a +low pedestal, formed of brick. A brick wall is at the sides, and an +iron slat fence or gateway in front. Over this gateway a white stone +is set in the brick-work, and bears this inscription: + +WITHIN THIS ENCLOSURE ARE + +THE REMAINS + +OF + +GENERAL GEORGE WASHINGTON. + +Short, indeed, but how full of food for thought! + +"General George Washington!" He needs no long and fulsome epitaph +carved in marble to tell his worth. Did his memory depend upon that +alone, the marble would crumble into dust, mingle with his, and his +name pass away with the stone that man vainly thought would preserve +it. No; his monument is a world made free, and his memory as lasting +as immortal mind. Wherever the light of freedom shall penetrate, it +will bear on its every glistening ray his cherished name; and +whenever and wherever men shall struggle with oppression, it shall +inspire them with vigor, and cheer them on to victory. + +Marble will perish, and monuments of adamant will crumble to dust; +but the memory of Washington will live as long as there is a heart +to love, or a mind to cherish a recollection of goodness. + +"He was a good old man," said the negro, "and he has gone to his +rest." + +"We are all going," he continued, after a pause. I thought a tear +stole down his wrinkled face; but he turned his back to me, and left +me to my own reflections. + +Deep silence was about us. We heard not even the notes of a bird. +Not a zephyr moved the air, not a rustling leaf was there. In front, +far below, lay the Potomac. Not a breath of wind moved the surface +of its waters, but calmly, peacefully, undisturbed, the river moved +on, as though conscious of the spot it was passing. On its glassy +surface were reflected the branches that bent over and kissed it as +it flowed, and the last rays of a declining sun tinted with their +golden light the hills on the opposite shore. + +I stood at the tomb of Washington: on my right stood a distinguished +Indian chief; on my left, "Uncle Josh," the old African, of +three-score years and ten. We represented three races of the human +family, and we each were there with the same feelings of love, +honor, and respect to departed worth. + +Night was hastening on. I clambered up the embankment, and plucked a +few green leaves from a branch that hung over the tomb; gazed once +more, and yet again, within the enclosure; then turned away, and +hastened to overtake my companions, who were far in advance. + +If our country is ever called to pass through another struggle, may +God, in his wisdom, raise up for it another Washington! + +The sun had passed the horizon, and the cool evening air, laden with +the fragrance of shrubbery and flowers, gathered about us. A lively +squirrel sprang across our path; a belated bird flew by; and, amid +the pleasant, quiet scenes of rural life, we wended our way +homeward. + + + + + + +FREEDOM'S GATHERING. + + + + + + I SEEMED to live beyond the present time; + + Methought it was when all the world was free, + And myriad numbers, from each distant clime, + + Came up to hold their annual jubilee. + From distant China, Afric's sunburnt shore, + + From Greenland's icebergs, Russia's broad domain, + They came as men whom fetters bound no more, + + And trod New England's valley, hill, and plain. + They met to hold a jubilee, for all + Were free from error's chain, and from the oppressor's thrall. + Word had gone forth that slavery's power was done; + + The cry like wild-fire through the nations ran; + Russia's tame serf, and Afric's sable son, + + Threw off their chains-each felt himself a man. + Thrones that had stood for ages were no more; + + Man ceased to suffer; tyrants ceased to reign; + And all throughout the world, from shore to shore, + + Were loosed from slavery's fetter and its chain; + And those who once were slaves came up as free, + Unto New England's soil, to keep their jubilee. + New England! 't was a fitting place, for it + + Had sent its rays upon them, as a star + Beams from the glorious heaven on slaves who sit + + In chains, to lure them where free seraphs are; + The light it had shed on them made them start + + From their deep lethargy, then look and see + That they of Freedom's boon might have a part, + + Their nation glorious as New England be. + And then like men they struggled till they won, + And Freedom's high-born light shone as a noonday sun. + Men gathered there who were men; nobly they + + Had long and faithful fought 'gainst error's night, + And now they saw the sunlight of that day + + They long had hoped to see, when truth and right + Should triumph o'er the world, and all should hold + + This truth self-evident, that fellow-men, + In God's own image made, should not be sold + + Nor stalled as cattle in a market-pen. + Praises they sang, and thanks they gave to God, + That he had loosed the chain, and broke the oppressor's rod. + They gazed o'er all the past; their vision's eye + + Beheld how men in former years had groaned, + When Hope's own flame burned dim, and no light nigh + + Shone to disperse the darkness; when enthroned + Sat boasting Ignorance, and 'neath its sway + + Grim Superstition held its lurid lamp, + That only darkened the obstructed way + + In which man groped and wandered, till the damp, + Cold, cheerless gateway of an opening tomb + Met his extended hand, and sealed his final doom. + Perchance one mind, illumined from above, + + Did strive to burst the heavy bonds it wore, + Pierce through the clouds of error, and, in love + + With its new mission, upward seek to soar. + Upon it shone truth's faintest, feeblest ray; + + It would be free; but tyrants saw and crushed + Man's first attempt to cast his chains away, + + The first aspirings of his nature hushed. + Thus back from men was Freedom's genius driven, + And Slavery's chains in ten-fold strength were riven. + In gazing o'er the past, 't was this they saw- + + How Evil long had triumphed; but to-day + Man bowed to nothing but God's righteous law, + + And Truth maintained its undisputed sway. + Right conquered might; and of this they were proud, + + As they beheld all nations drawing near,-- + Men from all lands, a vast, unnumbered crowd, + + While in their eyes full many a sparkling tear + Trembled a while, then from its cell did start, + Witness to the deep joys of an o'erflowing heart. + There came up those who'd crouched beneath the lash, + + Had bowed beneath the chains they scarce could bear, + Till Freedom's lightning on their minds did flash, + + And roused them as a lion in his lair + Is roused when foes invade it, then, with strength + + Near superhuman, one bold effort made + To break their cruel bondage, till at length + + Beneath their feet they saw their fetters laid. + 'T was then they lifted their freed hands on high, + And peans loud and long resounded through the sky. + Up, up they came, and still the bannered host + + Far in the distance met my wondering eye; + On hill and dale, on all New England's coast, + + White banners waved beneath a cloudless sky. + The aged sire leaned on his oaken staff, + + Manhood stood up in all its strength and pride, + And youth came dancing with a joyous laugh, + + With woman, lovely woman, at their side; + Bright eyes, glad hearts, and joyous souls, were there, + Free as the light that shone, unfettered as the air. + The mind, that spark of Deity within + + That hath its nurture from a higher world, + No longer bound by tyranny and sin, + + Beheld its highest, noblest powers unfurled. + No more did Error bind it to its creed, + + Or Superstition strive to blind its sight; + It followed only where God's truth did lead, + + And trusted him to guide its course aright. + The inner as the outer man was free, + And both united held this glorious jubilee. + --'T was all a vision, and it passed away, + + As dreams depart; yet it did leave behind + Its deep impressions, thoughts that fain would stay + + And hold communion with the tireless mind. + I wished that it were real; alas! I heard + + The clank of Slavery's fetters rend the air; + And feelings of my heart were deeply stirred, + + When I beheld my brethren, who dare + Proclaim all "equal," yet in chains of steel + Bind men, who, like themselves, can pain and pleasure feel. + God in his wisdom meant all should be free, + + All equal: each a brother unto man. + Presumptuous mortal! who His great decree + + Durst strive to change to suit thy selfish plan! + Know thou that his fixed purpose will be done, + + Though thou arrayest all thy puny strength + In war against it! All who feel the sun + + Shall own his goodness, and be free at length. + God cares for mortals, though he reigns on high; + Freedom is His own cause, and it shall never die! + My country! if my heart one wish doth hold, + + For thee and for thy good, it is that thou + No more permit thy children to be sold! + + Forbid that they as slaves to man shall bow! + For them our fathers nobly fought and bled; + + For them they poured their life-blood forth as rain; + Shall it in foreign lands of us be said, + + We bind our brothers with a galling chain? + While the Old World is struggling to be free, + America! shall this foul charge be laid to thee? + We all may err; may oft be led astray; + + Let him who'd free the slave be careful he + Is not a slave himself to some fond way + + He would adopt to set his brother free! + All seek one end; for all one good would gain; + + Then, on as brothers, hand in hand proceed! + Paths that seem intricate will all be plain, + + If we but follow where God's truth would lead. + + Trust Him for strength in darkness and in light; + His word will cheer us on,--His presence give us might. + + + + + + +SONG OF THE BIRD. + + + + + + ON the topmost branch of the highest tree + I sit and sing, I am free! I am free! + When the lightnings flash, when the thunders roar, + I plume my wings and away I soar! + But soon on the branch of a lofty tree + Gayly I sing, I am free! I am free! + A huntsman he came by my nest one day, + And thought that with gun my song he would stay; + But I left my nest when he thought me there, + And I roamed about in my native air. + Then, when he was gone, on the highest tree + Gayly I sung, I am free! I am free! + It is I, 't is I, that at dawn of day + Go to meet the sun at its earliest ray. + I love its heat; so I cheer it along + With chirping notes and melodious song; + And all the day on the highest tree + Gayly I sing, I am free! I am free! + When the dusky shades of the night appear, + In my nest on high I have naught to fear; + Sweetly I slumber till dawning of day, + Then to the East, for the sun, I'm away, + Till, borne on its rays to the highest tree, + Gayly I sing, I am free! I am free! + O, I love my nest, and my nest loves me! + It rocks like a bark on the dancing sea; + Gently it bows when I wish to retire; + When in, it rises higher and higher. + O, I love my nest, and I love the tree, + Home and the haunt of the bird that is free! + + + + + + +I CHANGE BUT IN DYING. + + + + + + I CHANGE but in dying,--I am faithful till death! + I will guard thee with care from pollution's foul breath; + I promise that ne'er in neglect thou shalt pine; + I change but in dying,--say, wilt thou be mine? + I come not with riches; good fortune ne'er blest me; + Yet one of less worth hath often carest me; + The light of true love o'er thy pathway shall shine; + I change but in dying,--say, wilt thou be mine? + I change but in dying,--no holier vow + From lips mortal e'er came than I breathe to thee now; + It comes from a heart with love for thee sighing; + Believe me, 't is true,--I change but in dying! + + + + + + +HE IS THY BROTHER. + + + + + + GO, break the chains that bind the slave; + Go, set the captive free; + For Slavery's banners ne'er should wave, + And slaves should never be. + Yet not in anger. Hasty words + Should not to thee belong, + They will not loose a single link, + But bind them yet more strong. + O, while ye think to him in chains + A brother's rights are due, + Remember him who binds those chains! + He is thy brother, too! + + + + + + +THE WINE-DEALER'S CLERK. + +CHAPTER I. + + + + + +"WILL you sign the pledge?" asked one young man of another. + +"No!" was the ready response; and, after a moment's pause, "You are +wrong, and I am right. You wish to deprive me of a social glass, +free companionship with those I love, life's best enjoyments, and to +live bound down to the contracted limits of a temperance-pledge.-Me +sign! No! Go ask leave of the soaring eagle to clip his wings; of +the oriole to tarnish his bright plumage; of the bounding deer to +fetter his free limbs,--but do not ask me to sign a pledge!" + +The young men parted. Each went his way; one to his counting-room, +the other to his home. + +The proprietors of the store with which the former was connected had +been for a number of years busily engaged in the importation, +adulteration and sale of wines and brandies. From the cellar to the +attic of their large warehouse, pipes, puncheons, and barrels of the +slow poison were deposited, with innumerable bottles of wine, +reputed to be old as a century, if not older. A box or two of +Flemish pipes relieved the sameness of the scene,--barrels on +barrels. + +From the counting-room of the establishment a large number of young +men had gone forth to become either wholesale or retail dealers in +the death-drugged merchandise. The ill-success which attended these, +and the lamentable end to which they arrived, would have been +singular and mysterious, had it followed in the wake of any other +business. But, as it was, effect followed cause, and such is the law +of nature. + +One, a young man of promise in days gone-by, recently became the +inmate of an alms-house in a distant city; another, urged to madness +by frequent potations, died as the fool dieth; and a third, who had +been the centre light of a social circle, as he felt the chill of +death come upon him, called all his friends near, and said to them, +"Deal not, deal not in the arrows of death, lest those arrows pierce +thine own heart at last!" + +All these facts were known to the public; yet they countenanced the +traffic in which Messrs. Laneville & Co. were engaged. They were +merchants, they were wealthy; for these reasons, it would seem, the +many-headed public looked up to them with a feeling bordering on +reverence, somewhat awed by their presence, as though wealth had +made them worthy, while many a less rich but ten-fold more honest +man walked in the shadow of the mighty Magog, unseen,--uncared for, +if seen. Messrs. Laneville & Co. knew that the law was against their +business; they knew, also, that public opinion, if not actually in +favor of it, willingly countenanced it. + +Perchance the cry of some unfortunate widow might at times reach +their ears; but it was speedily hushed by the charmed music of the +falling dollar, as it was exchanged for their foul poison. +Forgetting they were men, they acted as demons, and continued to +deal forth their liquid death, and to supply the thousand streams of +the city with the cause of the crime it was obliged to punish, and +the pauperism it was obliged to support. + +The "Vincennes" had just arrived at the wharf as James entered the +store. It had been the custom of the owners, on the annual arrival +of this vessel, to have a party on board. On this occasion, they +made the usual arrangements for the festivity. Cards of invitation +were speedily written, and distributed among members of the city +government, editors, clergymen, and other influential persons. James +was free to invite such of his friends as he chose, and in doing so +the question arose whether he should ask George Alverton to be +present. It was known to him that George was a teetotaller, and had +that morning invited him to sign the pledge. He knew that at the +entertainment wine would circulate. He knew that some would indulge +rather freely, and that the maintenance of a perfect equilibrium by +such would be very difficult. Suppose he, himself,--that is, +James,--should be among these last mentioned, and that, too, before +his friend George; would it not demolish his favorite argument, +which he had a thousand times advanced, that he knew right from +wrong,--when to drink and when to stop drinking? yet, thought he, I +may not indulge too freely. Yes; I will maintain my position, and +show by practice what I teach by preaching. Besides, it would be +very impolite, as well as uncourteous, in me, not to invite one +whose character I value so highly as his,--one whose friendship I so +much esteem. I will invite him. He shall be present, and shall see +that I can keep sober without being pledged to do so. + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +George Alverton was the son of a nobleman. Start not, republican +reader, for we mean not a stiff-starched branch of English nobility, +but one of America's noblemen,--and hers are nature's! He was a +hard-working mechanic; one of God's noblest works,--an honest man! +Americans know not, as yet, the titled honors of the Old World; and +none, save a few, whose birth-place nature must have mistook, would +introduce into a republican country the passwords of a monarchical +one. + +"An invite for you," said the laughing Josephine, as George entered +at dusk. "And ten to one it's from that black-eyed Kate, who is +bewitching all the young men within a twenty-mile circuit with her +loving glances-eh? A match, ten to one!" + +"Always gay," said George, as he turned half aside to avoid the +mischievous look of his sister; "but, by the way, Jos, to be +serious, an invite did you say? How do you know that?" + +"O, by the way 'tis folded; we girls have a way of knowing a +love-letter from bills of exchange, and an invitation from bills of +lading. Just look at it; see how pretty 'tis enveloped, how +handsomely directed,--George Alverton, Esq., Present. It's no use, +George; you needn't look so serious. You are a captured one, and +when a bird's in a net he may as well lie still as flutter!" + +Josephine handed the note to her brother, slyly winking as she did +so, as much as to say, "The marriage-bells are ringing, love." + +George, observing the superscription, was convinced that it was from +James Clifton, and remarked, + +"Don't be too hasty; it is from James; the direction must be wrong; +it was doubtless intended for you. Look out, Jos; you may be the +captured one, after all!" + +Josephine was not to be thus thrown from her ground; so, turning to +her brother with a laugh, she said, + +"For me! Well, if so 't is so; but I judge from what I see. +Notwithstanding your insinuation that James writes to no one but +myself, I'll venture a bright gold dollar that this is for yourself, +even though it be from James. Open the budget, and prove the truth +of what I say." + +George untied the white ribbon that bound it, and, opening the +envelope, found an invitation to a gentleman's party to be held that +evening on board the "Vincennes." Josephine laughed merrily over +what she deemed her brother's defeat, and George as heartily over +what he deemed his victory. He was advised to go; not, however, +without an accompanying hint of its being a dry affair, as ladies +were to be excluded. Josephine was puzzled to know the reason of +their exclusiveness, and what festivity was to be engaged in of +which they could not partake. + +"I scarcely know what to do," said George, "as wines will be +circulated, and I shall be asked, a dozen times or more, to drink of +them." + +"Go, by all means," said his sister; "stand your own ground, be +firm, be resolute, refuse if asked to partake; but do so in a manner +that, while it shows a determination to resist temptation, will not +offend, but rather induce him you respect to think whether it will +not he best for him also to refuse." + +"I will. I am aware of the situation in which James is placed. He +has a generous, a noble heart, that needs but to know the right to +do it. I will go; and if by example, persuasion or otherwise, I can +prevail upon him to sign the pledge, I will do so, and thank God for +it. I will speak to him kindly, and in reason. Others will drink, if +he does not; others will fall, if he escapes; and such examples are +the most convincing arguments that can be used to prove that an +unpledged man, in these days of temptation, is unsafe, and unmindful +of his best and dearest interests." + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +Notwithstanding the short interval between the reception of the +cards and the hour of festivity, the time appointed saw a goodly +number assembled in the well-furnished, richly-decorated cabins of +the ship. + +It was evident that some individuals had been busy as bees, for all +was clean and in the best of order. Wreaths of evergreen and +national flags decorated the vessel, and bouquets of bright and +fragrant flowers, conspicuously arranged, loaded the air with their +sweet perfumes. There were card-tables and cards, scores of +well-filled decanters, and glasses almost without number. At one end +of the cabin stood a table filled with fruits of the most costly +kind. There were oranges fresh from the land that gave them growth, +and other products of sunny Italy and the islands beyond the seas. +The captain was as lively as a lark, and as talkative as wit and +wine could make him. He spoke of his quick voyage, praised his ship +till praise seemed too poor to do its duty, boasted of its good +qualities, said there was not a better craft afloat, and finished +his eulogy by wishing success to all on board, and washing it down +with a glass of Madeira, which, he said, was the stuff, for he made +it himself from grapes on the island. + +Messrs. Laneville & Co. were in high glee. They drank and played +cards with men worth millions; spoke of the inclemency of the +season, and expressed great surprise that so much poverty and +wretchedness existed, with one breath, and with the next extolled +the wines and administered justice to the eatables. Editors were +there who had that morning written long "leaders" about the +oppression of the poor by the rich, and longer ones about the +inconsistencies of their contemporaries, who ate and drank, and +dreamt not of inconsistency in themselves, though they guided the +press with temperance reins, and harnessed themselves with those who +tarried long at the wine. + +James drank quite often, and George as often admonished him of his +danger. But the admonitions of a young man had but little if any +influence, counteracted as they were by the example of the rich and +the great about him. There was Alderman Zemp, who was a temperance +man in the world, but a wine-drinker in a ship's cabin. He had +voted for stringent laws against the sale of liquors, and had had +his name emblazoned on the pages of every professedly temperance +paper as a philanthropist and a righteous man; and on the pages of +every anti-temperance publication, as a foe to freedom, and an enemy +to the rights of humanity. But he drank; yes, he had asked James to +take a glass of the water of Italy, as he called it. Clergymen, so +called, disgraced themselves, and gave the scoffers food for +merriment. Judges who that day might have sentenced some unfortunate +to imprisonment for drinking, drank with a gusto equalled only by +lawyers who would talk an hour in court to prove a man discreditable +evidence because he was known to visit bar-rooms! It was the +influence of these, and such like, that made James drink, and caused +the labor of George to prove all unavailing. It is the example of +the rich that impedes the progress of temperance,--they who loll on +damask sofas, sip their iced champagnes and brandies, and never get +"drunk," though they are sometimes "indisposed." + +The clock struck twelve, then one, and the morning hours advanced, +light-foot messengers of the coming day. The gay and the jocund +laugh was hushed, and the notes that told of festive mirth were +silenced. Nature, either fatigued by exertion or stupefied by wine, +had sank to repose; and those who had lingered too long and indulged +too freely were lying on the cabin-floor helpless. George retired +at a seasonable hour. James remained, and fell, as others, before +the enchanting wine-cup's power! + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + +The next morning George called at the store of Laneville & Co. No +one was in save a small lad, who, to his inquiry, replied that all +were sick. The youth was a short, porpoise-shaped lad, who appeared +quite independent for his age and station, and told George that he +had better call the next day, as the folks would n't be down. In an +instant George suspected the cause of their absence. Though he knew +James would be mortified to be seen, yet he determined upon visiting +him, thinking it a favorable opportunity to submit to him the +expediency of taking that step which he had urged upon him on the +morning previous. + +Conscious of being engaged in an act of duty, he ascended the steps +that led to the door of the house. He rang; a servant-girl answered +his call. + +"Holloa!" shouted a voice at the head of the stairs. "Who's +there?-what cow's got into my pasture now? Another glass, +friends,--once more! Now drink, 'Death to the temperance cause, and +ill-luck to fanatics!' Holloa! down below,--come aloft!" + +"Hush! be quiet," said a female voice, in a whisper. "James, do +respect yourself." + +"Hush! who says hush? My soul's in arms; come on, John Duff! bring +liquor here, and cursed be he who says, I've had enough!" + +The closing of a door put an end to this extemporaneous address. +George stood like a statue; he knew not which course to +take,--whether to go up to his friend's room, or go down to the +street. He soon determined, and sent word that he wished to speak to +James. In a moment the latter was again to be heard declaiming +disconnected sentences on all manner of subjects, until, learning +the wish of George, he shouted, + +"Yes, tell him to come up and revel in the groves of Madeira, or +dance with peasant-girls at the grape-gatherings in Sicily! Yes, +George, up here, and see how a man can live a temperance life +without signing the pledge, and be as independent as he pleases!" + +As George entered, James grasped his hand,--swung him round rather +familiarly, and pushed him towards a chair. + +The furniture and all that was in the room was in the greatest +confusion, not excepting James Clifton himself. There was a +boot-jack and a vase of flowers side by side on the mantel; a pair +of boots on the centre-table, with two or three annuals on them, as +though to keep them from being blown away; a nice hat stood on the +hearth filled with coal-ashes, while an inkstand upside down on a +pile of linen bosoms had left an impression not easily effaced; the +paintings that were in the room were turned face towards the +wall,--some freak of James', as though ashamed to have them see the +performances. + +"Now, George," said Mr. Clifton, "you can be convinced of the truth +of my doctrine. I did n't sign the pledge, and I'm as sober, sober +as a brandy-smasher! You recollect what a great poet says,--Drink +till the moon goes down. I can improve that; I say,--Drink till +yourselves go down. What an age this is, when temperance fanatics +dance through the world to smash decanters, and make one pledge +himself to be a fool! Independence is my motto! I go for +independence now, independence forever, and as much longer as +possible. Who says I am not right? Deluded mortals, who wink at sin, +and kick at brandies! Magnificent monstrosities, making manliness +moonshine; metaphysical Moors murdering Munchausen-" + +"But hold, James," said George, interrupting him in his remarks; +"keep within bounds,--let us reason." It was not with much hope of +success that George asked his friend to "reason," for his condition +was one not in the least degree favorable to such a performance. + +"Reason?" exclaimed James. "I'm not a reasonable,--reasoning, I +mean,--I'm not a reasoning being! Go ask the pigs to reason!" + +Notwithstanding all this, George seemed inclined to argument, for he +immediately said, + +"Don't you see the ill effects of last night's indulgence in the +confusion around you, and feel them in your own mind and body?" + +"Now you talk like a man. Let us send the 'James-town' to Ireland +with bread and butter. 'T is a vote! passed unanimously by both +houses of Congress. We'll fire a full broadside of gingerbread at +the old Green Isle, and teach the people to eat for a living." + +This rambling from the inquiry George had made induced him to +relinquish all hope of influencing him at that time. He saw how he +had fallen; and he needed no prophet's ken to behold his future +course, unless he turned from the path he was now so +enthusiastically following. + +Seeing that no good could be effected by his remaining, George arose +to depart, when James caught his arm, and told him not to be in such +haste. + +"I want you to take a glass of wine;" and, ringing the bell, a +servant was at the door before Mr. Alverton had an opportunity to +say or do anything. + +"You know I don't drink wines," said George; "why do you ask me?" + +"Don't drink?" + +"You look surprised, but you know I do not." + +"Everybody drinks." + +"Not all, if I am one of that extensive number." + +"Well, my employer sells liquors, my minister drinks his wine, and +my friends all drink, except you; and you are a sort of nondescript, +a sort of back-action member of human society, a perfect ginger-cake +without any ginger in it. Say, got a pledge in your pocket? I have; +here it is:" and he pulled forth a slip of paper, on which he had +written some half-legible lines. + +"See how you like it;--it is what is called the Independent Pledge. +I'll read it. + +"'We the undersigned, believing the use of wines and other liquors +beneficial to ourselves in general, and the dealers in particular, +pledge ourselves to act as we please in all matters of politics and +phrenology.'" + +The servant, who yet stood at the door waiting orders, burst forth +into a loud laugh, as the reading of this was finished, while +George, though inwardly sorrowing over the situation of his friend, +could not refrain from smiling at his ridiculous appearance and +doings. There was a good humor running through the method of his +madness, that made him far from being disagreeable. + +Mr. Alverton passed to the door, and, motioning the servant aside, +entreated her not to bring him wine. + +"Well, sir, that be's just as he says," said she, in a loud voice, +and in a manner that convinced Mr. Alverton that she cared not as to +what might follow. + +"Good!" shouted James. "Why, she's my confidential; she's as true to +me as a book. Sal, bring up two decanters of that best." + +The girl laughed, and bounded out of the room to do as he requested. + +The wine came; a long talk ensued, as unmeaning and useless as that +we have above related, and George left with a heavy heart, promising +to call on the morrow. + +As he entered the street, and the cool, fresh air of an autumn +morning greeted him, he felt somewhat revived, and, quickening his +step, he soon reached his home. He dare not mention his adventure to +Josephine, though he wanted to. She was the betrothed of James. In +one month they were to be married! Dark and frowning were the clouds +that gathered in their blackness over the mind of George, as he +mused on what had been and what was to be. Should he tell her all? +It was his duty. Should he shrink from the performance of his duty? +No. + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + + +"Never!" exclaimed the young lady, as she wiped her eyes, and a +smile of joy and hope burst through her tears. "George, I know he +will not go too far,--O, no! As an eagle may touch the earth, yet, +soaring again, float in its own element in the light of the sun, so +may he, though he has this once fallen, soar upward, and higher than +ever, planning not another descent so low." + +"I hope it may be so," said George. + +"And why not hope? You know each has an opinion of his own, but that +opinion may be changed. Though he now opposes the pledge, and the +cause of which it is the representative, yet he may think +differently, and may, through your influence, become one of its most +zealous advocates. Don't mention to him that I know of his act," +exclaimed Josephine, springing to catch the arm of her brother, as +he opened the door to leave. + +She was answered in the negative, and in the examination of a few +articles that were being prepared for her bridal-day she gradually +forgot all unpleasant misgivings, and nothing but happiness could +she see before her. + +It was not until the next day that George had an opportunity of +seeing his friend. He then met him at the store, and James laughed +over the doings of the day previous as a "good joke," as he called +them. On that occasion, as on several subsequent ones, he urged him +to sign and become a total-abstinent; but, with such influences as +those which surrounded him, it was not strange that these efforts +proved ineffectual. + +Weeks passed, and the hour of marriage drew nigh. The festivity was +to be one of unusual splendor and gayety. For a long time had +preparations been in progress. + +It was painful for George to refer to a matter which he would not +have spoken of had it not so much concerned the welfare of a sister +whom he loved as his own self. When he mentioned the circumstances +attending the party on board the "Vincennes," she, in the fulness of +her love, excused James, and brought up a host of arguments to prove +the impossibility of a reoccurrence of any similar event. + +Love is stronger than death; and, mastering all things, overlooks or +decreases the evil and enlarges the goodness of its object. It was +so in this case. Josephine's attachment to James led her to +sacrifice all other feelings and opinions to her deep affection for +him, and made her willing to stand by him or fall with him, as the +vine to the tree, bright and fresh, though the once sturdy oak lies +fallen and blighted. + +The evening came, and with it many a bright and joyous heart to the +home of George Alverton. A more beautiful bride never pronounced the +bridal-vow than she who there, encircled with bright eyes and +smiling faces, gave all to James Clifton. And when it was over, when +they joined the bright galaxy that were about them and mingled with +others in the festive mirth of the hour, a life of joy and social +comfort was predicted for the hearts which that night were made +one! Music was there with its charms, Terpsichore with her graceful +motions, and everything from commencement to close was conducted in +so happy and agreeable a manner, that not a few young folks, as they +rode home, agreed to go through the same performance at their +earliest convenience. + +After the usual "calls" had been attended and a few weeks had +elapsed, James and his young wife located themselves in a +dwelling-house, which was furnished in an elegant though not in an +extravagant manner. He was to continue with Messrs. Laneville & Co. +They reposed the utmost confidence in him, and considered him the +best judge of liquors in the city. On the day of his marriage they +increased his salary one third, so that his income was by no means +to be complained of. It was such as to enable him to live well, and +to lay aside quite a large amount quarterly. His prospects were +good, and no young man ever had better hopes of success. + +We cannot close this chapter without referring again to the fact +that he dealt in that which made widows of wives, orphans of +children, and sent down the stream of life a rivulet of death. This +fact was like a cloud hanging over his path; and, though it was but +as a speck far up in sky, who could tell what it might become? + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + + + +For a year the young couple were most happy. The moments flew too +quickly by; so laden were they with joy, they would have them endure +forever. "Little Jim" was a smart one, if he was n't as old as his +father, and the handsomest piece of furniture in the house! Nobody +doubted that; at least, it would n't have been well for them to have +expressed their doubts in a very audible manner, if they held any. + +Tasting, trying and judging of liquors, led to a loving, sipping and +drinking of them. We may hate temperance; but it is certain we +cannot hate a good without loving a bad thing. In offering for sale +an article of food or beverage, the influence of our using it +ourselves, or not using it, goes a great ways towards our disposing +of it, or our not disposing of it. James knew this, and acted +accordingly. He always had the best of liquors in his house, as it +was often the case that, after selling a man a large amount, he +invited him home to dine. They, in turn, invited him out in the +evening, and it was often a late hour when he returned. At home the +presence of his wife prevented him from indulging too freely; but +away from home, and surrounded by gay companions, he went as full +lengths as any. + +Such indulgences could not continue long without showing their +effects. George saw these, and remonstrated with him; but Josephine +could not or did not observe them. If he did not arrive home at the +customary hour, she ever had an excuse for his delay. + +The arrival of another cargo of wines, etc., for Messrs. Laneville & +Co., was duly acknowledged by another carousal in the cabins of the +vessel, which ended in results far more destructive to the +reputation of James, and to the happiness of himself and friends, +than the former. + +At a late hour Josephine sat waiting and watching, when the ring of +the door-bell, the movement of the servant, the mingling of several +suppressed voices, and the shuffle of footsteps on the entry-floor, +aroused her from that listless inaction which fatigue had brought +upon her. She sprang to the door of her room, and, opening it, was +about to descend, when her brother met her and requested her not to +do so. + +"Why?" she inquired. + +He gave no definite answer to her inquiry, but requested her to +retire for the night, saying that James would probably be home in +the morning, bright and early as the dawn. + +"And not before?" she inquired, in a tone of voice that startled her +attentive brother. Then, as a stray thought of the former ship's +party and its unfortunate results came into her mind, she exclaimed, +"I must see him now! Let me know the worst. Nothing can keep me from +him. James, my James!" and, bursting from her brother's embrace, she +ran down stairs, and, notwithstanding the remonstrance of her +friends, opened the door where half a dozen men and her husband had +gathered. + +James lay upon a sofa, nearly unconscious of what was transpiring +around him. Josephine caught the hand that hung loosely at his side, +threw herself on the floor beside him, smoothed back his dishevelled +hair, and kissed his flushed cheek. + +"James, James!" exclaimed she. He opened his eyes, gazed for a +moment listlessly upon her, then closed them again. "O, James! don't +you know me? James! say,--wake thee, dearest!" + +She pressed his hand in her own, and, as the tears fell freely from +her eyes, so unused to weep, she continued her calls upon him who +lay insensate before her. She whispered in his ear the breathings of +her heart, or in louder tones gave vent to the grief that wounded +it. + +Vainly did friends beseech her to retire; vainly did they tell her +she could not hasten his restoration to reason. She declared her +determination to remain with him till morning. + +Day dawned. There, at the side of her husband, sat the faithful +wife, as neglective of her own wants as she was attentive to his. +James began to realize his condition, but not fully. He had vague +ideas of being in his own house, but his mind was at times +wandering, and his words betrayed its condition. + +"Here I am," said he, "in a paradise, with an angel at my side, and +beauty and rich fragrance all around me. See you how that diamond +sparkles at the bottom of this brook flowing at my feet! Watch that +dove as it comes down from the sky! See, it nestles in my angel's +bosom. See how it folds its wings! See how she smooths down its +ruffled plumage, and, hark ye, listen to its plaintive cooing! My +angel, my sweet one, come near me, let me whisper in thine ear. Go, +bring me that bunch of luscious grapes which is suspended on that +sapphire cloud, and make me wine of them that gods might envy! Ah, +see, she goes,--she wings her flight,--she grasps the rich fruit,--she +comes! She presses the grapes, and here is wine,--from where? From +paradise! Droop not, droop not, droop not, spirit of light! Do not +weep! What are you weeping for? Here, let me wipe those tears away. +Ah, they are pearls, they are not tears! I thought they were +tears.-Going so soon?-Gone?" + +He sank into a quiet sleep. Josephine had wept as she caught his +words partly uttered in a whisper so low as to be scarcely +distinguishable. Now, as he slept, she watched his breathings, and +hoped that when he awoke he would be of a sane mind, and that a +realization of what had occurred might influence his future career +for the better. + + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + + + +"News!" exclaimed Capt. Thorndyke, as he shook the hand of his +friend Basyl. "Have you not heard it? Why, it's common talk. Young +Clifton imbibes rather too freely. You know him,--Laneville & Co.'s +clerk,--best judge of liquors in the states; strange that he will +imbibe." + +"Strange indeed, very strange, if he is really a judge and knows +what they're made of," said Basyl; "and stranger yet that he will +sell. For my part, I consider a man that will sell liquor, in these +days of light and knowledge, as bad as a highwayman, and no better +than a pirate." + +"Rather plain spoken." + +"I know it, but, look ye, there's Follet, a fine man, a first-rate +man, once worth half a million, but now not worth a guinea-pig. The +man that sold him good wine in his better days sells him poor +whiskey now; and the confounded dealer in fancy poisons has taken +the houses of Mr. Follet, brick by brick, and piled them up in his +own yard, so to speak. Why, no longer ago than yesternight, he took +a fine black coat of Dick Pherson, and gave him in return a coarse, +brown one and a glass of sin-gin, I mean. Fudge! talk about +consistency! That rumseller is nominated for an alderman, and he'll +be elected. He's rich; and all your say-so temperance men will vote +for him, and when elected he'll go hand-in-hand with some lone star, +who deems it advisable that men should be licensed to corrupt the +morals of the community, in order to make it wise and virtuous!" + +The captain acknowledged that his friend had a right view of the +matter, and, as he bade him good-day, promised to take care of his +vote at the coming election. + +We doubt whether any man ever felt more deeply sensible of the wrong +committed than did James, as he, the next morning, awaking from his +long sleep, beheld his wife standing at his side, now weeping over +him, now joyous and smiling at his returned consciousness, and +closely attentive to his every want. He felt himself unworthy of +such kindness, and for the first time in his life saw the evil of +the doctrine he had all his lifetime advocated, namely, that a man +can drink enough and not too much; in other words, that he can guide +his evil passions as he will, and command them to stop in their +course, nor trespass on forbidden ground. + +But James even yet was opposed to the pledge, and, though George +presented it with strong arguments, he refused to sign it, and +laughed at the idea of his ever getting the worse for liquor again. + +The employer of James Clifton had his name on the same ticket with +that of the rumseller before mentioned, as a candidate for mayor. +Election-day came. The two political parties had their tickets in +the hands of scores of distributors. There was a third party, with +its ticket, the caption of which-"Temperance Men and Temperance +Measures"-was bandied about with gibes and sneers by the prominent +men of both other parties. + +Among the vote-distributors was a young man of exceedingly +prepossessing appearance, and who, by means of the winning manner he +possessed, disposed of a large number of tickets, even to men of the +opposing party. "Vote for Laneville! vote for Laneville!" was his +constant cry, save when he, in well-chosen words, proclaimed the +ability and worthiness of his candidate. Some said he was urged on +by selfish motives; that, as he was a clerk of Laneville's, the +election of that candidate would be much to his pecuniary benefit. +But James Clifton cared for none of these insinuations. + +"Well, deacon, my dear, dear deacon, who do you vote for?" inquired +a stanch teetotaller, as an old gentleman approached. The person +addressed, after a little hesitation, during which a few nervous +twinges of the mouth betrayed his nervousness of conscience, and the +debate going on in his heart between consistency and principles on +the one side, and party names and measures on the other, replied, +"Well, well,"-then a pause,--"well, I don't know; go for the best +man, I s'pose." + +"Here's the ticket, sir! the best man, sir, is Laneville! vote for +Laneville!" shouted James, as he thrust his ticket into the hands of +the old gentleman, and, laying hold of his arm, led him into the +room, and saw him deposit the vote of a temperance advocate for a +rumseller! James laughed well over his victory, while the +distributors of the temperance tickets felt somewhat ill at ease in +seeing him whom they thought their truest friend desert them in the +hour of need, and give his vote and influence for the other party. + +The day ended; the votes were counted, and Laneville was proclaimed +elected by a majority of one! + +The night was one of carousal. The betting on both sides had been +considerable, and the payment of these debts caused the small change +to circulate pretty freely among the dispensers of eatables and +drinkables. + +This night James yielded more easily than ever before to the +cravings of an appetite that began to master him. + +Poor fellow! Deluded man! A fond, a devoted, a trusting wife waiting +at home, watching the hands of the clock as they neared the mark of +twelve, and listening for thy footfall! Thou, trusting in thine own +strength, but to learn thy weakness, lying senseless among thy +drinking mates in the hall of dissolute festivity! + +Tom Moore may sing in praise of "wine and its sparkling tide;" but +the sighing of wronged women and their tears shall toll the requiem +of its praise. + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + + + +Notwithstanding the entreaties of George, added to those of +Josephine, James continued in the way he had begun to walk, and +which was leading him to ruin. The arguments of the one, and the +tears of the other, were equally unavailing. + +So far had he proceeded in a downward course that his employers +remonstrated; and the same arguments they had used upon their former +clerks were urged upon his consideration. Fearing the loss of +situation, he repented, but it was only to fall again before the +power of that appetite with which he had tampered as with a torpid +viper, which now felt the warmth of his embrace, and became a +living, craving creature within his bosom. + +His old companions perceived the change he was undergoing, and, like +butterflies that hovered about his path in sunshine, left him as +clouds overshadowed his way. But he had friends who would not leave +him. He had a wife who clung to him with all the affection of +woman's love, and a brother whose hand was ever extended to aid him. + +James saw the evil that threatened to overwhelm him; yet, strangely +infatuated, he would not come to a fixed determination to reform so +far as to sign the pledge. + +The sun never shone with a brighter effulgence than it did on the +morning of the 24th of July, 1849. The streets of Boston were filled +with busy crowds, and banners and flags streamed from balconies and +windows. Delegates of men from the suburbs poured into the city, and +the sound of music filled the air. Men, women, and children, the +rich and the poor, the merchant and the mechanic, the American and +the foreigner, joined in the movement; and a stranger could not long +remain ignorant of the fact that some great event was to transpire +that day in the capital of the Old Bay State. Crowds gathered at the +corners, and lined the principal thoroughfares. + +"He has blist his own country, an' now he will bliss ours," said a +well-dressed Irishman. + +"An' that he will," was the response; "an' God bliss Father Mathew!" + +"Amen," said half a dozen voices. + +"He's coming!" exclaimed another. The sound of distant music was +heard, and far up the street was seen approaching a dense mass of +people. White banners mingled with the stars and stripes. Nearer +they approached, and more distinct became, to the Irishman and his +friends, the peals of music and the hurras of the multitude. + +THEOBALD MATHEW, the friend of Ireland, was making his entry into +Boston! Never man was more gladly welcome. Never was man more +enthusiastically received. It seemed as though all men strove to do +him homage, for they looked upon one who was the instrument, under +God, of saving five millions of human beings from the greatest curse +sin brought into the world; lifting them, and bidding them stand up +as their Maker intended they should. + +The "apostle" was seated in an open barouche, with his head +uncovered, bowing to the crowds of stout men and fair women that +filled the windows on either side, often shaking hands with those +who pressed near him to do so. + +A young man stood upon the side-walk watching its approach; and when +the carriage in which he was seated came near where he stood, he +took off his hat, pressed through the assemblage, and, urging his +way towards it, grasped the hand that was extended to him. The +carriage stopped. Father Mathew arose, and, as his hand lay upon the +head of the young man, he repeated the words of a pledge, which the +latter, in a distinct tone, repeated after him. At its close, the +words "I do!" were heard far and near, and James Clifton had taken +the pledge! + +This was done from no sudden impulse. During the previous week he +had indulged rather freely, and when its effects were over he began +for the first time to give serious thought upon the question whether +it was not required of him to become a pledged man. He was becoming +convinced that he was unsafe. He knew how often he had fallen, how +liable he was to fall again, and that it might be never to rise. He +found his companions did not look upon him with as much respect as +formerly; and he determined to break down the pride of opinion, +rather than have it break him down. + +As he thought of his situation at Messrs. Laneville & Co.'s, he for +a moment drew back, yet it was but for a moment. He resolved to +leave it, and beg rather than continue to disgrace himself and bring +ruin upon his relatives and friends. He was cheered by the thought +that he had those around him who would furnish him with employment +suited to his mind, and in the steady pursuit of which he might live +well. This resolution was made a few days previous to the twenty- +fourth, but he communicated it to no one. + +James hurried from the crowd that gathered around him, and hastened +to his home. The glad news preceded him, and his wife, meeting him +at the door, caressed, blessed and welcomed him. George grasped his +hand, and James, with tears in his eyes, asked pardon for the past, +and promised much for the future. + +"Once," said he, "I refused to sign. I trusted to my own self, and +thought because I was young and strong I could resist temptation. I +said I would not make myself a slave to a pledge, and clung to my +promise till I found myself a slave to an appetite. I ask your +pardon, George, for the manner in which I treated your request." + +"I grant it." + +"Then I am happy, we are happy, and the future shall redeem the +past." + +The door opened, and a bright-eyed boy, bounding into the room, +sprang upon his father, and, with a smile, said, "Father, I'm a +Cadet of Temperance! We formed a little society this morning, 'cause +Father Mathew has come to Boston. We've got six names, and we are to +have more." + +James kissed his child, and encouraged him to go on in the cause he +had so early espoused. + +Messrs. Laneville & Co. engaged a new clerk,--a young man of +seventeen, hopeful, promising. He had heard of the fate of his +predecessors, of the narrow escape of him whose place he was being +trained to fill; but, like them and him, he thought himself stronger +than the tempter at his side. That firm is in the home-desolating +business to-day, though James has used much endeavor to induce them +to relinquish it. The young man is there to-day, open to temptations +which have conquered many strong men, have destroyed many mighty. +The pledge is with us to-day, open for those who have fallen, for +those who yet stand,--an instrument of God, in human hands, to rescue +the one and to preserve the other. + + + + + + +ANGELINA. + + + + + + BLUE-EYED child, with flaxen ringlets, + 'Neath my window played, one day; + And its tiny song of gladness, + Sounded like an angel's lay. + Roses bright in beauty blossomed + Round the path the cherub trod + Yet it seemed that child was fairest, + Freshest from the hand of God. + Watched I her till hour of sunset + Told me of the coming night, + And the sun o'er rock and mountain + Shed its flood of golden light. + Yet she gambolled, though the dew-drops + Fell upon her thick and fast; + Fearing ill, I went and told her,-- + Dearest child, the day hath past: + "Haste thee to thy home,--there waiting + Is thy parent, thee to bless." + Then she hasted from the play-ground, + To her mother's fond caress. + Stars shone forth in all their splendor, + And the moon with silver light + Rose in beauty, and presided + Queen o'er all the hosts of night. + Days had passed; I had not seen her, + Had not heard her merry laugh, + Nor those joyous tones that told me + Of the joy her spirit quaffed. + Vain I asked whence Angelina + Had departed,--none could tell; + Feared I then that sorrow gathered + O'er the child I loved so well. + Funeral train passed by my window,-- + Banished were all thoughts of mirth; + And I asked of one who lingered, + "Who hath passed to heaven from earth?" + In his eye a tear-drop glistened, + As he, turning, to me said, + "Heaven now holds another angel,-- + Little Angelina's dead!" + I could scarce believe the tidings, + Till I stood above her grave, + And beheld those flaxen ringlets, + That so late did buoyant wave, + Lie beside a face whose features + Still in death did sweetly smile + And methought angelic beauty + Lingered on her cheeks the while. + At the pensive hour of twilight, + Oft do angel-footsteps tread + Near her grave, and flowers in beauty + Blossom o'er the early dead; + And a simple marble tablet + Thence doth unassuming rise, + And these simple words are on it,-- + "Here our Angelina lies." + Oft at night, when others slumber, + One bends o'er that holy spot; + And the tear-drops fall unnumbered + O'er her sad yet happy lot. + Friends, though oft they mourn her absence, + Do in meek submission bow; + For a voice from heaven is whispering, + "Angelina's happy now." + + + + + + +FAREWELL, MY NATIVE LAND. + + + + + +Written for KAH-GE-GA-GAI-BOWH, a representative from the Northwest +Tribes of American Indians to the Peace Convention in Frankfort-on-the- +Maine, Germany; and recited by him on board the British steamship +Niagara, at the hour of sailing from Boston, July 10th, 1850. + + THE day is brightening which we long have sought; + I see its early light and hail its dawn; + The gentle voice of Peace my ear hath caught, + And from my forest-home I greet the morn. + Here, now, I meet you with a brother's hand- + Bid you farewell-then speed me on my way + To join the white men in a foreign land, + And from the dawn bring on the bright noon-day. + Noon-day of Peace! O, glorious jubilee, + When all mankind are one, from sea to sea. + Farewell, my native land, rock, hill, and plain! + River and lake, and forest-home, adieu! + Months shall depart ere I shall tread again + Amid your scenes, and be once more with you. + I leave thee now; but wheresoe'er I go, + Whatever scenes of grandeur meet my eyes, + My heart can but one native country know, + And that the fairest land beneath the skies. + America! farewell, thou art that gem, + Brightest and fairest in earth's diadem. + Land where my fathers chased the fleeting deer; + Land whence the smoke of council-fires arose; + Land whose own warriors never knew a fear; + Land where the mighty Mississippi flows; + Land whose broad surface spreads from sea to sea; + Land where Niagara thunders forth God's praise;-- + May Peace and Plenty henceforth dwell with thee, + And o'er thee War no more its banner raise! + Adieu, my native land,--hill, stream, and dell! + The hour hath come to part us,--fare thee well. + + + + + + +UNLEARNED TO LOVE. + + + + + + HE hath unlearned to love; for once he loved + A being whom his soul almost adored, + And she proved faithless; turned in scorn upon + His heart's affections; to another gave + The love she once did pledge as all his own. + And now he doth not love. Within his heart + Hate dwells in sullen silence. His soul broods + Over its wrongs, over deluded hopes. + Fancy no more builds airy castles. + Amid the crowd he passes on alone. + The branches wave no more to please his eye, + And the wind singeth no sweet songs to him. + The murmuring brook but murmurs discontent, + And all his life is death since Love hath fled. + O, who shall count his sorrows? who shall make + An estimate of his deep, burning woes, + And place them all in order, rank on rank? + Language is weak to tell the heart's deep, wrongs. + We think, and muse, and in our endless thought + We strive to grasp, with all the mind's vast strength, + The undefinable extent of spirit grief, + And fail to accomplish the herculean task. + + + + + + +WHAT WAS IT? + + + + + + IT was a low, black, miserable place; + Its roof was rotting; and above it hung + A cloud of murky vapor, sending down + Intolerable stench on all around. + The place was silent, save the creaking noise, + The steady motion of a dozen pumps, + That labored all the day, nor ceased at night. + Methought in it I heard a hundred groans; + Dropping of widows' tears, and cries of orphans; + Shrieks of some victim to the fiendish lust + Of men for gold; woe echoing woe, + And sighs, deep, long-drawn sighs of dark despair. + Around the place a dozen hovels stood, + Black with the smoke and steam that bathed them all; + Their windows had no glass, but rags and boards, + Torn hats and such-like, filled the paneless sash. + Beings, once men and women, in and out + Passed and repassed from darkness forth to light; + And children, ragged, dirty, and despised, + Clung to them. Children! heaven's early flowers, + In their spring-time of life, blighted and lost! + Children! those jewels of a parent's crown, + Crushed to the ground and crumbled to the dust. + Children! Heaven's representatives to man, + Made menial slaves to watch at Evil's gate, + And errand-boys to run at Sin's command. + I asked why thus it was; and one old man + Pushed up the visor of his cap, and said: + "That low, black building is the cause of all." + And would you know what 't was that wrought such ill, + And what the name of that low building was? + Go to thy neighbor, read to him these lines, + And if he does not tell thee right, at first, + Then come to me and you shall know its name. + + + + + + +LETTERS AND LETTER-WRITING. + + + + + +THERE is nothing from which more real enjoyment can be derived than +the art of letter-writing. All praise to the inventive genius that +gave to man a written language, and with it the implements with +which to talk across the world! Did you ever think, reader, what a +world this would be without pen, ink, and paper? Then, the absence +of friends were painful, and, as we grasped the friendly hand, bade +our acquaintances "good-by," and saw the last, far-distant wave of +the parting signal, we might turn aside to weep, as we thought we +should never hear from them till we met face to face-perhaps never. +But, as it is, when friends leave, we expect a message from their +hearts soon, to solace our own. How we watch, and how we hope! What +a welcome rap is the postman's! With what eagerness we loosen the +seal; with what pleasure we read, from date to signature, every +word! + +It may not be uninteresting, nor wholly uninstructive, to examine +the various modes of letter-writing, and to spend a brief half-hour +with those who have by their letters made grave or gay impressions +on the public mind. + +Some write letters with great ease; others, with great difficulty. +Miss Seward was an inveterate letter-writer. There have been +published six large volumes of letters written by her; besides +these, she left twelve quarto volumes of letters to a publisher of +London, and these, it is said, are but a twelfth part of her +correspondence. It seems as though she must have written nothing but +letters, so many and various were they; but her fame as an authoress +will convince any one that her industry overcame what might seem an +impossibility, and that her genius in this particular resembled that +of the steam-writing machine, Dumas, of the present time. + +Lord Peterborough had such a faculty for this kind of composition, +that, when ambassador to Turin, according to Pope, who says he was a +witness of the performance, he employed nine amanuenses, who were +seated in a room, around whom Lord Peterborough walked and dictated +to each what he should write. These nine wrote to as many different +persons, upon, perhaps, nine times as many subjects; yet the +ambassador retained in his mind the connection of each letter so +completely as to close each in a highly-finished and appropriate +manner. + +These facts show the ease and rapidity of some writers. In +contradistinction to these are the letters of many eminent Latin +writers, who actually bestowed several months of close attention +upon a single letter. Mr. Owen says: "Such is the defect of +education among the modern Roman ladies, that they are not troubled +to keep up any correspondence; because they cannot write. A princess +of great beauty, at Naples, caused an English lady to be informed +that she was learning to write; and hoped, in the course of time, to +acquire the art of correspondence." + +There are many persons with whom it is the most difficult task of +their existence to write a letter. They follow the old Latin +writers, and make a labor of what with others is a recreation. They +begin with the stereotyped words, "I take my pen in hand," as though +a letter could be written without doing so. Then follows, "to inform +you that I am well, and hope this will find you the same." There is +a period-a full stop; and there are instances of persons going no +further, but closing with, "This from your friend, JOHN SHORT." + +This "difficulty" arises not from an inability, but from an +excessive nicety-a desire to write a prize essay, instead of a good, +sociable, familiar letter. To make a letter interesting, the writer +must transfer his thoughts from his mind to his paper, as truly as +the rays of the sun place the likeness of an object in front of the +lens through which it acts upon the silvered plate. Seneca says, "I +would have my letters be like my discourses when we sit or walk +together, unstudied and easy." + +Willis' letters are of a kind always "free and easy." His "Letters +from Under a Bridge" are admirable specimens of letters as they +should be; and his "Pencillings by the Way" owe much of their +popularity to their easy, familiar, talkative style. The letters of +Cicero and Pliny, of ancient, and Swift, Pope, Arbuthnot, Madame de +S‚vign‚, and Lady Mary Wortley Montague, of modern times, are +generally received as some of the best specimens extant of +epistolary composition. The letters of Charles Lamb are a series of +brilliances, though of kaleidoscope variety; they have wit without +buffoonery, and seriousness without melancholy. He closes one of +them by subscribing himself his friend's "afflicted, headachey, +sorethroaty, humble servant, CHARLES LAMB." + +Some men, and women too, of eminence, have written curiosities in +the form of correspondence. The letter of the mother of Foote is a +good example of this kind of correspondence. Mrs. Foote became +embarrassed, and, being unable to meet a demand, was placed in +prison; whereupon she wrote to Mr. Foote as follows: + +"DEAR SAM: I am in prison for debt; come, and assist your loving +mother, E. FOOTE. + +It appears that "Sam" was equally entangled in the meshes of the +law, for he answered as follows: + +"DEAR MOTHER:-So am I; which prevents his duty being paid to his +loving mother by her affectionate son, + +"SAM FOOTE. + +"P. S.-I have sent my attorney to assist you; in the mean time, let +us hope for better days." + +These laconic epistles are well matched by that of a French lady, +who wrote to her husband this missive of intelligence, affection, +&c., &c.: + +"I write to you because I have nothing to do; I end my letter +because I have nothing to say." + +But these are left far in the rear by the correspondence of two +Quakers, the one living in Edinburgh, the other in London. The +former, wishing to know whether there was anything new in London, +wrote in the corner of a letter-sheet a small interrogation note, +and sent it to his friend. In due time he received an answer. He +opened the sheet and found, simply, O, signifying that there was +none. + +In the London Times of January 3d, 1820, is the following, +purporting to be a copy of a letter sent to a medical gentleman: + +"CER: Yole oblige me uf yole kum un ce me. I hev a Bad kowld, am +Hill in my Bow Hills, and hev lost my Happy Tight." + +William Cowper, the poet, being on very familiar terms with the Rev. +Mr. Newton, amused himself and his friend with a letter, of which +the following is a copy: + +"MY VERY DEAR FRIEND: I am going to send, what, when you have read, +you may scratch your head, and say, I suppose, there's nobody knows, +whether what I have got be verse or not; by the tune and the time, +it ought to be rhyme; but if it be, did you ever see, of late or of +yore, such a ditty before? + +"I have writ Charity, not for popularity, but as well as I could, in +hopes to do good; and if the reviewers should say, 'To be sure the +gentleman's muse wears methodist shoes, you may know by her pace, +and talk about grace, that she and her bard have little regard for +the taste and fashions, and ruling passions, and hoydening play, of +the modern day; and though she assume a borrowed plume, and now and +then wear a tittering air, 't is only her plan to catch, if she can, +the giddy and gay, as they go that way, by a production on a new +construction; she has baited her trap, in hopes to snap all that may +come, with a sugar-plum.' His opinion in this will not be amiss; 't +is what I intend my principal end; and if I succeed, and folks +should read, till a few are brought to a serious thought, I shall +think I am paid for all I have said, and all I have done, though I +have run, many a time, after rhyme, as far as from hence, to the end +of my sense, and, by hook or crook, write another book, if I live +and am here, another year. + +"I heard before of a room, with a floor laid upon springs, and such +like things, with so much art, in every part, that when you went in, +you was forced to begin a minuet pace, with an air and a grace, +swimming about, now in and now out, with a deal of state, in a +figure of eight, without pipe or string, or any such thing; and now +I have writ, in a rhyming fit, what will make you dance, and, as you +advance, will keep you still, though against your will, dancing +away, alert and gay, till you come to an end of what I have penned; +which that you may do ere madam and you are quite worn out with +jigging about, I take my leave; and here you receive a bow profound, +down to the ground, from your humble me, + +"W. C." + +At one of those famous coteries, so fashionable in the time of +George Selwyn, Selwyn declared that a lady never closed a letter +without a postscript. One of his fair auditors defended her sex by +saying that her next letter should prove he was wrong. Soon after, +Selwyn received a letter from the lady, in which, after the name, +was "P. S. Who is right now, you or I?" + +"We have met the enemy, and they are ours" is an example for naval +letters. Commodore Walton's letter, by which he gave information of +his capture of a number of Spanish vessels of war, was as follows: + +"We have taken or destroyed all the enemy's ships or vessels on the +coast, as per margin." + +General Taylor's letters are of the same class,--brief and to the +point. + +As a specimen of ultra-familiarity, see the Duke of Buckingham's +letter to King James the First, which he commences as follows: + +"DEAR DAD AND GOSSIP," + +and concludes thus:-- + +"Your Majesty's most humble slave and dog, + +"STINIE." + +Some letters have been distinguished for a play upon words. The +following is supposed to have been written by one Zebel Rock, a +stone-cutter, to a young lady for whom he cherished a love somewhat +more than Platonic: + +"DIVINE FLINT: Were you not harder than Porphyry or Agate, the +Chisel of my love, drove by the Mallet of my fidelity, would have +made some impression on thee. I, that have shaped as I pleased the +most untoward of substances, hoped by the Compass of reason, the +Plummet of discretion, the Saw of constancy, the soft File of +kindness, and the Polish of good words, to have modelled you into +one of the prettiest Statues in the world; but, alas! I find you are +a Flint, that strikes fire, and sets my soul in a blaze, though your +heart is as cold as marble. Pity my case, pray, madam, for I know +not what I say or do. If I go to make a Dragon, I strike out a +Cupid; instead of an Apothecary's Mortar, I make a Church Font for +Baptism; and, dear Pillar of my hopes, Pedestal of my comfort, and +Cornice of my joy, take compassion upon me, for upon your pity I +build all my hope, and will, if fortunate, erect Statues, Obelisks +and Pyramids, to your generosity." + +As a specimen of alliteration the following may be considered a fair +off-hand epistle of love: + +"ADORED AND ANGELIC AMELIA: Accept An Ardent And Artless Amorist's +Affections; Alleviate An Anguished Admirer's Alarms, And Answer An +Amorous Applicant's Avowed Ardor. Ah, Amelia! All Appears An Awful +Aspect; Ambition, Avarice, And Arrogance, Alas, Are Attractive +Allurements, And Abuse An Ardent Attachment. Appease An Aching And +Affectionate Adorer's Alarms, And Anon Acknowledge Affianced +Albert's Alliance As Agreeable And Acceptable. Anxiously Awaiting An +Affectionate And Affirmative Answer, Accept An Ardent Admirer's +Aching Adieu. ALBERT." + +The custom of espionage among some nations, which led the government +officials' to open all letters supposed to contain matters at +variance with the plans and purposes of their masters, induced the +inventive to contrive various means of correspondence. + +One of the most singular of these was that adopted by Histaus, the +Milesian, as related by Herodotus. Histaus was "kept by Darius at +Susa, under an honorable pretence, and, despairing of his return +home, unless he could find out some way that he might be sent to +sea, he purposed to send to Aristagoras, who was his substitute at +Miletum, to persuade his revolt from Darius; but, knowing that all +passages were stopped and studiously watched, he took this course: +he got a trusty servant of his, the hair of whose head he caused to +be shaved off, and then, upon his bald head, he wrote his mind to +Aristagoras; kept him privately about him, till his hair was +somewhat grown, and then bid him haste to Aristagoras, and bid him +cause him to be shaved again, and then upon his head he should find +what his lord had written to him." + +A volume might be written of the Curiosities of Letter-writing, and +it would be by no means an uninteresting production. Years ago, when +New England missionaries first taught the wild men of the South Sea +Islands, it so happened that one of the teachers wished to +communicate with a friend, and having no pen, ink and paper at hand, +he picked up a chip and wrote with a pencil his message. A native +conveyed it, and, receiving some article in return, he thought the +chip endowed with some miraculous power, and could he have obtained +it would doubtless have treasured it as a god, and worshipped it. +And so would seem to us this invaluable art of letter-writing, were +we in like ignorance. We forget to justly appreciate a blessing +while we have it in constant use; but let us be for a short time +deprived of it, and then we lament its loss and realize its worth. +Deprive mankind of pen, ink and paper, obliterate from the human +mind all knowledge of letter-writing,--then estimate, if you can, +thee loss that would accrue. + +The good resulting from a general intercommunication of thought +among the people has brought about a great reduction in the rates of +postage. We look forward to the time when the tens of millions now +expended in war, and invested in the ammunition of death, shall be +directed into other channels, and postage shall be free. What better +defence for our nation than education? It is better than forts and +vessels of war; better than murderous guns, powder and ball. Hail to +the day when there shall be no direct tax on the means of education! + + + + + + +A VISION OF REALITY. + + + + + + I HAD a dream: Methought one came + And bade me with him go; + I followed, till, above the world, + I wondering gazed below. + One moment, horror filled my breast; + Then, shrinking from the sight, + I turned aside, and sought for rest, + Half dying with affright. + My guide with zeal still urged me on; + "See, see!" said he, "what sin hath done; + How mad ambition fills each breast, + And mortals spurn their needed rest, + And all their lives and fortunes spend + To gain some darling, wished-for end; + And scarce they see the long-sought prize, + When each to grasp it fails and dies." + Once more I looked: in a lonely room, + On a pallet of straw, were lying + A mother and child; no friends were near, + Yet that mother and child were dying. + A sigh arose; she looked above, + And she breathed forth, "I forgive;" + She kissed her child, threw back her head, + And the mother ceased to live. + The child's blue eyes were raised to watch + Its mother's smile of love; + She was not there,--her child she saw + From her spirit-home above. + An hour passed by: that child had gone + From earth and all its harms; + Yet, as in sleep, it nestling lay + In its dead mother's arms. + I asked my guide, "What doth this mean?" + He spake not a word, but changed the scene. + I stood where the busy throng + Was hurrying by; all seemed intent, + As on some weighty mission sent; + And, as I asked what all this meant, + A drunkard pass‚d by. + He spake,--I listened; thus spake he: + "Rum, thou hast been a curse to me; + My wife is dead,--my darling child, + Who, when 't was born, so sweetly smiled, + And seemed to ask, in speechless prayer, + A father's love, a father's care,-- + He, he, too, now is gone! + How can I any longer live? + What joy to me can earth now give? + I've drank full deep from sorrow's cup,-- + When shall I drink its last dregs up? + When will the last, last pang be felt? + When the last blow on me be dealt? + Would I had ne'er been born!" + As thus he spake, a gilded coach + In splendor pass‚d by; + And from within a man looked forth,-- + The drunkard caught his eye. + Then, with a wild and frenzied look, + He, trembling, to it ran; + He stayed the rich man's carriage there, + And said, "Thou art the man! + "Yes, thou the man! You bade me come, + You took my gold, you gave me rum; + You bade me in the gutter lie, + My wife and child you caused to die; + You took their bread,--'t was justly theirs; + You, cunning, laid round me your snares, + Till I fell in them; then you crushed, + And robbed me, as my cries you hushed; + You've bound me close in misery's thrall; + Now, take a drunkard's curse and fall!" + A moment passed, and all was o'er,-- + He who'd sold rum would sell no more + And Justice seemed on earth to dwell, + When by his victim's hand he fell. + Yet, when the trial came, she fled, + And Law would have the avenger dead. + The gilded coach may rattle by, + Men too may drink, and drunkards die, + And widows' tears may daily fall, + And orphans' voices daily call,-- + Yet these are all in vain; + The dealer sells, and glass by glass + He tempts the man to ruin pass, + And piles on high his slain. + His fellows fall by scores,--what then? + He, being rich (though rich by fraud), + Is honored by his fellow-men, + Who bend the knee and call him "lord." + + Again I turned; + + Enough I'd learned + Of all the misery sin hath brought; + I strove to leave the fearful spot, + And wished the scene might be forgot, + 'T was so with terror fraught. + + I wished to go, + + No more to know. + I turned me, but no guide stood there; + Alone, I shrieked in wild dismay, + When, lo! the vision passed away,-- + I found me seated in my chair. + The morning sun was shining bright, + Fair children gambolled in my sight; + A rose-bush in my window stood, + And shed its fragrance all around; + My eye saw naught but fair and good, + My ear heard naught but joyous sound. + I asked me, can it be on earth + Such scenes of horror have their birth, + As those that in my vision past, + And on my mind their shadows cast? + Can it be true, that men do pour + Foul poison forth for sake of gold? + And men lie weltering in their gore, + Led on by that their brethren sold? + Doth man so bend the supple knee + To Mammon's shrine, he never hears + The voice of conscience, nor doth see + His ruin in the wealth he rears? + Such questions it were vain to ask, + For Reason whispers, "It is so;" + While some in fortune's sunshine bask, + Others lie crushed beneath their woe. + And men do sell, and men do pour, + And for their gold return men death; + Though wives and children them implore, + With tearful eyes and trembling breath, + And hearts with direst anguish riven, + No more to sell,--'t is all in vain; + They, urged to death, by avarice driven, + But laugh and turn to sell again. + + + + + + +JEWELS OF THE HEART. + + + + + + THERE are jewels brighter far + Than the sparkling diamonds are; + Jewels never wrought by art,-- + Nature forms them in the heart! + Would ye know the names they hold + Ah! they never can be told + In the language mortals speak! + Human words are far too weak + Yet, if you would really know + What these jewels are, then go + To some low, secluded cot, + Where the poor man bears his lot! + Or, to where the sick and dying + 'Neath the ills of life are sighing. + And if there some one ye see + Striving long and patiently + To alleviate the pain, + Bring the light of hope again! + One whose feet do lightly tread, + One whose hands do raise the head, + One who watches there alone, + Every motion, every tone; + Unaware an eye doth see + All these acts of charity. + Know that in that lonely cot, + Where the wealth of earth is not, + These bright jewels will be found, + Shedding love and light around! + Say, shall gems and rubies rare + With these heart-shrined gems compare? + Constancy, that will not perish, + But the thing it loveth cherish, + Clinging to it fondly ever, + Fainting, faltering, wavering, never! + Trust, that will not harbor doubt; + Putting fear and shame to rout, + Making known how, free from harm, + Love may rest upon its arm. + Hope, that makes the future bright, + Though there come a darksome night; + And, though dark despair seems nigh, + Bears the soul up manfully! + These are gems that brighter shine + Than they of Golconda's mine. + Born amid love's fond caresses, + Cradled in the heart's recesses, + They will live when earth is old, + Marble crumble, perish gold! + Live when ages shall have past, + While eternity shall last; + Be these gems the wealth you share, + Friends of mind, where'er you are! + + + + + + +LIGHT FROM A BETTER LAND. + + + + + + HERE at thy grave I stand, + But not in tears; + Light from a better land + Banishes fears. + Thou art beside me now, + Whispering peace; + Telling how happy thou + Found thy release! + Thou art not buried here; + Why should I mourn? + All that I cherished dear + Heavenward hath gone! + Oft from that world above + Come ye to this; + Breathing in strains of love + Unto me bliss! + + + + + + +POOR AND WEARY! + + + + + + IN a low and cheerless cot + Sat one mourning his sad lot; + All day long he'd sought for labor; + All day long his nearest neighbor + Lived in affluence and squandered + Wealth, while he an outcast wandered, + And the night with shadowy wing + Heard him this low moaning sing: + "Sad and weary, poor and weary, + Life to me is ever dreary!" + Morning came; there was no sound + Heard within. Men gathered round, + Peering through the window-pane; + They saw a form as if 't were lain + Out for burial. Stiff and gaunt + Lay the man who died in want. + And methought I heard that day + Angel voices whispering say, + "No more sad, poor and weary, + Life to me no more is dreary!" + + + + + + +THE BANDBOX MOVEMENT. + + + + + +"THERE! Mr. McKenzie, I declare! You are the most oncommon, oncivil +man I ever sot eyes on!" + +"Peace, my lady! I'll explain." + +"Then do so." + +"You must know, then, that I have a perfect hatred of bandboxes,--so +great, in fact, that if I see one on the walk, I involuntarily raise +my foot and kick it." + +"So it appears," chimed in Mrs: McKenzie, with a significant hunch +of the right shoulder. + +"Therefore,--" + +"Well, go on! what you waitin' for?" + +"Therefore, when I saw Arabella's bandbox in the entry, as I came +down, sitting, as it did, directly at the foot of the stairs, I +jumped on it, thinking I would come over it that time--" + +"An' crushed a new spring bonnet, that cost-let me see!" + +"No matter!" said Mr. McKenzie; "that will be in the bill." + +Mr. McKenzie, having said thus much, placed his hat on his head and +rushed from the house, fearful of another onslaught of "oncommon +oncivilities." + +A little shop at the North End,--seven men seated round said shop,--a +small dog growling at a large cat, a large cat making a noise +resembling that produced by root-beer confined in a stone bottle by +a cork bound down with a piece of twine. Reader, imagine you see and +hear all this! + +[Enter Mr. McKenzie.] "Gentlemen, something must be done to demolish +the idea held by the 'rest of mankind' that they, the women, cannot +exist without owning as personal property an indefinite number of +bandboxes. I therefore propose that we at once organize for the +purpose; that a committee be appointed to draft resolutions, and +report a name for the confederacy." + +Voted unanimously; whereupon, a committee being appointed, after a +short session, reported the following "whereas, etc." + +"Whereas, WE, in our perambulations up and down the earth, are +frequently, oftentimes, and most always, beset with annoyances of +various kinds; and, as the greatest, most perplexing, most +troublesome and iniquitous of these, generally assumes the shape of +a bandbox, in a bag or out of one; and, whereas, our wives, our +daughters, our sisters, and our female acquaintances generally and +particularly, manifest a determination to put said boxes in our way, +at all times, and under all circumstances, therefore + +"Resolved, That-we-wont-stand-it-any-longer!!! + +"Resolved, That we form ourselves into a society for the purpose of +annihilating this grievous evil, and all bandboxes, of every size +and nature. + +"Resolved, That this society be known by the name of 'The Bandbox +Extermination Association.'" + +The chairman of the committee made a few remarks, in which he stated +that, in the performance of the duties which would devolve upon the +members, they would, doubtless, meet with some opposition. "But, +never mind," said he; "it is a glorious cause, and if we get the +tongs at one time, and the hearth-brush another time, let 'em come!" +He defined the duties of members to be,--first and foremost, to pay +six and a quarter cents to defray expenses; to demolish a bandbox +wherever and whenever there should be one; (for instance, if a fat +woman was racing for the cars, with a bandbox in her arms, that box +should be forcibly taken and burned on the spot, or whittled into +such minute particles that it could no more be seen; if, in an +omnibus warranted to seat twelve, fifteen men are congregated, and +an individual attempts to enter with a bandbox, the box shall have +notice to quit.) + +"The manner of demolition," he said, further, "might be variously +defined. If the owner was a nervous lady, to kick the box would +wound her feelings, and it were best to apparently unintentionally +seat yourself on it; then beg a thousand pardons, and, as you, in +your efforts to make it better, only make it worse, give it up in +despair, and console the owner by a reference to spilt milk and the +uselessness of crying. As to the contents of the boxes, they must +look out for themselves. If they get injured, hint that they should +keep out of bad company." + +The chairman sat down, and, the question being put, it was more than +unanimously voted (inasmuch as one man voted with both hands +That was McKenzie. ) to adopt the resolutions, the name, and all the +remarks that had been made in connection with them. Members paid +their assessments, and with a hearty good will. + +Thus we see how "oaks from acorns grow." Mrs. McKenzie's fretfulness +on account of her husband's patriotism led to the formation of a +society that will make rapid strides towards the front rank of the +army now at work for the amelioration of the condition of mankind. + + + + + + +NEW ENGLAND HOMES. + + + + + + I've been through all the nations, have travelled o'er the earth, + O'er mountain-top and valley, far from my land of birth; + But whereso'er I wandered, wherever I did roam, + I saw no spot so pleasant as my own New England home. + I've seen Italia's daughters, beneath Italian skies + Seen beauty in their happy smiles, and love within their eyes; + But give to me the fairer ones that grace New England's shore, + In preference to the dwellers in the valley of Lanore. + I've watched the sun's departure behind the "Eternal Hills," + When with floods of golden light the vaulted heaven it fills; + But Italy can never boast, with its poetic power, + More varied beauties than those of New England's sunset hour. + I love my own New England; I love its rocks and hills; + I love its trees, its mossy banks, its fountains and its rills; + I love its homes, its cottages, its people round the hearth; + I love, O, how I love to hear New England shouts of mirth! + Tell me of the sunny South, its orange-groves and streams, + That they surpass in splendor man's most enraptured dreams; + But never can they be as fair, though blown by spicy gales, + As those sweet homes, those cottages, within New England vales. + O, when life's cares are ending, and time upon my brow + Shall leave a deeper impress than gathers on it now; + When age shall claim its sacrifice, and I no more shall roam, + Then let me pass my latter days in my New England home! + + + + + + +LOVE THAT WANES NOT. + + + + + + O, WHEN should Love's true beacons glow the brightest, + If not when darkness shrouds the path we tread? + When should its tokens, though they be the slightest, + Be given, if not when clouds are overhead? + When light is 'round us, and when joys are glowing, + Some hand may press our own, and vow to cherish + A love for us which ne'er shall cease its flowing,-- + And yet that love, when darkness comes, may perish. + But there is love which will outlive all sorrow, + And in the darkest hour be nigh to bless,-- + Which need not human art or language borrow, + Its deep affection fondly to express. + The mother o'er the child she loveth bending + Need not in words tell others of her love; + For, on the wings of earnest prayer ascending, + It rises, and is registered above. + O, such is love-all other is fictitious; + All other's vanquished by disease and pain; + But this, which lives when fate is unpropitious, + Shall rise to heaven, and there an entrance gain. + + + + + + +ONWARD COURAGEOUSLY. + + + + + + BEND thee to action-nerve thee to duty! + Whate'er it may be, never despair! + God reigns on high,--pray to him truly, + He will an answer give to thy prayer. + Shrinketh thyself from crosses before thee? + Art thou so made as to tremble and fear? + Confide in thy God; he will watch o'er thee; + Humbly and trustingly, brother, draw near! + Clouds may be gathering, light may depart, + Earth that thou treadest seem crumbling away; + New foes, new dangers, around thee may start, + And spectres of evil tempt thee astray. + Onward courageously! nerved for the task, + Do all thy duty, and strength shall be thine; + Whate'er you want in humility ask, + Aid shall be given from a source that's divine. + Do all thy duty faithful and truly; + Trust in thy Maker,--he's willing to save + Thee from all evil, and keep thee securely, + And make thee triumphant o'er death and the grave. + + + + + + +A FOREST PIC-NIC SONG. + + + + + + WITHIN these woods, beneath these trees, + We meet to-day a happy band; + All joy is ours,--we feel the breeze + Blow gently o'er our native land. + How brightly blooms each forest flower! + What cheerful notes the wild bird sings! + How nature charms our festive hour, + What beauty round our pathway springs! + The aged bear no weight of years; + The good old man, the matron too, + Forget their ills, forget their fears, + And range the dim old forests through + With youth and maiden on whose cheek + The ruddy bloom of health doth glow, + And in whose eyes the heart doth speak + Oft more than they would have us know. + How pleasant thus it is to dwell + Within the shadow of this wood, + Where rock and tree and flower do tell + To all that nature's God is good! + Here nature's temple open stands,-- + There's none so nobly grand as here,-- + The sky its roof; its floor, all lands, + While rocks and trees are worshippers. + There's not a leaf that rustles now, + A bird that chants its simple lays, + A breeze that passing fans our brow, + That speaks not of its Maker's praise. + O, then, let us who gather here + Praise Him who gave us this glad day, + And when the twilight shades appear + Pass with his blessing hence away! + + + + + + +THE WARRIOR'S BRIDE. + +CHAPTER I. + + + + + +ROME was enjoying the blessings of peace; and so little employment +attended the soldier's every-day life, that the words "as idle as a +soldier" became a proverb indicative of the most listless +inactivity. + +The people gave themselves up to joy and gladness. The sound of +music was heard from all parts of the city, and perfumed breezes +went up as an incense from the halls of beauty and mirth. + +It was, indeed, a blessed time for the city of the seven hills; and +its people rejoiced as they had not for many a long, long year-ay, +for a century. + +"Peace, sweet peace, a thousand blessings attend thy glad reign. See +you how quietly the peasant's flocks graze on our eternal hills? The +tinkling bell is a sweeter sound than the trumpet's blast; and the +curling smoke, arising from the hearth-stones of contented +villagers, is a truer index of a nation's power than the sulphurous +cloud from the field of battle. What say you, Alett,--is it not?" + +Thus spake a youth of noble mien, as he stood with one arm +encircling the waist of a lady, of whose beauty it were useless to +attempt a description. There are some phases of beauty which pen +cannot describe, nor pencil portray,--a beauty which seems to hover +around the form, words, and motions of those whose special +recipients it is; a sort of ethereal loveliness, concentrating the +tints of the rainbow, the sun's golden rays, and so acting upon the +mind's eye of the observer as almost to convince him that a visitant +from a sphere of perfection is in his presence. + +Such was that of Alett. She was the only daughter of a distinguished +general, whose name was the terror of all the foes, and the +confidence of all the friends, of Italy-his eldest daughter; and +with love approaching idolatry he cherished her. She was his +confidant. In the privacy of her faithful heart he treasured all his +plans and purposes. Of late, the peaceful security in which the +nation dwelt gave him the opportunity of remaining at home, where, +in the companionship of a wife he fondly loved, children he almost +idolized, and friends whose friendship was not fictitious, he found +that joy and comfort which the camp could never impart. + +Alett was ever in the presence of her father, or the young man whose +apostrophe to peace we have just given. + +Rubineau was not the descendant of a noble family, in the worldly +acceptation of the term. It was noble, indeed, but not in deeds of +war or martial prowess. Its nobleness consisted in the steady +perseverance in well-doing, and a strict attachment to what +conscience dictated as right opinions. The general loved him for the +inheritance he possessed in such traits of character, and the love +which existed between his daughter and the son of a plebeian was +countenanced under such considerations, with one proviso; which was, +that, being presented with a commission, he should accept it, and +hold himself in readiness to leave home and friends when duty should +call him to the field of battle. + +We have introduced the two standing on a beautiful eminence, in the +rear of the general's sumptuous mansion. + +The sun was about going down, and its long, golden rays streamed +over hill and dale, palace and cot, clothing all in a voluptuous +flow of rich light. + +They had stood for several moments in silence, gazing at the quiet +and beautiful scene before them, when the musical voice of Rubineau +broke forth in exclamations of delight at the blessings of peace. + +Alett was not long in answering. It was a theme on which she +delighted to dwell. Turning the gaze of her large, full eyes up +towards those of Rubineau, she said, + +"Even so it is. Holy Peace! It. is strange that men will love the +trumpet's blast, and the smoke and the heat of the conflict, better +than its gentle scenes. Peace, peace! blessings on thee, as thou +givest blessings!" + +Rubineau listened to the words of his Alett with a soul of +admiration. He gazed upon her with feelings he had never before +felt, and which it was bliss for him to experience. + +She, the daughter of an officer, brought up amid all the glare and +glitter, show and blazonry, of military life,--she, who had seen but +one side of the great panorama of martial life,--to speak thus in +praise of peace, and disparagingly of the profession of her +friends-it somewhat surprised the first speaker. + +"It is true," he replied; "but how uncertain is the continuance of +the blessings we now enjoy! To-morrow may sound the alarm which +shall call me from your side to the strife and tumult of war. +Instead of your gentle words, I may hear the shouts of the +infuriated soldiery, the cry of the wounded, and the sighs of the +dying." + +"Speak not so," exclaimed Alett; "it must not be." + +"Do you not love your country?" inquired the youth. + +"I do, but I love Rubineau more. There are warriors enough ready for +the battle. It need not be that you go. But why this alarm? We were +talking of peace, and, behold, now we have the battle-field before +us-war and all its panoply!" + +"Pardon me, my dearest Alett, for borrowing trouble; but at times, +when I am with you, and thinking of our present joy, the thought +will arise that it may be taken from us." No more words were needed +to bring to the mind of Alett all that filled that of Rubineau. They +embraced each the other more affectionately than ever, and silently +repaired to the house of the general. + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +"To remain will be dishonor; to go may be death! When a Roman falls, +the foe has one more arrow aimed at his heart; an arrow barbed with +revenge, and sent with unerring precision. Hark! that shout is music +to every soldier's ear. Hear you that tramp of horsemen? that +rumbling of chariot-wheels?" + +Twelve months had passed since the time of the last chapter, and, +after repeated threatening, war had actually begun. Instead of idle +hours, the soldiers had busy moments, and every preparation was made +to meet the opposing array in a determined manner, and with a +steadiness of purpose that should insure success. + +The general watched for some time the fluctuating appearance of +public affairs, and it was not until war was not only certain, but +actually in progress, that he called upon Rubineau to go forth. + +A week hence Rubineau and Alett were to be united in marriage; and +invitations had been extended far and near, in anticipation of the +event. It had been postponed from week to week, with the hope that +the various rumors that were circulated respecting impending danger +to the country might prove untrue, or at least to have a foundation +on some weak pretence, which reasonable argument might overthrow. + +Day by day these rumors increased, and the gathering together of the +soldiery betokened the certainty of an event which would fall as a +burning meteor in the midst of the betrothed and their friends. + +The call for Rubineau to depart was urgent, and its answer admitted +of no delay. + +"To remain," said the general, "will be dishonor; to go may be +death: which will you choose?" + +It was a hard question for the young man to answer. But it must be +met. The general loved him, and with equal unwillingness the +question was presented and received. + +"I go. If Rubineau falls--" + +"If he returns," exclaimed the general, interrupting him, "honor, +and wealth, and a bride who loves and is loved, shall be his-all +his." + +It was a night of unusual loveliness. The warm and sultry atmosphere +of the day had given place to cool and gentle breezes. The stars +were all out, shining as beacons at the gates of a paradise above; +and the moon began and ended her course without the attendance of +one cloud to veil her beauties from the observation of the dwellers +on earth. + +Rubineau and Alett were seated beneath a bower, cultivated by the +fair hand of the latter. + +The next morning Rubineau was to depart. All the happy scenes of the +coming week were to be delayed, and the thought that they might be +delayed long-ay, forever-came like a shadow of evil to brood in +melancholy above the place and the hour. + +We need not describe the meeting, the parting. + +"Whatever befalls me, I shall not forget you, Alett. Let us hope for +the best. Yet a strange presentiment I have that I shall not +return." + +"O that I could go with you!" said Alett. "Think you father would +object?" + +"That were impossible. Nothing but love, true and enduring, could +make such a proposal. It would be incurring a two-fold danger." + +"Death would be glorious with you,--life insupportable without you!" + +In such conversation the night passed, and when the early light of +morning came slowly up the eastern sky, the sound of a trumpet +called him away. + +The waving of a white flag was the last signal, and the general, all +unused to tears as he was, mingled his with those of his family as +the parting kiss was given, and Rubineau started on a warfare the +result of which was known only to Him who governs the destinies of +nations and of individuals. + +And now, in the heat of the conflict, the war raged furiously. +Rubineau threw himself in the front rank, and none was more brave +than he. It seemed to his fellow-officers that he was urged on by +some unseen agency, and guarded from injury by some spirit of good. + +To himself but one thought was in his mind; and, regardless of +danger, he pressed forward for a glorious victory, and honor to +himself and friends. + +Those whose leader he was were inspirited by his courageous action, +and followed like true men where he led the way. + +They had achieved several victories, and were making an onset upon +numbers four-fold as large as their own, when their leader received +a severe wound, and, falling from his noble horse, would have been +trampled to death by his followers, had not those who had seen him +fall formed a circle around as a protection for him. + +This serious disaster did not dampen the ardor of the soldiers; +they pressed on, carried the point, and saw the foe make a rapid +retreat. + +The shouts of victory that reached the ears of Rubineau came with a +blessing. He raised himself, and shouted, "On, brave men!" But the +effort was too much for him to sustain for any length of time, and +he fell back completely exhausted. + +He was removed to a tent, and had every attention bestowed upon him. +As night approached, and the cool air of evening fanned his brow, he +began to revive, but not in any great degree. + +The surgeon looked sad. There was evidently reason to fear the +worst; and, accustomed as he was to such scenes, he was now but +poorly prepared to meet it. + +"Rubineau is expiring," whispered a lad, as he proceeded quietly +among the ranks of soldiers surrounding the tent of the wounded. + +And it was so. His friends had gathered around his couch, and, +conscious of the approach of his dissolution, he bade them all +farewell, and kissed them. + +"Tell her I love, I die an honorable death; tell her that her +Rubineau fell where the arms of the warriors clashed the closest, +and that victory hovered above him as his arm grew powerless; and, +O, tell her that it was all for her sake,--love for her nerved his +arm, and love for her is borne upward on his last, his dying prayer. +Tell her to love as I--" + +"He is gone, sir," said the surgeon. + +"Gone!" exclaimed a dozen voices. + +"A brave man has fallen," remarked another, as he raised his arm, +and wiped the flowing tears from his cheek. + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +At the mansion of the old general every arrival of news from the war +sent a thrill of joy through the hearts of its inmates. Hitherto, +every despatch told of victory and honor; but now a sad chapter was +to be added to the history of the conflict. + +Alett trembled as she beheld the slow approach of the messenger, +who, at all previous times, had come with a quick step. In her soul +she felt the keen edge of the arrow that was just entering it, and +longed to know all, dreadful though it might be. + +Need we describe the scene of fearful disclosure? If the reader has +followed the mind of Alett, as from the first it has presumed, +conjectured, and fancied,--followed all its hopes of future bliss, +and seen it revel in the sunshine of honor and earthly fame,--he can +form some idea, very faint though it must be, of the effect which +followed the recital of all the facts in regard to the fallen. + +In her wild frenzy of grief, she gave utterance to the deep feelings +of her soul with words that told how deep was her sorrow, and how +unavailing every endeavor which friends exerted to allay its pangs. + +She would not believe him dead. She would imagine him at her side, +and would talk to him of peace, "sweet peace," and laugh in clear +and joyous tones as she pictured its blessings, and herself enjoying +with him its comforts. + +Thus, with enthroned reason, she would give vent to grief; and, with +her reason dethroned, be glad and rejoice. + +And so passed her lifetime. + +Often, all day long, attired in bridal raiment, the same in which +she had hoped to be united indissolubly to Rubineau, she remained +seated in a large oaken chair, while at her side stood the helmet +and spear he had carried forth on the morning when they parted. At +such times, she was as calm as an infant's slumberings, saying that +she was waiting for the sound of the marriage-bells; asked why they +did not ring, and sat for hours in all the beauty of loveliness-the +Warrior's Bride. + + + + + + +THE ADVENT OF HOPE. + + + + + + ONCE on a time, from scenes of light + An angel winged his airy flight; + Down to this earth in haste he came, + And wrote, in lines of living flame, + These words on everything he met,-- + "Cheer up, be not discouraged yet!" + Then back to heaven with speed he flew, + Attuned his golden harp anew; + Whilst the angelic throng came round + To catch the soul-inspiring sound; + And heaven was filled with new delight, + For HOPE had been to earth that night. + + + + + + +CHILD AND SIRE. + + + + + + "KNOW you what intemperance is?" + I asked a little child, + Who seemed too young to sorrow know, + So beautiful and mild. + It raised its tiny, blue-veined hand, + And to a church-yard near + It pointed, whilst from glistening eye + Came forth the silent tear. + + "Yes, for yonder, in that grave, + Is my father lying; + And these words he spake to me + While he yet was dying: + "'Mary, when the sod lies o'er me + And an orphan child thou art,-- + When companions ask thy story, + Say intemperance aimed the dart. + When the gay the wine-cup circle, + Praise the nectar that doth shine, + When they'd taste, then tell thy story, + And to earth they'll dash the wine.' + "And there my dear-loved mother lies,-- + What bitter tears I've shed + Over her grave!-I cannot think + That she is really dead. + And when the spring in beauty blooms, + At morning's earliest hour + I hasten there, and o'er her grave + I plant the little flower. + "And patiently I watch to see + It rise from out the earth, + To see it from its little grave + Spring to a fairer birth. + For mother said that thus would she, + And father, too, and I, + Arise from out our graves to meet + In mansions in the sky. + "O, what intemperance is, there's none + On earth can better tell. + Intemperance me an orphan made, + In this wide world to dwell; + Intemperance broke my mother's heart, + It took my father's life, + And makes the days of man below + With countless sorrows rife." + "Know you what intemperance is?" + I asked a trembling sire, + Whose lamp of life burned dim, and seemed + As though 'twould soon expire. + He raised his bow‚d head, and then + Methought a tear did start, + As though the question I had put + Had reached his very heart. + He raised his head, but 't was to bow + It down again and sigh; + Methought that old man's hour had come + In which he was to die. + Not so; he raised it up again, + And boldly said, "I can! + Intemperance is the foulest curse + That ever fell on man. + "I had a son, as fair, as bright + As ever mortal blest; + And day passed day, and year passed year, + Whilst I that son carest. + For all my hopes were bound in him; + I thought, from day to day, + That when old age should visit me + That son would be my stay. + "I knew temptations gathered near, + And bade him warning take,-- + Consent not, if enticed to sin, + E'en for his father's sake. + But in a fearful hour he drank + From out the poisonous bowl, + And then a pang of sorrow lodged + Within my inmost soul. + "A year had passed, and he whom I + Had strove in vain to save + Fell, crushed beneath intemperance, + Into a drunkard's grave. + O, brother, I can tell to thee + What vile intemperance is, + When one in whom I fondly hoped + Met such an end as his! + "This was not all; a daughter I + Was blest with, and she passed + Before me like an angel-form + Upon my pathway cast. + She loved one with a tender love, + She left her father's side, + And stood forth, in her robes of white, + A young mechanic's bride. + "She lived and loved, and loved and lived, + For many a happy year; + No sorrow clouded o'er her path, + But joy was ever near. + Ay, those were pleasant hours we spent, + Were joyful ones we passed; + Alas! too free from care were they + On earth to always last. + "Then he was tempted, tasted, drank, + And then to earth he fell; + And ever after misery + Within that home did dwell. + And soon he died, as drunkards die, + With scarce an earthly friend, + Yet one bent o'er him tenderly + Till life itself did end, + "And when life's chord was broken, when + His spirit went forth free, + In all her anguish then she came + To bless and comfort me. + Yet she, too, died, ere scarce twelve months + Had passed o'er her head, + And in yon much-loved church-yard now + She resteth with the dead. + That little child you spoke to is + The child she left behind; + I love her for her mother's sake, + And she is good and kind. + And every morning, early, to + Yon flowery grave she'll go; + And I thank my God she's with me + To bless me here below. + "I had a brother, but he died + The drunkard's fearful death; + He bade me raise a warning voice + Till Time should stay my breath. + And thousands whom in youth I loved + Have fallen 'neath the blast + Of ruin which intemperance + Hath o'er the wide world cast." + He spoke no more,--the gushing tears + His furrowed cheeks did leap; + The little child came quick to know + What made the old man weep. + He, trembling, grasped my hand and said + (The little child grasped his), + "May you ne'er know, as I have known, + What sad intemperance is!" + And since that hour, whene'er I look + Around me o'er the earth, + And see the wine-cup passing free + 'Mid scenes of festive mirth, + I think how oft it kindleth up + Within its raging fire, + And fain would tell to all the truths + I heard from "Child and Sire." + + + + + + +A BROTHER'S WELCOME. + + + + + + WELCOME, brother, welcome home! + Here's a father's hand to press thee; + Here's a mother's heart to bless thee; + Here's a brother's will to twine + Joys fraternal close with thine; + Here's a sister's earnest love, + Equalled but by that above; + Here are friends who once did meet thee, + Gathered once again to greet thee. + Welcome, brother, welcome home! + Thou hast wandered far away; + Many a night and many a day + We have thought where thou might'st be, + On the land or on the sea; + Whether health was on thy cheek, + Or that word we dare not speak + Hung its shadowy wing above thee, + Far away from those who love thee. + Welcome, brother, welcome home! + Here, where youthful days were spent + Ere life had its labor lent, + Where the hours went dancing by, + 'Neath a clear, unclouded sky. + And our thanks for blessings rendered + Unto God were daily tendered, + Here as ever pleasures reign, + Welcome to these scenes again! + + + + + + +THE IMMENSITY OF CREATION. + + + + + +IT is well for man to consider the heavens, the work of God's hands; +the moon and the stars, which he has created. To look forth upon the +universe, of which we form a part, fills us with high and ennobling +thoughts, and inspires us with an earnest desire to press onward in +the endless path, at every step of which new wonders and new joys +spring up to greet our vision, and to gladden our souls. + +Whichever way we look, above or below us, to the right or the left, +we find a boundless expanse teeming with life and its enjoyments. +This earth, large as it may appear to us, is less than a grain of +sand in size, when compared with the vastness around it. + +Take your soul away from earth, and send it on a mission of research +among other worlds. Let it soar far away to where the dog-star, +Sirius, holds its course; and then, though nineteen billion two +hundred million miles from earth, a distance so great, that light, +travelling, as it does, at the rate of six million six hundred and +twenty thousand miles a minute, would require three years to pass +it,--even then, when the journeying spirit had reached such a point, +it might pass on and on,--new worlds meeting its gaze at every +advance, and new wonders being seen as far beyond the point it had +attained as the inconceivable length of the path it had already +travelled multiplied a myriad of times. + +We can scarcely comprehend the vast distance of Sirius; yet, great +as this distance is, it is the nearest star to our system, and stars +have been seen whose distance from the earth is estimated to be a +thousand times as great! + +Can human mind mark that range? A thousand times nineteen billion +two hundred million! And were we to stand on the last of these +discovered stars, we might look yet far beyond, and see "infinity, +boundless infinity, stretching on, unfathomed, forever." + +To have an idea of the vastness of creation, we must possess the +mind of the Creator. What are we? We live and move and have our +being on a grain of creation, that is being whirled through +boundless space with inconceivable rapidity. And we affect to be +proud of our estate! We build houses and we destroy them; we wage +war, kill, brutify, enslave, ruin each other; or, we restore, +beautify, and bless. We are vain, sometimes. We think the world was +made for us; the stars shine for us, and all the hosts that gem the +drapery of night created for our special benefit. Astonishing +presumption!-born of ignorance and cradled in credulity! + +The mind grows dizzy as it attempts to conceive of constellation +beyond constellation, on and on, through endless space. + +Commencing with this earth, the mind given up to serious reflection +muses upon its broad extent of territory, its continents and its +oceans, and it appears very large indeed. Forgetting, for a moment, +its knowledge of other planets, it believes that this world is the +whole universe of God; that the sun, moon and stars, are but lights +in the firmament of heaven to give light upon the earth. But truth +steps in and change the mind's view. It shows that, large and +important as this earth may appear, the sun, which is spoken of as +inferior, is three hundred and fifty-four thousand nine hundred and +thirty six times larger; and the stars, that seem like diamond +points above us, are, many of them, larger than the sun, one being +one billion eight hundred million miles in diameter. Yet, such a +bulk, when compared to the universe, is less than a monad. + +A "monad" is an indivisible atom. It is as incomprehensible as the +mysteries of creation, or the duration of eternity. + +Tripoli, or rotten-stone, an article used in every family, and tons +of which are daily employed in manufactories, is composed entirely +of animalcul‘. In each cubic inch there are forty-one billion, that +is, forty-one million-million of these living, breathing creatures, +each of whom has organs of sight, hearing and digestion. Think, if +you can, of the internal organization of beings a million of whom +could rest on the point of a cambric needle! + +But there are more minute forms of creation than even those. Deposit +a grain, the four hundred and eightieth part of an ounce of musk, in +any place, and, for twenty years, it will throw off exhalations of +fragrance, without causing any perceptible decrease of weight. The +fragrance that for so many years goes forth from that minute portion +of matter is composed of particles of musk. How small must each of +those particles be, that follow each other in ceaseless succession +for twenty years, without lessening, to any perceptible degree, the +weight of the deposit! And yet we have not reached the monad. A +celebrated author + +Niewentyt. made a computation which led to the conclusion that six +billion as many atoms of light flow from a candle in one second as +there are grains of sand in the whole earth, supposing each cubic +inch to contain one million! + +Here we must stop. Further advances are impossible, yet our end is +not attained; we have not yet reached the monad, for the animalcul‘ +and the less sentient particles of matter, light, are not, for they +are divisible. + +The insect can be divided, because it has limbs with which to move; +and an intelligence higher than man can doubtless see emanations +from those particles of light. But a monad is indivisible! Think of +each cubic inch of this great earth containing a million grains of +sand, and those countless grains multiplied by one billion, or a +million-million, and that the product only shows the number of +particles of light that flow from a candle in one second of +time!-and not a monad yet! Minds higher than ours can separate each +of these particles, and yet perhaps they find not the indivisible, +but assign over to other minds the endless task. + +With such thoughts let us return to our first point, and remark that +the star tens of billions of miles distant, one billion eight +hundred million miles in diameter, is but a monad when compared with +the creations of the vast universe of God! + +Here the mind sinks within itself, and gladly relinquishes the +herculean task of endeavoring to comprehend, for a single moment, a +fractional part of the stupendous whole. + +Deep below us, high above us, far as the eye of the mind can see +around us, are the works of our Creator, marshalled in countless +hosts. All animated by his presence, all breathed upon by his life, +inspired by his divinity, fostered by his love, supported by his +power. + +And in all things there is beauty-sunbeams and rainbows; fragrant +flowers whose color no art can equal. In every leaf, every branch, +every fibre, every stone, there is a perfect symmetry, perfect +adaptation to the conditions that surround it. And thus it is, from +the minutest insect undiscernible by human eye, to the planet whose +size no figures can represent. Each and all the works of God order +governs, symmetry moulds, and beauty adorns. + +There are all grades of beings, from the monad to the highest +intelligences, and man occupies his position in the endless chain. +Could you hear and see, as seraphs listen and behold, you would hear +one continuous song of glad praise go up from all creation; you +would see all things radiant with smiles, reflecting the joys of +heaven. And why? Because they follow nature's leading, and, in doing +so, live and move in harmony. + +Who can scale the heights above us, or fathom the depths below us? +Who can comprehend the magnitude of countless worlds that roll in +space-the distance that separates the nearest orb from our earth, +the worlds of being in a drop of water, the mighty array of angel +forms that fill immensity? + +Well may we exclaim, "Great and marvellous are thy works, O Lord of +Hosts, and that my soul knoweth right well!" + + + + + + +A VISION OF HEAVEN. + + + + + + NIGHT had shed its darkness round me; + Wearied with the cares of day, + Rested I. Sleep's soft folds bound me, + And my spirit fled away. + As on eagle pinions soaring, + On I sped from star to star, + Till heaven's high and glistening portals + Met my vision from afar. + Myriad miles I hasted over; + Myriad stars I pass‚d by: + On and on my tireless spirit + Urged its ceaseless flight on high. + Planets burned with glorious radiance, + Lighting up my trackless way; + On I sped, till music coming + From the realms of endless day + Fell upon my ear,--as music + Chanted by celestial choirs + Only can,--and then my spirit + Longed to grasp their golden lyres + Stood I hear that portal wondering + Whether I could enter there: + I, of earth and sin the subject, + Child of sorrow and of care! + There I stood like one uncalled for, + Willing thus to hope and wait, + Till a voice said, "Why not enter? + Why thus linger at the gate? + "Know me not? Say whence thou comest + Here to join our angel band. + Know me not? Here, take thy welcome- + Take thine angel-sister's hand." + Then I gazed, and, gazing, wondered; + For 't was she who long since died,-- + She who in her youth departed, + Falling early at my side. + "Up," said she, "mid glorious temples! + Up, where all thy loved ones rest! + They with joy will sing thy welcome + To the mansions of the blest. + Mansions where no sin can enter, + Home where all do rest in peace; + Where the tried and faithful spirit + From its trials finds release; + "Golden courts, where watchful cherubs + Tune their harps to holy praise; + Temples in which countless myriads + Anthems of thanksgiving raise." + I those shining portals entered, + Guided by that white-robed one, + When a glorious light shone round me, + Brighter than the noonday sun! + Friends I met whom death had severed + From companionship below; + All were there-and in each feature + Immortality did glow. + I would touch their golden lyres, + When upon my ear there broke + Louder music--at that moment + I from my glad vision woke. + All was silent; scarce a zephyr + Moved the balmy air of night; + And the moon, in meekness shining, + Shed around its hallowed light. + + + + + + +THERE'S HOPE FOR THEE YET. + + + + + + WHAT though from life's bounties thou mayest have fallen? + What though thy sun in dark clouds may have set? + There is a bright star that illumes the horizon, + Telling thee truly, "There's hope for thee yet." + This earth may look dull, old friends may forsake thee; + Sorrows that never before thou hast met + May roll o'er thy head; yet that bright star before thee + Shines to remind thee "there's hope for thee yet." + 'T is but folly to mourn, though fortune disdain thee, + Though never so darkly thy sun may have set; + 'T is wisdom to gaze at the bright star before thee, + And shout, as you gaze, "There's hope for me yet." + + + + + + +SOLILOQUY OVER THE GRAVE OF A WIFE. + + + + + + IT cannot be that thou art dead; that now + I watch beside thy grave, and with my tears + Nourish the flowers that blossom over thee; + I cannot think that thou art dead and gone; + That naught remains to me of what thou wert, + Save that which lieth here,--dust unto dust. + When the bright sun arises, and its rays + Pass noiseless through my chamber, then methinks + That thou art with me still; that I can see + Thy flowing hair; and thy bright glancing eye + Beams on me with a look none other can. + And when at noon life's busy tumult makes + My senses reel, and I almost despair, + Thou comest to me and I'm cheered again; + Thine own bright smile illuminates my way, + And one by one the gathered clouds depart, + Till not a shadow lies upon my path. + Night, with its long and sombre shadows, treads + Upon the steps that morn and noon have trod; + And, as our children gather round my knee, + And lisp those evening prayers thy lips have taught, + I cannot but believe that thou art near. + But when they speak of "mother," when they say + "'T is a long time since she hath left our side," + And when they ask, in their soft infant tones, + When they again shall meet thee,--then I feel + A sudden sadness o'er my spirit come: + And when sleep holds them in its silken bands + I wander here, to this fair spot they call + Thy grave (as though this feeble earth could hold + Thee in its cold embrace), and weep and sigh; + Yet, trusting, look above to yon bright sphere, + And feel thou art not dead, but living there. + It is not thou that fills this spot of earth, + It is not thou o'er whom these branches wave, + These blooming roses only mark the spot + Where but remaineth that thou couldst not wear + Amid immortal scenes. + Thou livest yet! + Thy feet do tread the golden courts of heaven; + Thy hands have touched the harps that angels use; + Thy eyes have seen the glory of our Lord; + Thy ears have listened to that song of praise + Which angels utter, and which God accepts. + + + + + + +THE FUGITIVES. + + + + + + THEY had escaped the galling chain and fetters, + Had gained the freedom which they long had sought, + And lived like men-in righteous deeds abettors, + Loving the truth which God to them had taught + Some at the plough had labored late and early; + And some ascended Learning's glorious mount; + And some in Art had brought forth treasures pearly, + Which future history might with joy recount + As gems wrought out by hands which God made free, + But man had sworn should chained and fettered be. + They lived in peace, in quietness, and aided + In deeds of charity-in acts of love; + Nor cared though evil men their works upbraided, + While conscience whispered of rewards above. + And they had wives to love, children who waited + At eve to hear the father's homeward tread, + And clasped the hand,--or else, with joy elated, + Sounding his coming, to their mother sped. + Thus days and years passed by, and hope was bright, + Nor dreamed they of a dark and gloomy night. + Men came empowered, with handcuffs and with warrants, + And, entering homes, tore from their warm embrace + Husbands and fathers, and in copious torrents + Poured forth invective on our northern race, + And done all "lawfully;" because 't was voted + By certain men, who, when they had the might, + Fostered plans on which their passions doted, + Despite of reason and God's law of right; + And, bartering liberties, the truth dissembled, + While Freedom's votaries yielded as they trembled. + Shall we look on and bear the insult given? + O, worse than "insult" is it to be chained, + To have the fetters on thy free limbs riven, + When once the prize of Freedom has been gained. + No! by the granite pointing high above us, + By Concord, Lexington, and, Faneuil Hall, + By all these sacred spots, by those who love us, + We pledge to-day our hate of Slavery's thrall; + And give to man, whoever he may be, + The power we have to make and keep him free. + + + + + + +THE UNIVERSAL JUBILEE. + + + + + + WHAT shouts shall rise when earth shall hold + Its universal jubilee! + When man no more is bought and sold, + And one and all henceforth are free! + + Then songs they'll sing, + That loud shall ring + From rock to rock, from shore to shore. + "Hurra!" they'll shout, "we're free, we're free, + From land to land, from sea to sea, + And chains and fetters bind no more!" + Let every freeman strive to bring + The universal jubilee; + All hail the day when earth shall ring + With shouts of joy, and men are free! + + Then each glad voice + Shall loud rejoice, + And chains shall fall from every hand, + Whilst myriad tongues shall loudly tell + The grateful joy of hearts that swell, + Where Freedom reigns o'er sea and land. + +TAPVILLE was situated on the borders of one of the most beautiful +rivers that grace and refresh the soil of New England. It was once a +quiet place, once as perfect in its character as any of its +sisterhood. A moral atmosphere pervaded it, and the glorious and +divine principle of doing unto others as they would have others do +unto them governed its inhabitants; and, therefore, it was not +strange that its farmers and storekeepers kept good the proverbial +honesty and hospitality of their progenitors. Tradition said (but +written history was silent) that a few of those who landed at +Plymouth Rock separated from the main body, and took up their abode +further in the interior; and that, from these "few," a flourishing +company arose, and the place they inhabited was "Springvale." But +time and circumstances having much to do with the concerns of +earth's inhabitants, changed the character as well as the name of +this ancient town, and "Springvale" became "Tapville." + +One evening, in the year one thousand eight hundred and I don't +remember what, after a somewhat fatiguing ride on horseback all day, +my heart was cheered on coming in view of the town. I had never +visited Tapville, but, from accounts I had heard, judged it to be a +sort of Pandemonium-a juvenile Bedlam. As I entered, troops of +children greeted me with shouts, and my horse with stones. Despite +of my treatment, I could not but compare their appearance, to say +nothing of their conduct, with those I had last seen in another +town, thirty miles distant. These were attired in rags, those in +good clothing; these with unwashed faces, uncombed hair, and bearing +every mark of neglect,--those bright and smiling, happy themselves, +and making all around them so. + +I did not much fancy my reception, I assure you. My horse seemed +wondering at the cause of it, for he suddenly halted, then turned +slowly about, and began to canter away with a speed that I thought +quite impossible for a beast after a long day's work. I reined him +in, turned about, and entered the town by a small and not much +frequented pathway. + +There was a large building at my left, with a huge sign over its +principal door, from which I learned that "Good Entertainment for +Man and Beast" might be had within. Appearances, however, indicated +that a beast must be a very bad beast who would accept its +"entertainment." + +A fat man, wearing a green jacket on his back, an old torn and +tattered straw hat on his head, and both hands in his pockets, stood +lazily at the door; before which half a score of dirty children were +playing with marbles, and a short distance from which a couple of +children were fighting, upon whose pugilistic exercises a woman, +with a child in her arms and a pipe in her mouth, was gazing with +intense interest. + +The general appearance of the town was far from pleasing. At nearly +every window, hats, or shingles, or bundles of rags, took the place +of glass, and the doors, instead of being hung on hinges, were "set +up," liable to be set down by the first gust of wind. + +Near one miserable shantee, poor, very poor apology for a +dwelling-house, one man was endeavoring to get another into the +house; at least, so I thought; but both were so much intoxicated +that I could not tell, for my life, which the latter was. At one +moment, the man with the blue coat with the tails cut off seemed to +be helping the man without a coat; the next moment, I thought the +coatless man was trying to help the other. The fact was, both needed +help, which neither could give; so they remained "in a fix." + +Now and then, a bare-footed little child would run across my path, +and hurry out of sight, as if fearful of being seen where so much +that was neither of heaven nor of earth was discernible. + +In striking contrast with the want and desolation around, stood a +beautiful mansion. Around it was a garden of choice flowers, and the +vine, with its rich clusters of luscious grapes, shaded the path to +the entrance of the house. + +I continued on. Far up a shaded avenue I perceived a small, yet neat +cottage, so different in general appearance from those around it, +that I turned my way thither, in hopes of resting in quiet, and, if +possible, of learning something relative to the town. I alighted, +knocked, and soon an old lady requested me to enter, saying that +Tommy would see that my horse was cared for. It was a small room +that I entered; everything was as neat and clean as a New Year's +gift, and there was so much of New England about it, that I felt at +home. Near an open window, in an easy-chair, sat a young lady of +decidedly prepossessing appearance but evidently wasting beneath +that scourge of eastern towns and cities-consumption. There was a +hue upon her cheek that was in beautiful contrast with the pure +white of her high forehead, and the dark, penetrating eye that +flashed with the deep thoughts of her soul. + +The old lady was one of those good-natured, motherly women, whom you +will find at the firesides of New England homes, generous to a +fault; and whom you cannot but love, for the interest she takes in +you, and the solicitude she manifests for your welfare. + +A repast was soon at hand, and when it was over the lady said, + +"You are from Boston, then?" + +"Yes," I replied; "and, having heard considerable respecting this +place, have come hither to satisfy myself whether or not any good +would be likely to result from a temperance lecture here." + +"Temperance lecture!" she exclaimed, as she grasped my hand. "Do, +sir, for Heaven's sake, do something, do anything you possibly can, +to stay the ravages of the rum fiend in this place!" + +She would have said more, but she could not. The fountains of her +heart seemed breaking, and a flood of tears flowed from her eyes. +The daughter buried her face in her hands, and the sighs that arose +from both mother and child told me that something had been said that +deeply affected them. + +Tommy at this moment came in, happy and joyous; but, as soon as he +saw his mother and sister weeping, his whole appearance changed. He +approached his mother, and, looking up in her face, said, "Don't +cry, mother. Jenny will be better soon, and Tommy will work and make +you and her happy. Don't cry, mother!" + +The child's simple entreaty brought more copiously the tears to the +mourner's eyes, and some time elapsed before they became in the +least degree comforted. + +"You will excuse me, sir," said she, "I know you will, for my grief; +but, O, if temperance had been here ten years ago, we should have +been so happy!" + +"Yes," said the boy; "then father would not have died a drunkard!" + +The surmises I had entertained as to the cause of this sorrow were +now confirmed; and, at my request, she told me her story, with a +hope that it might prove a warning to others. + +"You must know, sir, that when we came here to live we were just +married. Alfred, my husband, was a good mechanic, industrious, +frugal and kind-hearted. He had by his labor and economy +accumulated a small amount, enough to purchase an estate consisting +of a house, shop and farm. He had many and good customers, and our +prospects were very fair. We attended church regularly, for we +thought that, after enjoying the bounties of a beneficent Ruler all +of six days, it was our duty, as well as privilege, to devote the +seventh to His praise. + +"Years passed by, when one morning Jenny, who was then about seven +years old, came running in, and told me that a new store had been +opened; that the man had nothing but two or three little kegs, and a +few bottles and tumblers. I went out, and found it as she had +stated. There was the man; there was his store; there were his kegs, +bottles and tumblers. + +"The next day some changes were made; a few signs were seen, and the +quiet villagers gazed in wonder, if not admiration, at the +inscriptions, 'Rum,' 'Gin,' 'Brandies,' 'Wines and Cigars.' Old men +shook their heads, and looked wise. Old women peered from beneath +their specs, and gave vent to many predictions. Children asked what +the words meant. + +"That night I talked with my husband about it. He thought that there +was no danger; that social enjoyment would harm no one; and seemed +astonished, to use his own words, 'that such a sensible woman as I +was should express any anxiety about the matter.' That night, to me, +was a long and sad one. I feared the result of the too much +dependence on self which he seemed to cherish. + +"The rumseller soon gathered a number of townsmen about him. His +establishment became a place of frequent resort by many, and soon we +had quarrelling neighbors, and disturbances at night. Boys became +dishonest, and thus the fruits of the iniquitous traffic became +visible. + +"I noticed that Alfred was not as punctual in his return as +formerly; and my fears that he visited this pest-house of the town +were soon confirmed. I hinted to him my suspicions. He was frank, +and freely admitted that he visited the bar-room; said he had become +acquainted with a few choice spirits, true friends, who had sworn +eternal friendship. 'Danger,' said he, 'there is none! If I thought +I endangered your happiness, I would not visit it again.' I +recollect the moment. He looked me steadily in the face, and, as he +did so, a tear escaped my eye. He, smiling, wiped it away, promised +that when he saw evil he would avoid it, and left me alone to my +reflections. + +"But I will be brief. I need not tell you how, step by step, he +descended that ladder whose end rested in the grave. I need not tell +you how I warned him of dander; how I entreated him to avoid it; +how I watched him in sickness, and bathed his fevered brow; how my +heart was gladdened when I saw his health returning, and heard his +solemn promise to reform. + +"Nor need I tell you how he was again led astray, and his hand +encircled that cup which he had once dashed aside. O, sir, he was a +good man; and, in his sober moments, he would weep like a child, as +he thought of his situation! He would come to me and pour out his +soul in gratitude for my kindness; and would beg my forgiveness, in +the tenderest manner, till his heart became too full for utterance, +and his repentance found vent in his tears. + +"What could I do but forgive him, as I did a hundred times! + +"Disheartened, I became sick. I was not expected to survive; and +Jenny, poor, child, watched by my side, and contracted an illness, +from which, I fear, she will not be freed till the God she loves +calls her home to himself. + +"When I recovered, Alfred remained for some time sober and happy. +But he fell! Yes, sir; but God knows he tried to stand, and would +have done so had not the owner of that groggery, by foul stratagem, +hurled him to the ground. I went, my daughter went, friends went, to +ask the destroyer of our happiness to desist; but he turned us away +with an oath and a laugh, saying, 'he would sell to all who wanted.' + +"Frequent exposure brought disease; disease brought death, and my +husband died. + +"All our property was sold to meet the demands of merciless +creditors, the principal one of whom was this very rumseller who +turned me from his doors. A friend furnished us with the cottage in +which we have since lived. Many kind-hearted friends have gathered +around us, and we have been happy, save when the recollections of +the past rise before us. Others, beside myself, have had cause to +mourn and our town, once inhabited by happy, quiet and contented +families, has become noted as a seat of iniquity. + +"He who has caused this change is now the wealthiest man in town. +You might have seen his stately palace as you rode up, environed +with fruits and flowers. He lives there; but, within the shade of +that mansion, are the wretched hovels of those upon whose ruin he +sits enthroned. He has roses and fruits at his door, but they have +been watered by widows' tears; and the winds that reach his home +amid rich vines and laden trees may bear to his ears the orphan's +cry, from whose mouth he has taken the daily bread." + +When the old lady had finished her narrative, she could restrain her +tears no longer, and they burst forth as freely as at first. + +I inquired whether there were any beside herself who would become +interested in a temperance movement. She replied that there were +many, but they wished some one to start it. + +I had left a gentleman at the town I last came from, who was an +eloquent advocate; and my first act, after listening to the widow's +narrative, was to write a note, and send it in all possible haste to +him. + +The next day he came; and, if you could have seen the joy of that +family as I told them that we had announced a meeting, you would +have some faint idea of the happiness which the temperance reform +has produced. + +From what I had learned, I expected that we should meet with some +opposition from the wealthy individual before alluded to, or from +his agents, who were so blinded to their own interests that they +could not be easily induced to move for their own good. + +The evening came, and the room we had engaged was well filled. My +friend arose, when a stone, hurled at him from without, missed its +aim, and struck a lamp at his side, dashing it into a hundred +fragments. Little disconcerted at this, he began his address; and, +in a short time, gained the attention of the audience in so perfect +a manner, that they heeded not the attempts of a noisy crowd without +to disturb them. + +He continued on. Men leaned forward to catch his words, and some +arose and stood as motionless as statues, with eyes fixed intently +on the speaker. Women wept; some in sorrow for the past, others in +joy for the future. A deep feeling pervaded all. The disturbance +without ceased, and one by one the disturbers came to the door; one +by one they entered, and began to feel the truths which the speakers +uttered. + +The only interruption was made by an aged man, who bowed his silvery +head, and, in trembling accents, moaned out, "My son, my son!" These +words, uttered at the expiration of every few minutes, increased the +solemnity of the occasion, and added power to the lecturer's +remarks, for all knew the story of his son, and all knew that he was +carried home dead from the groggery. + +When, at the end of the lecture, it was asked who would sign the +pledge, the whole assembly started to respond to the call, and each +one that night became pledged to total abstinence. + +The next day a great excitement existed relative to the groggeries +in town; a meeting was called, and a committee appointed to act in a +manner they thought best calculated to promote the interests of the +people at large. + +This committee determined to present the facts to the keepers of the +places in question, and request them to renounce the traffic. + +The facts were presented. They saw that their customers had all left +them, and why should they continue? It would be a losing business. + +The effect of the moral suasion had been powerful; it labored with +the very soul of the traffic, with those who put the pence in the +dealers' coffers. It was more powerful than all laws that could have +been enacted. Forbidding them to sell while customers crowded their +doors would have had no effect, unless to create riot; inducing +their customers to leave them soon induced them to leave the +business, for where there are none to buy there will be none to +sell. + +In view of all this, the rumsellers of Tapville gave up; and, +strange to say, joined with the people that night in their +rejoicing, and made a bonfire of their stock in trade. + +By the light of that fire my friend and I left the town; and when +far away we could see its glare, and hear the shouts of a +disenthralled people. + +After a few months' travel in the south and west, I revisited +Tapville, or rather the place where it once stood; but no Tapville +was there. The town had regained its former sobriety and quiet, and +became "Springvale." + +I called at the widow's cottage; Tommy ran out to meet me, and I +received a welcome I shall never forget. But Jenny was no more; with +her last breath she had blessed the temperance cause, and then her +pure spirit winged its way to that home where sorrows never come, +and where the troubles of earth are forgotten amid the joys of +heaven. + + + + + + +THE BATTLE OF THE RED MEN. + + + + + + 'T WAS cold, bleak winter, on a rock-bound coast, + When bands of exiles trod its frozen shore. + Who then stood forth to greet the coming host + And shelter freely give when storms did pour? + + Old Samoset-peace to his memory still!- + + He bade them welcome, welcome, with good will. + Then was the red man's nation broad and strong- + O'er field and forest he held firm control; + Then power was his to stay the coming throng, + And back the wave of usurpation roll. + + He might have crushed them on old Plymouth's rock, + + And freedom to this day have felt the shock. + Not so he willed it; he would have them sit + In peace and amity around his door; + The pipe of peace in friendship would have lit, + And, as its white cloud up towards heaven did soar, + + Learned that like it the spirits pure and white + + Ascend, to live in never-ceasing light. + But what return did they profusely give + Who were dependent on the red man's corn? + Not even to them the privilege to live, + But war and fire, torture, hate and scorn! + + Hunted like wild beasts through the forests' track; + + For food and welcome such they gave him back. + Then roused to madness was the Indian's soul, + Then grasped with firmness every one his bow; + No mortal power his purpose could control, + Till he had seen the traitors lying low. + + Revenge! revenge! was sounded far and wide, + + O'er every field and every river's tide. + The little child that scarce could lisp a word + Was taught to hate the white man; maidens fair + Were roused to fearful vengeance, as they heard + Their brothers' wrongs, and madly tore their hair; + + Old men urged on the young, and young men fled + + Swift to increase the armies of the dead. + And thus the war began,--the fearful war + That swept o'er happy homesteads like a flood; + The white and red man knew no other law + Than that which wrote its every act in blood. + + Daylight beheld the ball and arrow's flight, + + And blazing homes made terrible the night. + The rifle's sharp report, the arrow's whiz, + The shout, the yell, the fearful shriek of death; + Despair in him who saw the last of his, + And heard "good-by" from children's dying breath; + + The last sad look of prisoners borne away, + + And groan of torture, marked the night and day. + With arms more skilful-not with hearts more true, + Or souls more brave to battle for the right- + The white the unjust warfare did pursue, + Till, inch by inch, the red man took his flight + + From homes he loved, from altars he revered, + + And left, forever, scenes to him endeared. + O, what an hour for those brave people that! + Old men, whose homes were loved as homes can be; + Young men and maidens who had often sat + In love and peace beneath the forest tree; + + Parents who'd planted flowers; and with warm tears + + Watered the graves of dearest-gone for years! + From every tree a voice did seem to start, + And every shrub that could a shadow cast + Seemed to lament the fate that bade them part, + So closely twined was each one with the past. + + O, was it strange they fought with furious zeal? + + Say, men who think, and have warm hearts to feel. + And thus they went,--a concourse of wronged men,-- + Not with a speedy flight; each inch they gave, + Each blade of grass that passed beyond their ken, + Was sold for blood, and for a patriot's grave; + + And white men paid the price-and now they hold + + This broad, broad land for cost more dear than gold. + And yet 't is not enough; the cry for more + Hath vexed the Indian, till the Atlantic's wave + Now blends with it the thunder of its roar, + And soon shall sound the requiem o'er the grave + + Of the last Indian,--last of that brave band + + Who once held sway o'er all this fertile land. + Methinks to-day I see him stand alone, + Drawing his blanket close around his form; + He hath braved all, hath heard the dying moan + Rise from the fields of strife; and now the storm + + That hath swept all before it, age on age, + + On him, the last, seeks to pour forth its rage. + Raising his hand appealing to the sun, + He swears, by all he hath or now could crave, + That when his life is closed, his life-race run, + A white man ne'er shall stand above his grave. + + Shall he, the last of a once noble race, + + Consign himself to such a dire disgrace? + Never! let rock to rock the word resound; + Never! bear witness all ye gods to-day; + Never! ye streams and rivers, as ye bound, + Write "Never" on your waves, and bear away; + + Tell to the world that, hunted, wronged, abused, + + With such reproach he ne'er shall be accused, + The red man's brethren, tell him where are they; + The red man's homes and altars, what their fate? + Shall he who stands the last, the last to-day, + Forget with his last breath to whisper hate? + + Hate, deep and fathomless, and boundless too, + + Such as to fiendish cruelty is due. + He cannot bear the white man's presence now, + Or bear to hear his name or see his works; + He thinks that wrong is stamped upon his brow, + That in his good deeds selfish purpose lurks. + + Has he a cause for this?-review the past, + + And see those acts which prompt hate to the last. + Sons of the Pilgrims, who to-day do boast + Of Freedom's favors, ye whose wealth doth lie + From the Atlantic to the Pacific coast! + Let not the race you have supplanted die; + + Perish like forest-leaves from off their lands, + + Without a just requital at your hands. + O, give them homes which they can call their own, + Let Knowledge light its torch and lead the way; + And meek Religion, from the eternal throne, + Be there to usher in a better day; + + Then shall the past be blotted from life's scroll, + + And all the good ye may do crown the whole. + + + + + + +SUNLIGHT ON THE SOUL. + + + + + + O, THAT some spirit form would come, + From the fair realms of heaven above, + And take my outstretched hand in hers, + To bathe me in angelic love! + O that these longing, peering eyes, + Might pierce the shadowy curtain's fold, + And see in radiant robes arrayed, + The friends whose memory I do hold + Close, close within my soul's deep cell! + O, that were well! O, that were well! + I've often thought, at midnight's hour, + That round my couch I could discern + A shadowy being, from whose eye + I could not, ah! I would not turn. + It seemed so sisterly to me, + So radiant with looks of love, + That ever since I've strove to be + More like the angel hosts above. + The hopes, the joys were like a spell, + And it was well! Yes, it was well! + And every hour of day and night + I feel an influence o'er me steal, + So soothing, pure, so holy, bright, + I would each human heart could feel + A fraction of the mighty tide + Of living joy it sends along. + Then why should I complain, and ask + Why none of heaven's angelic throng + Come to this earth with me to dwell, + For all is well,--all, all is well! + + + + + + +A SONG FROM THE ABSENT. + +TO THE LOVED ONE AT HOME. + + + + + + AWAY from home, how slow the hours + Pass wearily along! + I feel alone, though many forms + Around my pathway throng. + There's none that look on me in love, + Wherever I do roam; + I'm longing for thy gentle smile, + My dearest one, at home. + I walk around; strange things I see, + Much that is fair to view; + Man's art and Nature's handiwork, + And all to me is new. + But, ah! I feel my joy were more, + If, while 'mid these I roam, + It could be shared with thee I love, + My dearest one, at home. + Blow, blow ye winds, and bear me on + My long and arduous way! + Move on, slow hours, more swiftly move, + And bring to life the day + When, journey done, and absence o'er, + No more I distant roam; + When I again shall be with thee, + My dearest one, at home. + + + + + + +TWILIGHT FOREST HYMN. + +THE HOUR OF PARTING. + + + + + + FRIENDS who here have met to-day, + Let us sing our parting lay, + Ere we hence do pass away, + Ere the sun doth set. + As we've trod this grassy earth, + Friendships new have had their birth, + And this day of festive mirth + We shall ne'er forget. + Rock, and hill, and shading tree, + Streamlet dancing to the sea, + Gladly though we'd stay with thee, + We must leave you all; + On the tree and on the flower + Comes the evening's twilight hour, + And upon each forest bower + Evening's shadows fall. + Part we now, but through our life, + Hush of peace or jar of strife, + Memory will still be rife + With glad thoughts of thee; + Wheresoe'er our feet may stray, + Memory will retain this day; + Fare thee well-we haste away, + Farewell rock and tree! + + + + + + +THE SUMMER SHOWER. + + + + + + UP from the lake a mist ascends, + And forms a sea of cloud above, + That hangs o'er earth as if in love + With its green vales; then quick it send + Its blessings down in cooling rain, + On hill and valley, rock and plain. + Nature, delighted with the shower, + Sends up the fragrance of each flower; + Birds carol forth their cheeriest lays, + The green leaves rustle forth their praise. + Soon, one by one, the clouds depart, + And a bright rainbow spans the sky, + That seems but the reflective part + Of all below, fixed there on high. + + + + + + +AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN AUTOMATON. + + + + + +EARLY one bright summer morning, as I was perambulating beneath +those noble trees that stand the body-guard of one of the most +beautiful places of which city life can boast,--Boston Common,--I +encountered a man who attracted my special attention by his apparent +carelessness of action, and humble bearing. He looked dejected +likewise, and I seated myself on the stone seat beside him. + +He took me by the sleeve of my coat, and whispered in my ear, "I'm +an Automaton, sir." A few more words passed between us, after which, +at my request, he gave me a sketch of his life, which I propose to +give you in language as nearly his own as possible. + +"I was born. I came into this world without any consent of my own, +sir, and as soon as I breathed the atmosphere of this mundane state +I was bandaged and pinned, and felt very much as a mummy might be +supposed to feel. I was then tossed from Matilda to Jerusha, and +from Jerusha to Jane, and from Jane to others and others. I tried to +laugh, but found I could n't; so I tried to cry, and succeeded most +admirably in my effort. + +"'He's sick,' said my aunt; and my aunt called a doctor, who, wise +man, called for a slip of paper and an errand-boy. + +"The next I knew, my head was being held by my aunt, and the doctor +was pouring down my throat, which he distended with the handle of a +spoon, a bitter potion; pouring it down without any consent of my +own, sir. + +"Whether I got better or worse I don't know; but I slept for a time, +and had a strange dream, of a strange existence, upon which I seemed +to have suddenly entered. + +"The subsequent year was one in which I figured not largely, but +considerably. I made a noise in the world, and was flattered so much +by my mother's acquaintances that my nose has been what is vulgarly +called 'a pug,' ever since. I did n't have my own way at all, except +when I screamed. In that I was not an Automaton. I was myself in +that particular; and the more restraint they put upon me, the more +freedom I had. I cried independently of all my aunts and cousins. +They could n't dictate me in that. + +"Years passed on, and I grew older, as a matter of course. I grew +without any consent of my own, sir, and found myself in jacket and +trousers ditto. I was sent to school, and was told to study Greek +and Latin, and Algebra, and Pneumatics, and Hydrostatics, and a +dozen or twenty other things, the very names of which I have +forgotten, but which I well remember bothered me considerably in +those days. I had much rather have studied the laws of my own being; +much rather have examined and become acquainted with the +architecture of my own bodily frame; much rather have studied +something more intimately connected with the realities of my own +existence; but they made me study what was repulsive to my own mind, +and speak big words which I did n't understand, and which my teacher +could n't explain without the aid of a dictionary. + +"My parents labored under the strange delusion that I was a +wonderful child. I don't know why, unless it was because I did n't +know anything of life, and I could repeat a little Latin, stumble +through a sentence of Greek, and, after having solved a problem +seventy-six thousand times to show my wonderful precociousness, +could do it again when called upon. Perhaps I'm extravagant. It was +n't more than half that number of times. At any rate, sir, I was +thought a prodigy--a most astonishing intellectual--I don't know +what,--call it mushroom,--because what I had done so many times I +could do again. + +"I recollect there was a little youngster of my acquaintance,--a +charming, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed boy,--who told me, one day, that +he did n't care for the dead languages, he had rather know the live +ones. I thought so too, and we talked a long time, down behind old +Turner's barn, about what should be and what should n't. But I had +to go home. I had to be pulled about, this arm with this wire, and +that foot with that wire. I had to do this and that, to study this +and study that, because-why, because I was an Automaton, sir. I was +born such. 'T was in my bones to be an Automaton. + +"My school-days passed, and the minister told my father that if he +was him he'd send me to college. He-my father-did n't sleep any, +that night. He and my mother kept awake till daylight +prognosticating my career, and fixing upon a day when I should go to +Cambridge. + +"That day came. I remember it was a cloudy day. There was a dull +shadow over everything. Yes, even over my heart. I didn't want to go +to college. I knew I hadn't been allowed to learn anything I wanted +to learn out of it; and I knew I should n't do any better shut up +within its old dingy, musty, brick walls. I knew I should n't learn +anything there. I had rather be out in the world. I had rather be +studying in Nature's great college. I had rather graduate with a +diploma from God, written on my heart, than to waste years of life +away from the great school of human life; to be told by another how +I should go, what I should believe, and how I should act, in the +great drama of life. But I had to go, sir,--go to college; for I was +an Automaton. + +"As I before said, the day was cloudy. Mother dressed me up. For a +week preparations had been making for my exit, and finally I went. I +was put in a stage where three men were smoking. I objected, and +intimated that it would be much better if those who smoked rode on +the outside; but my father said, 'hush,' and told me that smoking +was common at college, and I must get used to it. When the stage +stopped to change horses, the men got out, and swore, and drank +brandy; and I asked whether such things were common at college, and +whether I had got to get used to them too. But I could n't get any +answer. + +"The wind blew cold, but my coat was made so small that I could n't +button it together. I would have had it loose and easy, and warm and +comfortable; but 't was n't fashionable to have it so. Father +followed fashion, and I suffered from the cold. I had a nice, soft +cap, that I used to wear to church at home; but father thought that, +as I was going to the city, I must have a hat; so he had bought me +one, and the hard, stiff, ungainly thing was stuck on my head. I had +as lieves have had a piece of stove-pipe there. It made my head ache +awfully. + +"If I had n't been what I was, I should have worn a nice, easy pair +of shoes; but I was an Automaton. I was n't anybody; so I was made +to wear a pair of thin boots, that clung to my feet a great deal +closer than my skin did,--a great deal, sir. + +"Well, we reached Cambridge. It's a pretty place, you know; and I +rather liked it until I arrived at the college buildings. Then I did +n't like the looks of anything, except the green trees, and the +grass, and the shady walks. And I wondered where I could learn the +most useful knowledge, within or without the college. + +"I was ushered in, and my college life began. To narrate to you all +that made up that life, would be irksome to me and tedious to you. I +was taught much that I didn't believe then, and don't believe now, +and don't think I ever shall. I was made to subscribe to certain +forms, and with my lips to adopt certain views, which my heart all +the time rebelled against, and reason told me were false. But I said +I believed, and I did believe after the fashion of the times; for I +believe it's fashionable to believe what you don't know anything +about, and the more of this belief you have the better you are. So I +believed what my teachers told me, because-why, because I was an +Automaton. + +"When I returned home, I found myself, quite unexpectedly, a lion. +All the neighbors flocked in to see the young man who'd been to +college, and in the evening a dozen young ladies--marriageable young +ladies--called on me. I tried to have a pleasant time; and should +have had, if I had n't been pulled and pushed, and made a +puppet-show of; made to go through all my college exercises, to +please the pride of my immediate relatives, and minister to the +wonder-loving souls of their friends. But, though I did n't want to +do all this, though I had much preferred to have sat down and had a +quiet talk with one or two,--talked over all that had taken place +during my absence, our lives and loves,--yet I was obliged to, sir. I +was an Automaton. + +"One day,--it was but a week after I had returned,--my father took me +into his room, and said he had something to say to me. I knew very +well, before he said so, that something out of the usual course was +to take place; for, all the morning, he had been as serious and +reserved as a deacon at a funeral, and I had caught him holding sly +talks with my mother in out-of-the-way places.-I knew something was +to happen. + +"I sat down, and he did. And then he went on to say that I had +probably had some thoughts of marriage. I merely responded, 'Some.' + +"He then remarked that every young man should calculate to get a +wife and settle down; and that 'old folks' had had experience, and +knew a vast deal more about such things than young folks did; and +that the latter, when they followed the advice of the former, always +were well-to-do in the world, always were respected. + +"I began to see what he was driving at. I looked very serious at +him, and he a great deal more so at me. + +"He talked to me half an hour; it was the longest half-hour I had +known since I first measured time. He expatiated on the wisdom of +old people; told me I was inexperienced. I, who had been to college! +I, who had lived a city life! I was inexperienced! But I let him go +on-I could n't help it-you know what I was. + +"He then drew his chair closer mine, lowered the tone of his voice, +and said, + +"'I've picked out a wife for you. It's Squire Parsons' daughter, +Susan Jane Maria. She'll be an excellent wife to you, and mother to +your children.' + +"If I had been anything else than what I was, I should have sprang +up and declared my own ability to choose a wife for me and 'a mother +for my children;' but I did n't do any such thing. I nodded a calm +assent to all he said; for you know, sir; I was an Automaton. + +"I was to go with my father, that night, and see Susan,--she that was +to be my Susan,--O, no, not so; I was to be her Jacob. So, when tea +was over, and I had been 'fixed up,'-I was fixed, I tell you,--father +led the way over Higginses' rough pasture. I should have gone round, +in the road, where it was decent walking, if I had been anybody; but +I was n't any one; I was a--well, you know what. I got one of my +boots full of water, and father fell down and bruised his nose; but +I took off my boot and poured the water out, and he put a piece of +court-plaster on his nose,--a great black piece,--and we did n't look +as bad as we might, so he said; and so I said, 'of course.' + +"Susan was at home, seated in the middle of a great room, as if on +exhibition; and perhaps she was,--I thought so. I had seen Susan +before, and always disliked her. There was nothing in her personal +appearance, or her mind, that pleased me. I never met her without +marking her future life as that of an old maid. But she was to be my +wife; father said so, mother shouted amen; and I was to love her, +and so I said I did, 'of course.' + +"It seemed to me that she knew all about what I came for; for she +put out her little slim hand, that never made a loaf of bread nor +held a needle, but had only fingered the leaves of Greek and Latin +Lexicons, and volumes of Zoology and Ornithology, and thrummed +piano-keys,--all very well in their place (don't think I depreciate +them), but very bad when their place is so large that there's no +room for anything else,--very bad, sir. + +"As she took my hand she attempted to kiss me; but, being rather +shy, I dodged when I saw her lips a-coming, and they went plump on +to father's nose, and exploded on his piece of court-plaster. + +"It was all fixed that night, and I was to be married one week from +the ensuing Sunday. + +"We went home. I received a smile from those who were so considerate +as to hunt me up a wife. + +"If you'd seen the Greentown Gazette a fortnight after, and had +looked at the list of marriages, you might have read, 'Married: In +this town, by Rev. Ebenezer Pilgrade, Mr. Jacob Jenkins, Jr. +(recently from college), to Susan Jane Maria Parsons, estimable +daughter of Nehemiah Q. Parsons; all of this place.' + +"We lived at home. My wife soon found out what I was, found out that +I was an Automaton, and she pulled the wires and put me in motion, +in any way she wished. I opened an office, put out a sign, and for a +time practised law and physic, and when the minister was sick took +his place and preached. I preached just what they wanted me to. I +felt more like an Automaton than ever, stuck up in a high box, +talking just what had been talked a thousand times from the same +place. It would n't do, I was told, to have any ideas of my own; +and, if had them, I must n't speak them. So my parish and me got +along pretty well. + +"Of course I had joined the church. I was told that I must, and so I +did; but I won't tell you what my thoughts were in regard to what I +was told to believe, for that's delicate ground. I don't know what +your religion is, sir, and I might offend you, and I would n't do so +for the world. You see I am an Automaton yet. I'll do just as you +want me to. I hate to be so; but, somehow or other, I can't be +otherwise. It's my nature. + +"You think I'm prosy. I won't say much more, for I see you take out +your watch as though you wished I'd stop, that you might go; so I'll +close with 'finally,' as I do in preaching. + +"Well, then, finally, father died, mother died, Susan run off, and +I've become almost discouraged. I have three children to take care +of, but they are good children. They do just precisely as I tell +them, and won't do anything without asking me whether it's right; +and I ask somebody else. They have n't got any minds of their own, +any more than I have. They'll do just as I tell them. I've nobody in +particular now to tell me what I shall do; so I take everybody's +advice, and try to do as everybody wants me to do. I've come to +Boston on a visit, and shall go back to-night, if you think best. + +"Now I've given you my autobiography. You can do just what you want +to with it,--print it, if you like. People, perhaps, will laugh at me +when they read it; but perhaps there are other Automatons besides +me." + +He came to a full stop here; and, as it was getting late, I arose, +wished him well, bade him good-by, and left. I had proceeded but a +few steps, when I felt a touch on my shoulder, and, turning, found +it was the Automaton, who had come to ask me whether I thought he +had better go home that night. + + + + + + +TO THE UNKNOWN DONOR OF A BOUQUET. + + + + + + RICHEST flowers of every hue, + Lightly fringed with evening dew; + Sparkling as from Eden's bowers, + Brightly tinted-beauteous flowers! + Thee I've found, and thee I'll own, + Though from one to me unknown; + Knowing this, that one who'll send + Such a treasure is my friend. + Who hath sent thee?-Flora knows, + For with care she reared the rose. + Lo! here's a name!-it is the key + That will unlock the mystery; + This will tell from whom and why + Thou didst to my presence hie. + Wait-the hand's disguised!-it will + Remain to me a mystery still. + But I'm a "Yankee," and can "guess" + Who wove this flowery, fairy tress. + Yea, more than this, I almost know + Who tied this pretty silken bow, + Whose hand arranged them, and whose taste + Each in such graceful order placed. + Yet, if unknown thou 'dst rather be, + Let me wish this wish for thee: + May'st thou live in joy forever, + Naught from thee true pleasure sever; + From thy heart arise no sigh; + May no tear bedew thine eye. + Joys be many, cares be few, + Smooth the path thou shalt pursue; + And heaven's richest blessings shine + Ever on both thee and thine. + Round thy path may fairest flowers, + As in amaranthine bowers, + Bloom and blossom bright and fair, + Load with sweets the ambient air! + Be thy path with roses strewn, + All thy hours to care unknown; + Sorrow cloud thy pathway never, + Happiness be thine forever. + + + + + + +TO A SISTER IN HEAVEN. + + + + + + SISTER, in thy spirit home, + Knowest thou my path below? + Knowest thou the steps I roam, + And the devious road I go? + Many years have past since I + Bade thee here a sad farewell; + Many past since thou didst die, + Since I heard thy funeral knell. + Thou didst go when thou wast young; + Scarcely hadst thou oped thine eyes + To the world, and it had flung + Its bright sunshine from the skies, + Ere thy Maker called for thee, + Thou obeyed his high behest; + Then I mourned, yet knew thou 'dst be + Throned on high among the blest. + Gently thou didst fold thy wing, + Gently thou didst sink in sleep; + Birds their evening songs did sing, + And the evening shades did creep + Through the casement, one by one, + Telling of departing day; + Then, thou and the glorious sun + Didst together pass away. + Yet that sun hath rose since then, + And hath brought a joy to me; + Emblem 't is time will be when + Once again I shall see thee,-- + See thee in immortal bloom, + Numbered with the ransomed throng, + Where no sorrow sheds its gloom + O'er the heart, or chills the song. + Spirit sister, throned on high, + Now methinks I hear thee speak + From thy home within the sky, + In its accents low and meek. + Thou art saying, "Banish sadness; + God is love,--O, trust him over! + Heaven is filled with joy and gladness- + It shall be thy home forever." + This thou sayest, and thy voice, + Like to none of earth I've heard, + Bids my fainting soul rejoice; + Follow God's reveal‚d word, + Follow that, 't is faithful true; + 'Mid the trackless maze of this, + It will guide the pilgrim through + To a world of endless bliss. + Sister, in thy spirit home, + Thou dost know my path below, + Thou dost know the steps I roam, + And the road I fain would go. + If my steps would err from right, + If I'd listen to the wrong, + If I'd close my eyes to light, + Mingle with earth's careless throng: + Then wilt thou with power be nigh; + Power which angel spirits wield, + That temptation may pass by, + Be thou near my soul to shield! + As I close this simple lay, + As I over it do bow, + Sister, thou art round my way, + Thou art standing near me now. + + + + + + +I DREAMED OF THEE, LAST NIGHT, LOVE! + + + + + + I DREAMED of thee last night, love, + And I thought that one came down + From scenes of azure light, love, + The most beautiful to crown. + He wandered forth where diamonds + And jewels rich and rare + Shone brightly 'mid the glittering throng, + Yet crown‚d no one there. + He pass‚d by all others, + Till he came to where thou stood; + And chose thee as the beautiful, + Because thou wast so good. + And said, as there he crowned thee, + That Goodness did excel + The jewels all around thee + In which beauty seemed to dwell. + For Goodness is that beauty + Which will forever last; + Then, crowning thee most beautiful, + From earth to heaven he passed. + + + + + + +THEY TELL OF HAPPY BOWERS. + + + + + + THEY tell of happy bowers, + + Where rainbow-tinted flowers + Bloom bright with sweetest fragrance, and never, never die; + + Where friends are joined forever, + + Where parting hours come never, + And that that happier land is far beyond the sky;-- + + That when this life is ended + + The spirit there ascended + Shall meet in happy unison the spirits gone before; + + And all that here hath vexed us, + + With seeming ill perplexed us, + We shall see was for the best, and God of all adore. + + Then, brother, hope and cheer thee, + + For glorious hours are near thee, + If thou but livest holy, and hope, and trust, and wait; + + Soon, trials all departed, + + Thou, heavenward, homeward started, + Shalt find a glorious entrance at heaven's golden gate. + + + + + + +MAN CANNOT LIVE AND LOVE NOT. + + + + + + MAN cannot live and love not; + Around, beneath, above, + There is that's bright and beautiful, + And worthy of his love; + There is in every object + That works out nature's plan, + Howe'er so low and humble, + That's worth the love of man. + Each blade of grass that springeth + From earth to beauty fair; + Each tiny bird that wingeth + Its course through trackless air; + Each worm that crawls beneath thee, + Each creature, great and small, + Is worthy of thy loving; + For God hath made them all. + Should earthly friends forsake thee, + And earth to thee look drear; + Should morning's dark forebodings + But fill thy soul with fear, + Look up! and cheer thy spirit- + Up to thy God above; + He'll be thy friend forever- + Forever!-"God is Love!" + + + + + + +BETTER THAN GOLD. + + + + + + "Find we Lorenzo wiser for his wealth? + What if thy rental I inform, and draw + An inventory new to set thee right? + Where is thy treasure? Gold says, 'Not in me!' + And not in me, the diamond. Gold is poor, + Indies insolvent-. Seek it in thyself, + Seek in thy naked self, and find it there." + +GOLD is, in itself, harmless-brilliant, beautiful to look upon; but, +when man entertains an ungovernable, all-absorbing love of it, gold +is his curse and a mill-stone around his neck, drawing him down to +earth. How much sorrow that love has caused! O, there is love that +is angelic! But high and holy as love is when bestowed upon a worthy +object, in like proportion is it base and ignoble when fixed upon +that which is unworthy. + +It may well be questioned whether, taking a broad view of the +matter, gold has not produced more evil than good. Point out, if you +can, one crime, be it the most heinous and inhuman of which you can +possibly conceive, that has not been perpetrated for the sake of +gold, or has not its equal in the history of the battle for wealth. +We can conceive of no worse a thing than a human soul idolizing a +mass of shining metal, and counting out, with lean and tremulous +hands, the coined dollars. Late and early the devotee bows at the +shrine. No motive can induce him to remove his fixed gaze from the +god he worships. No act too base for him to execute if gold holds +out its glittering purse. No tears of widows, no orphan's cry, no +brother's famishing look, no parent's imploring gaze, no wife's +loving appeal, doth he heed; but on, and on, day by day, night by +night, he rakes together the scattered fragments, rears his altar, +and lays his soul upon it, a burnt sacrifice to his God. + +It was the first day of the trial, and the excitement was intense. +The court-house was filled at an early hour to its utmost capacity, +whilst the lanes leading to it were completely blocked up with +crowds of inquisitive inquirers. The professor left his study, the +trader his accounts, and the mechanic dismissed for a while the toil +of his avocation. + +The judges had arrived; the counsel of both parties were at their +respective desks; all were eager to get a full sight-if not this, a +passing glance-at the prisoner's face. They were looking for his +arrival, and if a close carriage drew near, they believed he was +within, until the carriage passing by withered all their hopes, and +blasted their fond expectations. Such was the state of feeling when +a rumor began to pass round that he, the prisoner, had been +privately conveyed into court. Some believed, and some disbelieved; +some went away, whilst others remained, not giving up all hope of +having their desire gratified.-But why all this? + +Pedro Castello, a young man, an Italian by birth, had been indicted, +and was soon to be tried, charged with two heinous crimes-murder and +robbery. The murdered was an aged person, one of a very quiet and +sedate character, whose every movement seemed to be by stealth, and +who seemed to care for none but himself, but who took particular +interest in what he did care for. This individual had, for quite a +number of years, been a resident in the town where the incidents we +now propose to relate transpired. + +Lorenzo Pedan had the reputation of being wealthy. Whether he was so +or not, no one could positively determine; at least, many thought +so, and here a farmer, there a mechanic, offered to bet all that +he was worth that "Renzo," as he was called, could show his fifty +thousand. It was well known that he was once in prosperous business; +that then, as the saying is, he moved on "swimmingly." But, two or +three years previous to the time we now speak of, he suddenly gave +up business, closed his store, hired a small and retired house, and +lived in as secluded a state as living in the world and not in a +forest would admit of. He was his own master, his own servant, cook +and all else. Visitors seldom if ever darkened his door; and, when +necessity obliged him to leave his house, it was with the utmost +precaution he made fast his door before starting. Proceeding a short +distance, he became possessed with the idea that all was not right, +and would return to his dwelling closely to scrutinize every part. +This and many other characteristics of Pedan induced a belief in the +minds of his townsmen that he had by degrees become possessed of an +avaricious disposition, and that his miserly views of the "whole +duty of man" had induced him to secrete huge boxes of silver, and +bags, of gold in crevices of his cellar, vacancies in his chimney, +and musty and dusty corners of his garret. + +Various were the tricks played upon Lorenzo by the boys of the town. +At times they would place logs of wood against his door, and arrange +them in such a position that when the door was opened they would +inevitably fall in; yet he did not care for this,--we mean he found +no fault with this trick, for he usually claimed the fuel for +damages occasioned by its coming in too close proximity with his +aged self. + +Sometimes these "villanous boys," as widow Todd, a notorious +disseminator of town scandal, called them, would fasten his door; +then, having hid behind some bushes, laugh heartily as they beheld +Mr. Pedan exhibit himself at the window, at which place he got out. +We will not attempt to relate one half or one quarter of these +tricks; we will say nothing of sundry cats, kittens, etc., that were +crowded into boxes and marked "Pedro-this side up with infinite +care;" nor about certain black, white, and yellow dogs, that were +tied to all his door-handles, and made night hideous in the exercise +of their vocal powers. We will not weary our readers with such +details. Suffice it to say that they were all perpetrated, and that +he, the aforesaid Lorenzo Pedan, received the indignities heaped +upon him with a degree of patience and fortitude rivalled only by +that of the martyrs of the dark ages. He was, in fact, a martyr to +his love of gold; and a recompense for all his outward troubles was +the satisfaction of knowing that he might be rich some time, if he +was prudent. + +Lorenzo was undoubtedly rich, yet he derived no enjoyment from his +abundance; on the contrary, it caused him much trouble, care, and +watchfulness; and not possessing any benevolent feelings, prompting +him to spend his gold and silver for his own good or the good of his +fellow-men, the poorest man, with all his poverty,--he who only by +his daily toil earned his daily bread,--was far more wealthy than he. + +He passed on in this way for some time, when, on a certain morning, +he not having made his appearance for some days previous, his door +was burst open, and the expectations of not a few realized upon +finding him murdered. All the furniture and even the wainscotings of +the house were thrown about in dread disorder; scarcely an article +seemed to be in its right place. The robber or robbers were +undoubtedly on the alert for money, and they left no spot untouched +where possibly they might find it. They pulled up parts of the +floor, tore away the ceiling, and left marks of their visit from +cellar to garret. + +Immediate efforts were made and measures taken to ferret out the +perpetrator of this daring crime. These were, for a considerable +length of time, fruitless, and, the excitement that at first arose +being somewhat quelled, some thought the search that had been +instituted was given, or about to be given, up, when a man by the +name of Smith came forward, and stated that, about nine days +previous to the discovery, as he was passing the house of the +deceased, he heard a faint cry, as of one in distress, and, turning +round, noticed a young man running in great haste. He, at the time, +thought little of this incident, as he supposed the boys were +engaged in some of their tricks. It had entirely passed his +recollection, until, hearing of the murder, he instantly recollected +the circumstance, and now he did not entertain a doubt that the +young man whom he saw was the murderer. + +It appeared strange to some that this man had not made all this +known before; and that now, at so late a period, he should come +forward and with such apparent eagerness make the disclosures. Being +asked why he had not come forward before, he promptly replied that +he did not wish to suspect any person, for fear he might be +mistaken. + +Efforts were now made, and excitement had again risen, to find out a +young man answering the description given by Smith, whom he alleged +to be one short in stature, and wearing a fur cap. Pedro Castello, +by birth an Italian, by trade a jeweller, who had resided in the +town a few years, was of this description. He was not very tall, +neither very short; but the fur cap he wore made up all deficiencies +in stature. Smith swore to his identity, and, at his instigation, he +was arrested, and with great coolness and self-possession passed +through a short examination, which resulted in his being placed in +custody to await his trial at the next session of a higher court. +The only evidence against him was that of Smith and his son; that of +the former was in substance what has already been stated, and that +of the latter only served to support and partially confirm the +evidence of the former. A host of townsmen appeared to attest to the +good character of the accused; and, with such evidence for and +against, he was committed. + +Never was man led to prison who behaved with a greater degree of +composure. Conscious of his innocence, he acted not the part of a +guilty man, but, relying upon justice for an impartial trial, he +walked with a firm step, and unflinchingly entered a felon's cell. + +In two months his trial was to commence, and that short period soon +elapsed. The morning of the trial came; all was excitement, as we +have before said. A trial for murder! Such an event forms an era in +the history of a town, from which many date. That one so long +esteemed as an excellent neighbor, and of whose untarnished +character there could be no doubt, should be suddenly arrested, +charged with the committal of a crime at the thought of which human +nature revolts, was a fact the belief of which was hardly credible. +He himself remained not unmoved by the vast concourse of spectators; +he thought he could read in the pitying glance of each an acquittal. +An acquittal at the bar of public opinion always has and always will +be esteemed of more value than one handed in by a jury of twelve; +yet by that jury of twelve men he was to be tried,--he must look to +them for his release, if he was to obtain it. Their decision would +condemn him to an ignoble death, or bid him go forth once more a +free man. He had obtained the best of counsel, by whose advice he +selected, from twenty-five jurors, twelve, whose verdict was to seal +his fate. + +The trial commenced. A deep silence prevailed, broken only by the +voice of the government officer, who briefly stated an outline of +the facts, to wit: "That murder and robbery had been committed; that +a young man was seen hastily leaving the spot upon which the crime +was committed; that the appearance of the defendant was precisely +that of the person thus seen; said he should not enter into an +examination of the previous character of the prisoner, giving as a +reason that a man may live long as a person of unquestionable +character, and after all yield to some strong temptation and fall +from the standard of excellence he had hitherto attained; he should +present all the facts that had come to his knowledge, tending to +substantiate the charge, and would leave it to the prisoner and his +counsel to undermine the evidence he presented, and to prove the +accused innocent, if possible; all that he should do would be to +attempt to prove him guilty; if he failed to do so a verdict must be +rendered accordingly." Having said this, he called upon his +witnesses. Those who first discovered the outrage were called and +testified to what they saw. John Smith was next called, and gave in +as evidence what has before been stated; at the close of a strict +cross-examination he returned to his seat. His son Levi was next +called, and stated that his father was out the night he himself +stated he was; he went out about half-past six or seven; did not say +where he was going, or how long he should be out; he came home about +eleven. + +Prisoner's counsel here inquired whether it was usual, upon his +father's going out, to state where he was going or when he should +return. He answered in the affirmative. This was all the knowledge +Levi Smith had of the affair, and with this the evidence for the +government closed. + +The counsel for the defendant stated, in the opening, that all he +should attempt to prove would be the bad character of the principal +witness, John Smith, and the unexceptionable character of the +prisoner. He would prove that the reputation of Smith for truth and +veracity was bad, and that therefore no reliance could be placed +upon his statements. He should present the facts as they were, and +leave it to them to say whether his client was innocent or guilty. + +A person by the name of Renza was first called, who stated that for +about two years he had resided in the house with the prisoner; that +he esteemed him as a friend; that the prisoner had treated him as a +brother,--had never seen anything amiss in his conduct,--at night he +came directly home from his place of business, was generally in at +nine, seldom out later than ten,--remembered the night in +question,--thought he was in about ten, but was not certain on that +point,--had been acquainted with John Smith for a number of +years,--had not said much to him during that time,--had often seen him +walking about the streets,--had known him to be quarrelsome and +avaricious, easily provoked, and rather lacking in good principle. +After a few cross-questions the witness took his seat. + +Seven others were called, whose testimony was similar to the above, +placing the evidence of the principal government witness in rather a +disagreeable light. The evidence being in on both sides, the +prisoner's counsel stood forth to vindicate the innocence of +Castello. For three hours he faithfully advocated the cause, dwelt +long upon the reputation of Smith, and asked whether a man should be +convicted upon such rotten evidence. He brought to light the +character of Smith, and that of Castello; placed them in contrast, +and bade them judge for themselves. He wished to inquire why Smith, +when he heard the terrible scream, when he saw a person running from +the place whence the sound proceeded, why, when he heard and beheld +all this, he did not make an alarm; why did Smith keep it a secret, +and not till nine days had elapsed make this known? "Perhaps he +would reply," argued the counsel, "that he did not wish to suspect +any person, fearing the person suspected might be the wrong one; if +so, why did he not inform of the person he saw running? If he was +not the doer of the deed, perhaps he might relate something that +would lead to the detection of him who was. Beside, if he had doubts +whether it was right to inform then, why does he do so now with so +much eagerness? It would be natural for one, after hearing such +fearful noises,--after seeing what he testifies to having seen,--to +have related it to some one; but no-Smith keeps all this important +information treasured up, and not till two weeks had nearly passed +does he disclose it. But, gentlemen, I have my doubts as to the +truth of John's evidence. It is my firm belief that he never saw a +person running from that house; he might have heard the noise-I will +not dispute that. I believe his story has been cut and dried for the +occasion, and surely nine days and nights have afforded him ample +time to do so. The brains of an ox could concoct such ideas in nine +days. Now comes the inquiry, why should he invent such a story? Of +what benefit can it be to him to appear in a crowded courtroom? +Gentlemen, I confess myself unable to give you his reasons; to him +and to his God they are only known. The veil which, in my opinion, +now shrouds this affair, will some day be withdrawn, and we shall +know the truth, even as it is." + +The defence here closed. The officer for the prosecution now arose, +and with equal faithfulness and ability argued his side of the +question. He thought the reasons why Smith had not before informed +were full and explicit; and, as to the testimony of the eight as to +the past good character of the prisoner, he saw no reason why a man +should be always good because for two or more years he had been so. +A great temptation was presented; he was young--perhaps at the +moment regardless of the result, the penalty of the crime; he did +not resist, but yielded; and as to the argument of the learned +counsel, that Mr. S. did not see what he testifies to have seen, it +is useless to refute such an unfounded allegation. Can you suppose +Smith to be benefited by this prosecution further than to see +justice have its dues? Settle it then in your minds that Mr. Smith +did actually see all he says he did. We come next to the description +given by Smith of the man seen. He said he was short in stature, and +wearing a fur cap. Look at the prisoner,--is he not short?-and the +testimony of two of the previous witnesses distinctly affirm that +for the past six weeks he has worn a fur cap. What more evidence do +you want to prove his guilt? + +The prosecuting officer here closed. We have given but a faint +outline of his remarks; they were forcible and to the point. + +It was near the dusk of the second day's trial that the judge arose +to charge the jury. He commented rather severely upon the attempt to +impeach the character of Smith. His address was not lengthy; and in +about thirty minutes the jury retired, while a crowded audience +anxiously waited their return. It was not till the rays of the +morning sun began to be seen that it was rumored that they had +arrived at a decision and would soon enter. All was silent as the +tomb. The prisoner, although aware that his life was at stake, sat +in great composure, frequently holding converse with his friends who +gathered around. How anxiously all eyes were turned towards the door +by which they were to enter, wishing, yet dreading, to hear the +final secret! The interest of all watched their movements and seemed +to read acquittal upon each juror's face. The prisoner arose, the +foreman and he looking each other in the face. The clerk put the +question, "Guilty, or not guilty?" The ticking of the clock was +distinctly heard. "Guilty!" responded the foreman. A verdict so +unexpected by all could not be received in silence, and, as with one +voice, the multitude shouted "False! false! FALSE!" With great +difficulty were they silenced and restrained from rescuing the +prisoner, who, though greatly disappointed, heard the verdict +without much agitation. Innocent, he was convinced that justice +would finally triumph, though injustice for a moment might seem to +have the ascendency. + +One week had passed. Sentence had been pronounced upon the young +Italian, and, notwithstanding the strenuous efforts his friends made +for his pardon, he was committed to prison to await the arrival of +that day when innocence should suffer in the place of guilt, and he +should by the rough hands of the law be unjustly dragged to the +gallows, and meet his death at so wretched a place; yet far better +was it for him, and of this was he aware, to be led to that place +free, from the blood of all men, than to proceed there a guilty +criminal, his hands dyed in the warm blood of a fellow-creature, +pointed out as a murderer, and looked upon but with an eye of +condemnation. He was certain that in the breasts of hundreds a +spark, yea, a burning flame, of pity shone for him,--that he met not +his death uncared for,--that many a tear would flow in pity for him, +and that he would wend his way to the scaffold comforted by the +consciousness of his innocence, and consoled by many dear friends. + +The day had arrived for the execution, and crowds of people flocked +to the spot to gratify their love of sight-seeing-to allay their +curiosity-even though that sight were nothing less than the death of +a fellow-being. Crowds had assembled. A murder had been committed, +and now another was to follow. To be sure it was to be executed +"according to law," but that law was inspired with the spirit of +revenge. Its motto was "blood for blood." It forgot the precepts of +Christ, "forgive your enemies;" and that that which is a wrong when +committed by one in secret, is no less a wrong when committed by +many, or by their sanction, in public. The condemned stood upon the +death-plank, yet he hoped justice would be done. "Hope!" what a +cheering word! 't will nerve man for every trial. Yes, Castello +hoped, and relied upon that kind arm that had hitherto supported +him, and had enabled him to bear up under an accumulated mass of +affliction. He had a full consciousness of innocence, and to the +oft-repeated inquiry as to his state of mind he replied, "I am +innocent, and that truth is to me better than gold." + +It lacks but five minutes of the appointed time-now but three-but +two. But yonder the crowd seem excited. What is the cause of the +sudden movement? But a few moments since and all were silently +gazing at the centre of attraction, the scaffold. Lo, a messenger, +breathless with haste, shouting "INNOCENT! INNOCENT! INNOCENT!" and +a passage is made for him to approach, whilst thousands inquire the +news. He answers not, save by that shrill shout, "INNOCENT!" and +pressing forward touches the gallows just as Castello is about to be +launched forth. The stranger ascends the steps and begs that the +execution may be deferred, at least until he can relate some recent +disclosures. His wish is granted, and he speaks nearly as follows: + +"The testimony of the principal witness was doubted. Last night I +remained at the house of Smith. Owing to the great excitement I did +not retire to rest, and sat in a room adjoining that in which Smith +lodged. About midnight I heard a voice in that room. I went to the +door, and, fearing he was sick and desired aid, I entered. He was +asleep, and did not awake upon my entering, but continued talking. I +thought it strange, and thinking I might be amused, and having +nothing else to do, I sat and listened. He spoke in somewhat this +manner, and you may judge of my surprise while I listened: + +"'I'm rich; too bad Pedro should die; but I'm rich; no matter, I'm +rich. Kings kill their millions for a little money. I only kill one +man; in six months 't will be forgotten; then I'll go to the bank of +earth back of the red mill and get the gold; I placed it there safe, +and safe it is. Ha, ha! I made that story in nine days-so I did, and +might have made it in less; let him die. But supposing I should be +detected; then it may be that I shall find that Pedro is right when +he says there is something better than gold. But I am in no danger. +The secret is in my own heart, locked up, and no one has the key but +myself; so cheer thee, my soul, I'm safe!-and yet I don't feel +right. I shall feel, when Pedro dies; that I kill him; but why +should I care? I who have killed one, may kill another!' + +"After waiting some time, and hearing no more, I hastened to the +spot he had alluded to, for the purpose of satisfying myself whether +what he had ramblingly spoken of was truth or fancy. After searching +the hill for over an hour, I found a stone, or rather stumbled +against it; I threw it aside, so that others might not stumble over +it as I had, when to my astonishment I found it to be a large flat +one, beneath which I found a collection of bags and boxes, which +upon opening I found filled with gold and silver coin, and in each +box a small paper,--one of which I hold in my hand; all are alike, +and written upon each are these words: + +"'This gold and silver is the property of Pedan, who enjoyed it but +little himself; he leaves it to posterity, and hopes that they may +find more pleasure and more satisfaction in its use than he ever +did.' + +"Not content with this, I pushed my researches still further, and, +having taken out all the bags and boxes, I found this knife, all +bloody as you see it, and this hatchet in nearly the same condition. +Now I ask if it is not the course of justice to delay the execution +of this young man until more examinations can be made?" + +The executioner obeyed the mandate of the sheriff, and stayed his +avenging hand. + +"Better than gold!" shouted the prisoner, and sank helpless upon the +platform. + +That day John Smith was arrested, and, being bluntly charged with +the murder, confessed all. Castello was immediately released, and +went forth a free man. + +In four weeks Smith was no more of earth; he had paid the penalty of +his crimes, and died not only a murderer but a perjured man. + +The next Sabbath the pastor of the church discoursed upon the +subject, and an indescribable thrill pervaded the hearts of some of +the people as they repeated the words, "Forgive us our trespasses as +we forgive those who trespass against us." + + + + + + +GONE AWAY. + + + + + + HERE, where now are mighty cities, + Once the Indians' wigwam stood; + Once their council-fires illumined, + Far and near, the tangled wood. + Here, on many a grass-grown border, + Then they met, a happy throng; + Rock and hill and valley sounded + With the music of their song. + Now they are not,--they have vanished, + And a voice doth seem to say, + Unto him who waits and listens, + "Gone away,--gone away." + Yonder in those valleys gathered + Many a sage in days gone by; + Thence the wigwam's smoke ascended, + Slowly, peacefully, on high. + Indian mothers thus their children + Taught around the birchen fire,-- + "Look ye up to the great Spirit! + To his hunting-grounds aspire." + Now those fires are all extinguished; + Fire and wigwam, where are they? + Hear ye not those voices whispering, + "Gone away,--gone away!" + Here the Indian girl her tresses + Braided with a maiden's pride; + Here the lover wooed and won her, + On Tri-mountain's grassy side. + Here they roamed from rock to river, + Mountain peak and hidden cave; + Here the light canoe they paddled + O'er the undulating wave. + All have vanished-lovers, maidens, + Meet not on these hills to-day, + But unnumbered voices whisper, + "Gone away,--gone away!" + "Gone away!" Yes, where the waters + Of the Mississippi roll, + And Niagara's ceaseless thunders + With their might subdue the soul, + Now the noble Indian standeth + Gazing at the eagle's flight, + Conscious that the great good Spirit + Will accomplish all things right. + Though like forest-leaves they're passing, + They who once held boundless sway, + And of them 't will soon be written, + "Gone away,--gone away!" + As they stand upon the mountain, + And behold the white man press + Onward, onward, never ceasing, + Mighty in his earnestness; + As they view his temples rising, + And his white sails dot the seas, + And his myriad thousands gathering, + Hewing down the forest trees; + Thus they muse: "Let them press onward, + Not far distant is the day + When of them a voice shall whisper, + 'Gone away,--gone away!'" + + + + + + +LINES TO MY WIFE. + + + + + + THOU art ever standing near me, + In wakeful hours and dreams; + Like an angel-one, attendant + On life and, all its themes; + And though I wander from thee, + In lands afar away, + I dream of thee at night, and wake + To think of thee by day. + In the morning, when the twilight, + Like a spirit kind and true, + Comes with its gentle influence, + It whispereth of you. + For I know that thou art present, + With love that seems to be + A band to bind me willingly + To heaven and to thee. + At noon-day, when the tumult and + The din of life is heard, + When in life's battle each heart is + With various passions stirred, + I turn me from the blazonry, + The fickleness of life, + And think of thee in earnest thought, + My dearest one-my wife! + When the daylight hath departed, + And shadows of the night + Bring forth the stars, as beacons fair + For angels in their flight, + I think of thee as ever mine, + Of thee as ever best, + And turn my heart unto thine own, + To seek its wonted rest. + Thus ever thou art round my path, + And doubly dear thou art + When, with my lips pressed to thine own, + I feel thy beating heart. + And through the many joys and griefs, + The lights and shades of life, + It will be joy to call thee by + The holy name of "wife!" + I love thee for thy gentleness, + I love thee for thy truth; + I love thee for thy joyousness, + Thy buoyancy of youth + I love thee for thy soul that soars + Above earth's sordid pelf; + And last, not least, above these all, + I love thee for thyself. + Now come to me, my dearest, + Place thy hand in mine own; + Look in mine eyes, and see how deep + My love for thee hath grown; + And I will press thee to my heart, + Will call thee "my dear wife," + And own that thou art all my joy + And happiness of life. + + + + + + +CHEER UP. + + + + + + CHEER up, cheer up, my own fair one! + Let gladness take the place of sorrow; + Clouds shall not longer hide the sun,-- + There is, there is a brighter morrow! + 'T is coming fast. I see its dawn. + See! look you, how it gilds the mountain! + We soon shall mark its happy morn, + Sending its light o'er stream and fountain. + My bird sings with a clearer note; + He seems to know our hopes are brighter, + And almost tires his little throat + To let us know his heart beats lighter. + I wonder if he knows how dark + The clouds were when they gathered o'er us! + No matter,--gayly as a lark + He sings that bright paths are before us. + So cheer thee up, my brightest, best! + For clear's the sky, and fair's the weather. + Since hand in hand we've past the test, + Hence heart in heart we'll love together. + + + + + + +TRUST THOU IN GOD. + + + + + + TRUST thou in God! he'll guide thee + When arms of flesh shall fail; + With every good provide thee, + And make his grace prevail. + Where danger most is found, + There he his power discloseth; + And 'neath his arm, + Free from all harm, + The trusting soul reposeth. + Trust thou in God, though sorrow + Thine earthly hopes destroy; + To him belongs the morrow, + And he will send thee joy. + When sorrows gather near, + Then he'll delight to bless thee! + When all is joy, + Without alloy, + Thine earthly friends caress thee. + Trust thou in God! he reigneth + The Lord of lords on high; + His justice he maintaineth + In his unclouded sky. + To triumph Wrong may seem, + The day, yet justice winneth, + And from the earth + Shall songs of mirth + Rise, when its sway beginneth. + When friends grow faint and weary, + When thorns are on thy way, + When life to thee is dreary, + When clouded is thy day, + Then put thy trust in God, + Hope on, and hoping ever; + Give him thy heart, + Nor seek to part + The love which none can sever! + + + + + + +THE MINISTRATION OF SORROW. + + + + + + THERE'S sorrow in thy heart to-day, + There's sadness on thy brow; + For she, the loved, hath passed away, + And thou art mourning now. + The eye that once did sparkle bright, + The hand that pressed thine own, + No more shall gladden on thy sight,-- + Thy cherished one hath flown. + And thou didst love her well, 't is true; + Now thou canst love her more, + Since she hath left this world, and you, + On angel wings to soar + Above the world, its ceaseless strife, + Its turmoil and its care, + To enter on eternal life, + And reign in glory there. + O, let this thought now cheer thy soul, + And bid thy tears depart; + A few more days their course shall roll, + Thou 'lt meet, no more to part. + No more upon thine ear shall fall, + The saddening word "farewell" + No more a parting hour, but all + In perfect union dwell. + This world is not the home of man; + Death palsies with its gloom, + Marks out his life-course but a span, + And points him to the tomb; + But, thanks to Heaven, 't is but the gate + By which we enter bliss; + Since such a life our spirits wait, + O, cheer thy soul in this,-- + And let the sorrow that doth press + Thy spirit down to-day + So minister that it may bless + Thee on thy pilgrim way; + And as thy friends shall, one by one, + Leave earth above to dwell, + Say thou to God, "Thy will be done, + Thou doest all things well." + + + + + + +GIVING PUBLICITY TO BUSINESS. + + + + + +FROM the earliest ages of society some means have been resorted to +whereby to give publicity to business which would otherwise remain +in comparative privacy. The earliest of modes adopted was the crying +of names in the streets; and before the invention of printing men +were employed to traverse the most frequented thoroughfares, to +stand in the market-places and other spots of resort, and, with loud +voices, proclaim their message to the people. This mode is not +altogether out of use at the present time; yet it is not generally +considered a desirable one, inasmuch as it does not accomplish its +purpose so readily or completely as any one of the numerous other +methods resorted to. + +Since the invention of printing, handbills, posters, and newspapers, +have been the principal channels of communication between the inside +of the dealer's shop and the eye of the purchaser, and from that to +the inside of his purse. So advantageous have these modes been +found, that it is a rare thing to find a single individual who does +not, either on a large or small scale, rein the press into the path +he travels, and make its labor conducive to the profits of his own. + +England and France have taken the lead in this mode of giving +publicity to business; but the United States, with its unwillingness +to be beat in any way, on any terms, has made such rapid strides of +late in this enterprise, that the English lion will be left in the +rear, and the French eagle far in the background. + +In London many curious devices have been used or proposed. Of these +was that of a man who wished to prepare a sort of bomb-shell, to be +filled with cards or bills, which, on reaching a certain elevation +above the city, would explode, and thus scatter these carrier doves +of information in all conceivable directions. In that city, +butchers, bakers, and fishmongers, receive quite an income from +persons who wish their cards attached to the various commodities in +which they deal. Thus, a person receiving a fish, a loaf, or a piece +of meat, finds the advertisement of a dealer in silks and satins +attached to the tail of the fish; that of an auction sale of +domestic flannels wrapped around the loaf; and perhaps flattering +notices of a compound for the extermination of rats around the meat. + +In the evening, transparencies are carried about the streets, +suspended across the public ways or hung upon the walls. + +In this country, no person has taken the lead of a famous doctor in +the way of advertising. Nearly every paper in the Union was +one-fourth filled with ably-written articles in praise of his +compound. In fact, he published papers of his own, the articles in +which were characterized by the "one idea principle," and that one +idea was contained in a bottle of Dr.--'s save all and cure all, +"none true but the genuine," "warranted not to burst the bottles or +become sour." In addition to these, he issued an almanac-millions of +them-bearing glad tidings to the sick and credulous, and sad tidings +to the "regulars" in the medical fraternity. These almanacs were +distributed everywhere. They came down on the American people like +rain-drops. The result was, as we all know, the doctor flourished in +a fortune equal to his fame, and disposed of his interest in the +business, a few years since, for one hundred thousand dollars. + +The amount of capital invested in advertising is very great, some +firms expending thousands of dollars monthly in this mode of making +known their business. It has been truly said that a card in a +newspaper, that costs but a few dollars, is of far more value than +costly signs over one's door. The former thousands behold, and are +directed to your place of business; the latter very few notice who +do not know the fact it makes known before they see it. + +Attracted by the good fortune of those who have advertised, nearly +every one has adopted the means that led to it; and the advertising +system has become universal. + +We have been seated in a car, waiting impatiently for the sound of +the "last bell," when a person in a brown linen coat entered with an +armful of books, and gave to each passenger a copy, without a hint +about pay. Thanking him for the gift, and astonished at his +generosity, we proceeded to open it, when "Wonderful cures," +"Consumption," "Scrofula," "Indigestion," and "Fits," greeted our +eyes on every page. Illustrated, too! Here was represented a man +apparently dying, and near by a figure that would appear to be a +woman were it not for two monstrous wings on its back, throwing +obstacles in the way of death in the shape of a two-quart bottle of +sarsaparilla syrup. Presumptive man in a brown linen coat, to +suppose that we, just on the eve of a pleasure excursion, are +troubled with such complaints, and stand in need of such a remedy! + +You buy a newspaper, go home, seat yourself, and, in the +anticipation of at glorious intellectual feast, open its damp pages, +when, lo and behold! a huge show-bill falls from its embrace, and +you are informed of the consoling truth that you can have all your +teeth drawn for a trifle, and a now set inserted at a low price, by +a distinguished dentist from London. The bill is indignantly thrown +aside, and you commence reading an article under the caption of "An +interesting incident," which, when half finished, you find to refer +to a young lady whose complexion was made beautiful by the free use +of "Chaulks Poudres," a box of which can be obtained at 96 +Azure-street, for 25 cts. After reading another column, headed "An +act of mercy," you find at its close a most pathetic appeal to your +tender sensibilities in an affectionate request for you to call on +Dr. Digg and have your corns extracted without pain. Despairing of +finding the "intellectual treat," you lay the paper aside, and +resolve upon taking a walk. + +Before you are monstrous show-bills, emblazoned with large letters +and innumerable exclamation-points. Above you, flaunting flags with +flaming notices. Beneath you, marble slabs inscribed with the names +of traders and their goods. Around you, boys with their arms full of +printed notices, and men encased with boards on which are mammoth +posters. Sick of seeing these, you close your eyes; but you don't +escape so easily;--a dinner-bell is rung in your ears, and a voice, +if not like mighty thunder, at least like an embryo earthquake, +proclaims an auction sale, a child lost, or news for the afflicted. + +And thus it is, the world is one great Babel. All is business, +business, and we ask for "some vast wilderness" in which to lie down +and get cool, and keep quiet. + +In Paris, the people long since adopted a plan which has not yet +come in vogue among us. A long story is written; in the course of +this story, a dozen or more establishments receive the author's +laudations, which are so ingeniously interwoven that the reader is +scarcely aware of the design. For instance, Marnetta is going to an +evening party. In the morning she goes out, and is met by a sprig of +gentility, a young man of fashion, who cannot allow her to omit +entering the unrivalled store of Messrs. Veuns, where the most +beautiful silks, etc., are to be seen and purchased. Leaving this, +she next encounters a young lady acquaintance of prudent and +economical habits, by whom, "our heroine" is led into a store where +beauty and elegance are combined with durability and a low price. +She wishes perfumery; so she hastens to Viot & Sons; for none make +so good as they, and the fragrance of their store has been wafted on +the winds of all nations. + +Thus is the story led on from one step to another, with its interest +not in the least abated, to the end. This embraces "puffery," as it +is called. And, while on this subject, we may as well bring up the +following specimen of this species of advertising. It was written by +Peter Seguin, on the occasion of the first appearance in Dublin of +the celebrated Mrs. Siddons. It caused much merriment at the time +among some, while in others, who could not relish a joke, it excited +anger. + +"The house was crowded with hundreds more than it could hold, with +thousands of admiring spectators that went away without a sight. +This extraordinary phenomenon of tragic excellence! this star of +Melpomene! this comet of the stage! this sun of the firmament of the +Muses! this moon of blank verse! this queen arch-princess of tears! +this Donnellan of the poisoned bowl! this empress of the pistol and +dagger! this child of Shakspeare! this world of weeping clouds! this +Juno of commanding aspects! this Terpsichore of the curtains and +scenes! this Proserpine of fire and earthquake! this Katterfelto of +wonders! exceeded expectation, went beyond belief, and soared above +all the natural powers of description! She was nature itself! she +was the most exquisite work of art! She was the very daisy, +primrose, tuberose, sweet-brier, furze-blossom, gilliflower, +wallflower, cauliflower, aurica and rosemary! In short, she was the +bouquet of Parnassus! Where expectation was raised so high, it was +thought she would be injured by her appearance; but it was the +audience who were injured; several fainted before the curtain drew +up! but when she came to the scene of parting with her wedding-ring, +all! what a sight was there! The fiddlers in the orchestra, 'albeit +unused to the melting mood!' blubbered like hungry children crying +for their bread and butter; and when the bell rang for music between +the acts, the tears ran from the bassoon player's eyes in such +plentiful showers, that they choked the finger-stops, and, making a +spout of the instrument, poured in such torrents on the first +fiddler's book, that, not seeing the overture was in two sharps, the +leader of the band actually played in one flat. But the sobs and +sighs of the groaning audience, and the noise of corks drawn from +the smelling-bottles, prevented the mistakes between the flats and +sharps being discovered. One hundred and nine ladies fainted! +forty-six went into fits! and ninety-five had strong hysterics! The +world will hardly credit the truth, when they are told that fourteen +children, five women, one hundred tailors, and six common-council +men, were actually drowned in the inundation of tears that flowed +from the galleries, the slips and the boxes, to increase the briny +pond in the pit; the water was three feet deep, and the people that +were obliged to stand upon the benches were in that position up to +their ancles in tears." + +There is nothing in the present style of criticism that can exceed +the above. The author actually reached the climax, and all attempts +to overtop him would be useless. + +Of advertisements there have been many worthy of preservation: some +on account of the ingenuity displayed in their composition; some in +their wit; some for their domesticativeness,--matrimonial offers, +for example,--and others for the conceitedness exposed in them, the +ignorance of the writers, or the whimsicality of the matter +advertised. In 1804 there was advertised in an English paper, as for +sale, "The walk of a deceased blind beggar (in a charitable +neighborhood), with his dog and staff." + +In the St. James Chronicle of 1772 was the following: + +"Wanted, fifteen hundred or two thousand pounds, by a person not +worth a groat; who, having neither houses, lands, annuities, or +public funds, can offer no other security than that of a simple +bond, bearing simple interest, and engaging, the repayment of the +sum borrowed in five, six, or seven years, as may be, agreed on by +the parties," &c. + +We do not know whether the advertiser obtained his pounds or not, +but such an advertisement, now-a-days, would draw forth a laugh much +sooner than the money; or, if "pounds" came, they would, most +probably, fall upon the recipient's shoulders, instead of into his +pocket. + +The Chinese are not behind the age in this business. The following +is an instance in proof: + +"ACHEU TEA CHINCOEU, Sculptor, respectfully acquaints masters of +ships trading from Canton to India that they may be furnished with +figure-heads, any size, according to order, at one-fourth of the +price charged in Europe. He also recommends, for private venture, +the following idols, brass, gold and silver: The hawk of Vishnoo, +which has reliefs of his incarnation in a fish, boar, lion, and +bull, as worshipped by the pious followers of Zoroaster; two silver +marmosets, with gold ear-rings; an aprimanes for Persian worship; a +ram, an alligator, a crab, a laughing hyena, with a variety of +household idols, on a small scale, calculated for family worship. +Eighteen months credit will be given, or a discount of fifteen per +cent. for prompt payment, on the sum affixed to each article. +Direct, Canton-street, Canton, under the marble Rhinoceros and gilt +Hydra." + +We subjoin another, in which self-exaltation is pretty well carried +out. + +"At the shop Tae-shing (prosperous in the extreme)--very good ink; +fine! fine! Ancient shop, great-grandfather, grandfather, father and +self, make this ink; fine and hard, very hard; picked with care, +selected with attention. I sell very good ink; prime cost is very +great. This ink is heavy; so is gold. The eye of the dragon glitters +and dazzles; so does this ink. No one makes like it. Others who make +ink make it for the sake of accumulating base coin, cheat, while I +make it only for a name, Plenty of A-kwan-tsaes (gentlemen) know my +ink-my family never cheated-they have always borne a good name. I +make ink for the 'Son of Heaven,' and all the mandarins in the +empire. As the roar of the tiger extends to every place, so does, +the fame' of the 'dragon's jewel' (the ink). Come, all A-kwan- +tsaes, come to my shop and see the sign Tae-shing at the side of the +door. It is Seou-shwuy-street (Small Water-street), outside the +south gate." + + + + + + +THE MISSION OF KINDNESS. + + + + + + Go to the sick man's chamber; low and soft + Falls on the listening ear a sweet-toned voice; + A hand as gentle as the summer breeze, + Ever inclined to offices of good, + Smooths o'er the sick man's pillow, and then turns + To trim the midnight lamp, moisten the lips, + And, passing over, soothe the fevered brow. + Thus charity finds place in woman's heart; + And woman kind, and beautiful, and good, + Doth thus administer to every want, + Nor wearies in her task, but labors on, + And finds her joy in that which she imparts. + Go to the prisoner's cell; to-morrow's light + Shall be the last on earth he e'er shall see. + He mutters hate 'gainst all, and threatens ill + To every semblance of the human form. + Deep in his soul remorse, despair and hate, + Dwell unillumined by one ray of light, + And sway his spirit as the waves are swayed + By wind and storm. He may have cause to hold + His fellow-men as foes; for, at the first + Of his departure from an upright course, + They scorned and shunned and cursed him. + They sinn‚d thus, and he, in spite for them, + Kept on his sullen way from wrong to wrong. + Which is the greatest sinner? He shall say + Who of the hearts of men alone is judge. + Now, in his cell condemned, he waits the hour, + The last sad hour of mortal life to him. + His oaths and blasphemies he sudden stays! + He thinks he hears upon his prison door + A gentle tap. O, to his hardened heart + That gentle sound a sweet remembrance brings + Of better days-two-score of years gone by, + Days when his mother, rapping softly thus, + Called him to morning prayer. Again 't is heard. + Is it a dream? Asleep! He cannot sleep + With chains around and shameful death before him! + Is it the false allurement of some foe + Who would with such enticement draw him forth + To meet destruction ere the appointed time? + Softened and calmed, each angry passion lulled, + By a soft voice, "Come in," he trembling calls. + Slow on its hinges turns the ponderous door, + And "Friend," the word that falls from stranger lips. + As dew on flowers, as rain on parch‚d ground, + So came the word unto the prisoner's ear. + He speaks not-moves not. O, his heart is full, + Too full for utterance; and, as floods of tears + Flow from his eyes so all unused to weep, + He bows down low, e'en at the stranger's feet. + He had not known what 't was to have a friend. + The word came to him like a voice from heaven, + A voice of love to one who'd heard but hate. + "Friend!" Mysterious word to him who'd known no friend. + O, what a power that simple word hath o'er him! + As now he holds the stranger's hand in his, + And bows his head upon it, he doth seem + Gentle and kind, and docile as a child. + Repentance comes with kindness, goodness rears + Its cross on Calvary's height, inspiring hope + Which triumphs over evil and its guilt. + O, how much changed! and all by simple words + Spoken in love and kindness from the heart. + O, love and kindness! matchless power have ye + To mould the human heart; where'er ye dwell + There is no sorrow, but a living joy. + There is no man whom God hath placed on earth + That hath not some humanity within, + And is not moved with kindness joined with love. + The wildest savage, from whose firelit eye + Flashes the lightning passions of his soul, + Who stands, and feeling that he hath been wronged, + That he hath trusted and been basely used, + And that to him revenge were doubly sweet, + Dares all the world to combat and to death,-- + Even he hath dwelling in his inmost heart + A chord that quick will vibrate to kind words. + Go unto such with kindness, not with wrath; + Let your eye look love, and 't will disarm him + Of all the evil passions with which he + Hath mailed his soul in terrible array. + Think not to tame the wild by brutal force. + As well attempt to stay devouring flames + By heaping fagots on the blazing pile. + Go, do man good, and the deep-hidden spark + Of true divinity concealed within + Will brighten up, and thou shalt see its glow, + And feel its cheering warmth. O, we lose much + By calling passion's aid to vanquish wrong. + We should stand within love's holy temple, + And with persuasive kindness call men in, + Rather than, leaving it, use other means, + Unblest of God, and therefore weak and vain, + To force them on before us into bliss. + There is a luxury in doing good + Which none but by experience e'er can know. + He's blest who doeth good. Sleep comes to him + On wings of sweetest peace; and angels meet + In joyous convoys ever round his couch; + They watch and guard, protect and pray for him. + All mothers bend the knee, and children too + Clasp their fair hands and raise their undimmed eyes, + As if to pierce the shadowy veil that hangs + Between themselves and God-then pray that he + Will bless with Heaven's best gifts the friend of man. + + + + + + +A PLEA FOR THE FALLEN. + + + + + + PITY her, pity her! Once she was fair, + Once breathed she sweetly the innocent's prayer; + Parents stood by in pride o'er their daughter; + Sin had not tempted, Vice had not caught her; + Hoping and trusting, believing all true, + Nothing but happiness rose to her view. + She, as were spoken words lovers might tell, + Listened, confided, consented, and fell! + Now she's forsaken; nursing in sorrow, + Hate for the night, despair for the morrow! + She'd have the world think she's happy and gay,-- + A butterfly, roving wherever it may; + Sipping delight from each rose-bud and flower, + The charmed and the charmer of every hour. + She will not betray to the world all her grief; + She knows it is false, and will give no relief. + She knows that its friendship is heartless and cold; + That it loves but for gain, and pities for gold; + That when in their woe the fallen do cry, + It turns, it forsakes, and it leaves them to die! + But after the hour of the world's bright show, + When hence from her presence flatterers go; + When none are near to praise or caress her, + No one stands by with fondness to bless her; + Alone with her thoughts, in moments like this, + She thinks of her days of innocent bliss, + And she weeps!-yes, she weeps penitent tears + O'er the shame of a life and the sorrow of years: + She turns for a friend; yet, alas! none is there; + She sinks, once again, in the deepest despair! + Blame her not! O blame not, ye fathers who hold + Daughters you value more dearly than gold! + But pity, O, pity her! take by the hand + One who, though fallen, yet nobly may stand. + Turn not away from her plea and her cries; + Pity and help, and the fallen may rise! + Crush not to earth the reed that is broken, + Bind up her wounds-let soft words be spoken; + Though she be low, though worldlings reject her, + Let not Humanity ever neglect her. + + + + + + +JOY BEYOND. + + + + + + BEYOND the dark, deep grave, whose lowly portal + Must yet be passed by every living mortal, + + There gleams a light; + 'T is not of earth. It wavers not; it gloweth + With a clear radiance which no changing knoweth, + + Constant and bright. + We love to gaze at it; we love to cherish + The cheering thought, that, when this earth shall perish, + + And naught remain + Of all these temples,--things we now inherit, + Each unimprisoned, no more fettered spirit + + Shall life retain. + And ever, through eternity unending, + It shall unto that changeless light be tending, + + Till perfect day + Shall be its great reward; and all of mystery + That hath made up its earthly life, its history, + + Be passed away! + O, joyous hour! O, day most good and glorious! + When from the earth the ransomed rise victorious, + + Its conflict o'er; + When joy henceforth each grateful soul engages, + Joy unalloyed through never-ending ages, + Joy evermore! + + + + + + +THE SUMMER DAYS ARE COMING. + + + + + + THE summer days are coming, + The glorious summer hours, + When Nature decks her gorgeous robe + With sunbeams and with flowers; + And gathers all her choristers + In plumage bright and gay, + Till every vale is echoing with + Their joyous roundelay. + No more shall frosty winter + Hold in its cold embrace + The water; but the river + Shall join again the race; + And down the mountain's valley, + And o'er its rocky side, + The glistening streams shall rush and leap + In all their bounding pride. + There's pleasure in the winter, + When o'er the frozen snow + With faithful friend and noble steed + Right merrily we go! + But give to me the summer, + The pleasant summer days, + When blooming flowers and sparkling streams + Enliven all our ways. + + + + + + +THE MAN WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING. + + + + + +SANSECRAT is one of that class of persons who think they know +everything. If anything occurs, and you seek to inform him, he will +interrupt you by saying that he knows it all,--that he was on the +spot when the occurrence happened, or that he had met a man who was +an eye-witness. + +Such a person, though he be the possessor of much assurance, is +sadly deficient in manners; and no doubt the super-abundancy of the +former is caused by the great lack of the latter. + +Such men as he will thrive; there is no mistake about it. This has +been called an age of invention and of humbug. Nothing is so +popular, or so much sought after, as that which cannot be explained, +and around which a mysterious shroud is closely woven. + +My friend Arcanus came sweating and puffing into my room. I had just +finished my dinner, and was seated leisurely looking over a few +pages of manuscript, when he entered. + +"News!" said he; and before I could hand him a chair he had told me +all about the last battle, and his tongue flew about with so much +rapidity, that a conflagration might have been produced by such +excessive friction, had not a rap at the door put a clog under the +wheels of his talkative locomotive, and stayed its progress, which +luckily gave me an opportunity to take his hat and request him to be +seated. + +The door was opened, and who but Sansecrat stood before me. + +"Have you heard the news?" was the first interrogatory of my friend +Arcanus, in reply to which Sansecrat said that he knew it all half +an hour previous,--was at the railroad station when the express +arrived, and was the first man to open the Southern papers. + +In vain Arcanus told him that the information came by a private +letter. He averred, point blank, that it was no such thing; that he +had the papers in his pocket; and was about to exhibit them as proof +of what he had said, when he suddenly recollected that he had sold +them to an editor for one-and-sixpence. + +Notwithstanding the proverb of "Man, know thyself," Sansecrat seems +to know everything but himself. Thousands of times has it been said +that man can see innumerable faults and foibles in his neighbors, +but none in himself. Very true; and man can see his own character, +just as he can see his own face in a mirror. His own associates +mirror forth his own character; and the faults, be they great or +small, that he sees in them, are but the true reflection of his own +errors. Yet, blind to this, and fondly imagining that he is the very +"pink of excellence," he flatters his own vain feeling with the +cherished idea that, while others have faults, he has none, and so +slumbers on in the sweet repose of ignorance. + +Sansecrat imagines that he knows everything; that to teach him would +be like "carrying coals to Newcastle," or sending ship-loads of ice +to Greenland, or furnaces to the coast of Africa; yet he is as +ignorant as the greatest dunce, who, parrot-like, repeats that he +has heard, without having the least understanding of what he says. + +Strange as it may seem, it is nevertheless true that Sansecrat will +prosper in the world; for, though destitute of those qualifications +which render their possessor worthy of success, he has an abundance +of brazen-facedness, with which he will work himself into the good +opinion of not a few, who look more closely upon exterior appearance +than they do upon inward worth, and judge their fellowmen more by +the good quality of their cloth than by the good quality of their +hearts, and set more value on a shining hat and an unpatched boot +than they do on a brilliant intellect and a noble soul. + + + + + + +PRIDE AND POVERTY. + + + + + + I CANNOT brook the proud. I cannot love + The selfish man; he seems to have no heart; + And why he lives and moves upon this earth + Which God has made so fair, I cannot tell. + He has no soul but that within his purse, + And all his hopes are centred on its fate; + That lost, and all is lost. + I knew a man + Who had abundant riches. He was proud,-- + Too oft the effect of riches when abused,-- + His step was haughty, and his eye glanced at + The honest poor as base intruders on + The earth he trod and fondly called his own; + Unwelcome guests at Nature's banqueting. + Years passed away,--that youth became a man; + His beetled brow, his sullen countenance, + His eye that looked a fiery command, + Betrayed that his ambition was to rule. + He smiled not, save in scorn on humble men, + Whom he would have bow down and worship him. + Thus with his strength his pride did grow, until + He did become aristocrat indeed. + The humble beggar, whose loose rags scarce gave + Protection to him from the cold north wind, + He scarce would look upon, and vainly said, + As in his hand he held the ready coin, + "No mortal need be poor,--'t is his own fault + If such he be;--if he court poverty, + Let all its miseries be his to bear." + 'T is many years since he the proud spake thus, + And men and things have greatly changed since then. + No more in wealth he rolls,--men's fortunes change. + I met a lonely hearse, slowly it passed + Toward the church-yard. 'T was unattended + Save by one old man, and he the sexton. + With spade beneath his arm he trudged along, + Whistling a homely tune, and stopping not. + He seemed to be in haste, for now and then + He'd urge to quicker pace his walking beast, + With the rough handle of his rusty spade. + Him I approached, and eagerly inquired + Whose body thus was borne so rudely to + Its final resting-place, the deep, dark grave. + "His name was Albro," was the prompt reply. + "Too proud to beg, we found him starved to death, + In a lone garret, which the rats and mice + Seemed greatly loth to have him occupy. + An' I, poor Billy Matterson, whom once + He deemed too poor and low to look upon, + Am come to bury him." + The sexton smiled,-- + Then raised his rusty spade, cheered up his nag, + Whistled as he was wont, and jogged along. + Oft I have seen the poor man raise his hand + To wipe the eye when good men meet the grave,-- + But Billy Matterson, he turned and smiled. + The truth flashed in an instant on my mind, + Though sad, yet deep, unchanging truth to me. + 'T was he, thus borne, who, in his younger days, + Blest with abundance, used it not aright. + He, who blamed the poor because they were such; + Behold his end!-too proud to beg, he died. + A sad example, teaching all to shun + The rock on which he shipwrecked,--warning take, + That they too fall not as he rashly fell. + + + + + + +WORDS THAT TOUCH THE INNER HEART. + + + + + + WORDS, words! O give me these, + Words befitting what I feel, + That I may on every breeze + Waft to those whose riven steel + Fetters souls and shackles hands + Born to be as free as air, + Yet crushed and cramped by Slavery's bands,-- + Words that have an influence there. + Words, words! give me to write + Such as touch the inner heart; + Not mere flitting forms of light, + That please the ear and then depart; + But burning words, that reach the soul, + That bring the shreds of error out, + That with resistless power do roll, + And put the hosts of Wrong to rout. + Let others tune their lyres, and sing + Illusive dreams of fancied joy; + But, my own harp,--its every string + Shall find in Truth enough employ. + It shall not breathe of Freedom here, + While millions clank the galling chain; + Or e'en one slave doth bow in fear, + Within our country's broad domain. + Go where the slave-gang trembling stands, + Herded with every stable stock,-- + Woman with fetters on her hands, + And infants on the auction-block! + See, as she bends, how flow her tears! + Hark! hear her broken, trembling sighs; + Then hear the oaths, the threats, the jeers, + Of men who lash her as she cries! + O, men! who have the power to weave + In poesy's web deep, searching thought, + Be truth thy aim; henceforward leave + The lyre too much with fancy fraught! + Come up, and let the words you write + Be those which every chain would break, + And every sentence you indite + Be pledged to Truth for Freedom's sake. + + + + + + +OUR HOME. + + + + + + OUR home shall be + A cot on the mountain side, + Where the bright waters glide, + Sparkling and free; + Terrace and window o'er + Woodbine shall graceful soar; + Roses shall round the door + Blossom for thee. + There shall be joy + With no care to molest,-- + Quiet, serene and blest; + And our employ + Work each other's pleasure; + Boundless be the treasure; + Without weight or measure, + Free from alloy. + Our home shall be + Where the first ray of light + Over the mountain height, + Stream, rock and tree, + Joy to our cot shall bring, + While brake and bower shall ring + With notes the birds shall sing, + Loved one, for thee. + + + + + + +SPECULATION AND ITS CONSEQUENCE. + + + + + +SPECULATION is business in a high fever. Its termination is +generally very decided, whether favorable or otherwise, and the +effect of that termination upon the individual most intimately +connected with it in most cases unhealthy. + +It was a truth long before the wise man wrote it, that making haste +to be rich is an evil; and it always will be a truth that the +natural, unforced course of human events is the only sure, the only +rational one. + +The desire to be rich, to be pointed out as wealthy, is a very +foolish one, unless it be coupled with a desire to do good. This is +somewhat paradoxical; for the gratification of the last most +certainly repels that of the first, inasmuch as he who distributes +his gains cannot accumulate to any great extent. + +Wealth is looked at from the wrong stand-point. It is too often +considered the end, instead of the means to an end; and there never +was a greater delusion in the human mind than that of supposing that +riches confer happiness. In ninety-nine cases out of every hundred +the opposite is the result. Care often bears heavily on the rich +man's brow, and the insatiate spirit asks again and again for more, +and will not be silenced. And this feeling will predominate in the +human mind until man becomes better acquainted with his own true +nature, and inclines to minister to higher and more ennobling +aspirations. + +In one of the most populous cities of the Union there resided, a few +years since, a person in moderate circumstances, by the name of +Robert Short. Bob, as he Was usually called, was a shoemaker. With a +steady run of custom, together with prudence and economy combined, +he was enabled to support his family in an easy and by no means +unenviable style. He did not covet the favors and caresses of the +world. He looked upon all,--the rich, the poor, the prince, the +beggar,--alike, as his brethren. He believed that all stood upon one +platform, all were bound to the same haven, and that all should be +equally interested in each other's welfare. With this belief, and +with rules of a similar character, guided by which he pursued his +course of life, it was not to be wondered at that he could boast of +many friends, and not strange that many should seek his +acquaintance. There is a desire planted in the hearts of honest men +to associate with those who, ambitious enough to sustain a good +character, are not so puffed up with pride, or so elevated in their +own estimation, as to despise the company of what are termed "the +common people." It was pleasant, of a winter's evening, to enter the +humble domicile of Mr. Short, and while the howling storm raged +fiercely without, and the elements seemed at war, to see the +contentment and peace that prevailed within. Bob, seated at his +bench, might be seen busily employed, and, as the storm increased, +would seem to apply himself more diligently to his task. Six or +perhaps eight of his neighbors might also be seen gathered around, +seated upon that article most convenient,--whether a stool or a pile +of leather, it mattered not,--relating some tale of the Revolution, +or listening to some romantic story from the lips of the respected +Mr. Short. 'T was upon such an evening, and at such a place, that +our story commences. Squire Smith, Ned Green, and a jovial sort of a +fellow by the name of Sandy, were seated around the red-hot +cylinder. Squire Smith was what some would term a "man of +consequence,"-at least, he thought so. Be it known that this squire +was by no means a daily visitor at the work-shop of our hero. He +came in occasionally, and endeavored to impress upon his mind that +which he had settled in his own, namely, that he, Robert Short, +might be a great man. + +"I tell you what," said he, with an air of importance, "I tell you +what, it is against all reason, it is contrary to common sense and +everything else, that you remain any longer riveted down to this old +bench. It will be your ruin; 'pend upon it, it will be your ruin." + +"How so?" eagerly inquired Mr. Short. + +"Why," replied the squire, "it's no use for me to go into +particulars. But why do you not associate with more respectable and +fashionable company?" + +"Is not the present company respectable?" resumed Mr. Short; "and as +for the fashion, I follow my own." + +Squire Smith did not reply to this inquiry, but stood shaking his +head, and appeared at a loss for words with which to answer. + +"Perhaps your ideas of respectability," continued the squire, "are +not in accordance with mine." + +"Ay, ay; true, true," interrupted Sandy, with a shrug of the +shoulder. + +Mr. Smith continued his remarks, appearing not to notice the +interruption. "Perhaps," said he, "one may be as honest as the days +are long; but, sir, he is far from being respectable, in my humble +opinion, if he is not genteel,--and certainly if he is not +fashionably dressed he is not. He does not think enough of himself; +that's it, my dear Mr. Short, he does not think enough of himself." + +"But he is honest," replied Mr. Short. "Supposing he does not dress +so fashionably as you would wish, would you condemn him for the cut +of his coat, or the quality of his cloth? Perhaps his means are not +very extensive, and will not admit of a very expensive outlay, +merely for show. It is much better, my dear sir, to be clothed in +rags and out of debt, than to be attired in the most costly apparel, +and that not paid for. Sir, to hold up your head and say you owe no +man, is to be free, free in the truest sense of the word." + +"Ah, I must be on the move," interrupted the squire, at the same +time looking at his "gold lever." And off he started. + +Squire Smith had said enough for that night; to have said more would +have injured his plan. Mr. Green and Sandy shook hands with their +friend Robert, and, it being late, they bade him "good-by," and +parted. Our hero was now left alone. Snuffing the candle, that had +well-nigh burnt to the socket, he placed more fuel upon the fire, +and, resting his hands upon his knees and his head upon his hands, +he began to think over the sayings of his friend the squire. + +Robert Short saw nothing of the squire for many days after the event +just described transpired. One day, as he began his work, the door +was suddenly thrown open, and the long absent but not forgotten +squire rushed in, shouting "Speculation! speculation!" Mr. Short +threw aside his last, and listened with feelings of astonishment to +the eloquent words that fell from the lips of his unexpected +visitor. "Gull, the broker," continued the squire, "has just offered +me a great bargain. I have come to make a proposition which is, that +you and I accept his offer, and make our fortunes." + +"Fortunes!" exclaimed the son of Crispin; "speculate in what?" + +"In eastern land," was the reply. + +Bob Short's countenance assumed a desponding appearance; he had +heard of many losses caused by venturing in these speculations, and +had some doubts as to his success, should he accept. Then, again, he +had heard of those who had been fortunate, and he inquired the +conditions of sale. + +"Why," replied Mr. Smith, Esq., "old Varnum Gull has three thousand +acres of good land, upon which are, as he assures me, some beautiful +watering places. It is worth five dollars an acre; he offers it to +me for one, and a grand chance it is; the terms are cash." + +"Are you certain as to the quality of the land?" inquired Mr. Short. + +"Perfectly certain," was the reply. "I would not advise you wrong +for the world; but I now think it best to form a sort of +co-partnership, and purchase the land. There is no doubt but that we +can dispose of it at a great advantage. Will you not agree to my +proposals, and accept?" + +"I will," answered Mr. Short. "But how can I obtain fifteen hundred +dollars? I have but a snug thousand." + +"O, don't trouble yourself about that," replied the delighted +squire. "I will loan you the balance at once. You can return it at +some convenient time. What say you will you accompany me to the +broker's, and inform him of the agreement?" + +Mr. Short, after a moment's delay, arose, and, laying aside his +leather apron, took the squire by the arm, and both sallied forth in +search of the office of Varnum Gull. After wending their way through +short streets and long lanes, narrow avenues and wide alleys, they +came to a small gate, upon which was fastened a small tin sign with +the following inscription: "V. Gull, broker, up the yard, round the +corner, up two pair of stairs." The squire and Mr. Short followed +the directions laid down, and, having gone up the yard and turned +round the corner, they found themselves at the foot of the stairs. +They stood for a moment silent, and were about to ascend, when a +voice from above attracted their attention. + +"'Ollo, Squire, 'ere's the box; walk right up 'ere; only look out, +there's an 'ole in the stairs." + +Our hero looked above, and perceived a man with green spectacles +drawing his head in. + +"We will go up," said the squire, "and look out for the hole; but, +as the stairway is rather dark, we shall not see much; therefore we +shall be obliged to feel our way." + +They ascended, and escaped without injury. A little short man met +them at the door, holding in his hand a paper bearing some +resemblance to a map. + +"Really, Mr. Smith, I feared you would lose that 'ere bargain I +expatiated on. I 'ave received many good offers, but 'ave reserved +it for you. Your friend, ha?" he continued, at the same time +striking Mr. Short in no gentle manner upon the shoulder. + +"Not friend Hay, but friend Short," replied the squire. + +"Hall the same, only an error in the spelling," resumed the broker. +"Good-morning, Mr. Short; s'pose you 'ave become 'quainted with the +rare chance I've offered, an't ye? and wish to accept it, don't ye? +and can pay for it, can't ye? Such an opportunity is seldom met +with, by which to make one's fortune." + +"Well," replied Mr. Short, improving the time Mr. Gull stopped to +breathe, "well, I had some idea of so doing." "Hidea!" quickly +responded the broker; "why will you 'esitate? read that!" and he +handed a paper to Mr. Short which paper he kept for reference, and +pointed out to him an article which read as follows: + +"It is astonishing what enormous profits are at present realized by +traders in Eastern Land. One of our neighbors purchased a thousand +acres, at one dollar and twenty-five cents per acre, of Gull, our +enterprising broker, and sold it yesterday for the round sum of +three thousand dollars, receiving thereby the enormous profit of +nineteen hundred and seventy-five dollars. He was a poor man, but by +this lucky movement has become rich." + +As soon as our hero had read this cheering intelligence, he became +elated with the prospect, and soon came to a final agreement with +the squire to accept the offer. Papers were drawn up, signed by +each, and a check given to the broker, for which was returned a deed +for the land. They then left the office, Mr. Gull politely bidding +them good-by, with a caution to look out for the "'ole." They did +look out for the hole, but it might have been that the cunning +broker referred to a hole of more consequence than that in the +stairs. The squire on that day invited Mr. Short to his house to +dine. This, however, he did not accept, but returned to his shop. +One week had passed away, during which time the squire was often at +the shop of Bob Short, but no customer had yet applied for the land. +It was near dusk on the eighth day succeeding the purchase, as they +were talking over the best way by which to dispose of it, when a +short man entered, wrapped up in a large cloak, and a large bushy +fur cap upon his head. + +"I understand," said he, "you have a few acres of land you wish to +dispose of." + +"Exactly so," answered the squire. + +"And how much do you charge per acre?" inquired the stranger. + +"That depends upon the number you wish. Do you wish to purchase +all?" + +"That depends upon the price charged," was the reply. + +"If you wish all," continued Mr. Smith, "we will sell for four +dollars an acre. That is dog cheap, and a great sacrifice." + +"Well," resumed the stranger, "I will take it on conditions; +namely, I will pay you your price, and if the land answers my +purpose I will keep it,--if not, you will return me the amount of +money I pay." + +"That is rather a hard bargain. I know it to be good land," answered +the squire. + +"Then," continued the stranger, "if you know it to be good, +certainly there can be no danger in disposing of it on the +conditions I have named." + +After a few moments' conversation with Mr. Short, they agreed to +sell to the stranger. Papers were immediately drawn up and signed by +Messrs. Smith and Short, agreeing to return the money provided the +land did not give satisfaction. The sum of twelve thousand dollars +was paid in cash to the signers, and the papers given into the hands +of the purchaser, who then left. Robert Short on that night did +really feel rich. This was six thousand dollars apiece; after Mr. +Short had paid the fifteen hundred borrowed, he had forty-five +hundred left. Both were equally certain that the land would give +entire satisfaction, and acted according to this belief. With a +light heart he went home, and communicated the joyful intelligence +to his wife, who had from the first been opposed to the trade. He +did not, however, inform her of the terms on which he had sold. In a +few days he had disposed of his shop and tools to one of his former +workmen. Many were surprised when the sign of "Robert Short" was +taken from its long resting-place over the door. Mr. Short now began +to think the house in which he had for many years resided was not +quite good enough, and therefore engaged a larger and more expensive +one. He ordered new furniture, purchased a carriage and horses, and +had his new house fitted out under the direction of his friend, the +squire. He rented a large store; bought large quantities of shoes +and leather, partly on credit. His business at first prospered, but +in a short time became quite dull; his former customers left, and +all business seemed at a stand-still. In the mean time, the broker +had left town, having sold out his office to a young man. Matters +stood thus, when, early in the morning on a pleasant day in June, as +the squire and Mr. Short were seated in the counting-room of the +latter, a man dressed in a light summer dress entered. + +"Good-morning," said the visitor. "Business is quite lively, I +suppose?" + +"O, it's moderate, nothing extra," replied Mr. Short; "won't you be +seated?" + +The stranger seated himself. + +"Mr. Robert Short is your name, is it not?" he inquired. + +"It is, sir." + +"Did I not make a bargain with you about some eastern land, a few +months since?" + +"Yes, some person did;" and Mr. Short immediately recognized him as +the purchaser. The new comer then took from his pocket the paper of +agreement, and presented it for the inspection of the two gentlemen. + +"Are you not satisfied with your bargain?" inquired Mr. Smith. + +"Not exactly," replied the stranger, laughing. + +"Why, what fault is there in it?" + +"Well," replied the stranger, "I suppose a report of my examination +will be acceptable." + +"Certainly, sir," replied Mr. Short. + +"Then I can give it in a few words. It is a good watering place, +being WHOLLY COVERED WITH WATER; and is of no value unless it could +be drained, and that, I think, is impossible." + +The squire was astonished; Mr. Short knew not what to + +"What is the name of the water bought for land?" inquired Squire +Smith. + +"The location of it is in a large pond of water, twelve miles in +length, and about six in width, and is known in those parts by the +name of the 'Big Pond.' But," continued the stranger, "I must be +gone; please return me my money, according to agreement." + +After some talk, the stranger agreed to call the next day. The next +day came, and with it came the stranger. Mr. Short had tried in vain +to obtain the requisite sum, and was obliged to request him to call +the next day. He came the next day, and the next, and the next, but +received no money; and he was at length obliged to attach the +property of the squire, as also that of Mr. Short. His other +creditors also came in with their bills. All the stock of Mr. Short +was sold at auction, and he was a poor man. He obtained a small +house, that would not compare with the one he had lived in in former +years. He had no money of his own, and was still deeply in debt. He +was obliged to work at such jobs as came along, but at length +obtained steady employment. The squire, who was the prime cause of +all his trouble, sailed for a foreign port, leaving all his bills +unpaid, In a short time Mr. Short obtained a sufficient sum to buy +back his old shop, in which to this day he has steadily worked, with +a vivid remembrance of the consequence of speculation. + + + + + + +RETROSPECTION. + + + + + + HE had drank deep and long from out + The bacchanalian's bowl; + Had felt its poisonous arrows pierce + The recess of his soul; + And now his footsteps turned to where + His childhood's days were cast, + And sat him 'neath an old oak tree + To muse upon the past. + Beneath its shade he oft had sat + In days when he was young; + Ere sorrow, like that old oak tree, + Its own deep shadows flung; + Beneath that tree his school-mates met, + There joined in festive mirth, + And not a place seemed half so dear + To him, upon the earth. + The sun had passed the horizon, + Yet left a golden light + Along a cloudless sky to mark + A pathway for the night; + The moon was rising silently + To reign a queen on high, + To marshal all the starry host, + In heaven's blue canopy. + In sight the schoolhouse stood, to which + In youth he had been led + By one who now rests quietly + Upon earth's silent bed. + And near it stood the church whose aisles + His youthful feet had trod; + Where his young mind first treasured in + The promises of God. + There troops of happy children ran + With gayety along; + 'T was agony for him to hear + Their laughter and their song. + For thoughts of youthful days came up + And crowded on his brain, + Till, crushed with woe unutterable, + It sank beneath its pain. + Pain! not such as sickness brings, + For that can be allayed, + But pain from which a mortal shrinks + Heart-stricken and dismayed: + The body crushed beneath its woe + May some deliverance find, + But who on earth hath power to heal + The agony of mind? + O Memory! it long had slept; + But now it woke to power, + And brought before him all the past, + From childhood's earliest hour. + He saw himself in school-boy prime; + Then youth, its pleasures, cares, + Came up before him, and he saw + How cunningly the snares + Were set to catch him as he ran + In thoughtless haste along, + To charm him with deceitful smiles, + And with its siren song: + He saw a seeming friendly hand + Hold out the glittering wine, + Without a thought that deep within + A serpent's form did twine. + Then manhood came; then he did love, + And with a worthy pride + He led a cherished being to + The altar as his bride; + And mid the gay festivity + Passed round the flowing wine, + And friends drank, in the sparkling cup, + A health to thee and thine. + A health! O, as the past came up, + The wanderer's heart was stirred + And as a madman he poured forth + Deep curses on that word. + For well he knew that "health" had been + The poison of his life; + Had made the portion of his soul + With countless sorrows rife. + Six years passed by-a change had come, + And what a change was that! + No more the comrades of his youth + With him as comrades sat. + Duties neglected, friends despised, + Himself with naught to do, + A mother dead with anguish, and + A wife heart-broken too. + Another year-and she whom he + Had promised to protect + Died in the midst of poverty, + A victim of neglect. + But ere she died she bade him kneel + Beside herself in prayer, + And prayed to God that he would look + In pity on them there: + And bless her husband, whom she loved, + And all the past forgive, + And cause him, ere she died, begin + A better life to live. + She ceased to speak,--the husband rose, + And, penitent, did say, + While tears of deep contrition flowed, + "I'll dash the bowl away!" + A smile passed o'er the wife's pale face, + She grasped his trembling hand, + Gave it one pressure, then her soul + Passed to a better land. + He, bent to kiss her pale cold lips, + But they returned it not; + And then he felt the loneliness + And sorrow of his lot. + It seemed as though his life had fled; + That all he called his own, + When her pure spirit took its flight, + Had with that spirit flown. + She had been all in all to him, + And deep his heart was riven + With anguish, as he thought what woe + He her kind heart had given. + But all was passed; she lay in death, + The last word had been said, + The soul had left its prison-house, + And up to heaven had fled; + But 't was a joy for him to know + She smiled on him in love, + And hope did whisper in his heart, + "She'll guard thee from above." + He sat beneath that old oak tree, + And children gathered round, + And wondered why he wept, and asked + What sorrow he had found. + Then told he them this sad, sad tale, + Which I have told to you; + They asked no more why he did weep, + For they his sorrow knew. + And soon their tears began to fall, + And men came gathering round, + Till quite a goodly company + Beneath that tree was found. + The wanderer told his story o'er, + Unvarnished, true and plain; + And on that night three-score of men + Did pledge them to abstain. + + + + + + +NATURE'S FAIR DAUGHTER, BEAUTIFUL WATER. + + + + + + NATURE'S fair daughter, + Beautiful water! + O, hail it with joy, with echoes of mirth, + Wherever it sparkles or ripples on earth. + Down from the mountain, + Up from the fountain, + Ever it cometh, bright, sparkling and clear, + From the Creator, our pathway to cheer. + Nobly appearing, + O'er cliffs careering, + Pouring impetuously on to the sea, + Chanting, unceasing, the song of the free. + See how it flashes + As onward it dashes + Over the pebbly bed of the brook, + Singing in every sequestered nook. + Now gently falling, + As if 't were calling + Spirits of beauty from forest and dell + To welcome it on to grotto and cell. + Beauteous and bright + Gleams it in light, + Then silently flows beneath the deep glade, + Emblem of life in its sunshine and shade. + Beautiful water! + Nature's fair daughter! + Where'er it sparkles or ripples on earth, + Hail it with joy and with echoes of mirth. + + + + + + +THE TEST OF FRIENDSHIP. + + + + + + BRIGHTEST shine the stars above + When the night is darkest round us; + Those the friends we dearest love + Who were near when sorrow bound us. + When no clouds o'ercast our sky, + When no evil doth attend us, + Then will many gather nigh, + Ever ready to befriend us. + But when darkness shades our path, + When misfortune hath its hour, + When we lie beneath its wrath, + Some will leave us to its power. + Often have we seen at night, + When the clouds have gathered o'er us, + One lone star send forth its light, + Marking out the path before us. + Like that star some friendly eye + Will beam on us in our sorrow; + And, though clouded be our sky, + We know there'll be a better morrow. + We know that all will not depart, + That some will, gather round to cheer us: + Know we, in our inmost heart, + Tried and faithful friends are near us. + Brother, those who do not go + May be deem‚d friends forever; + Love them, trust them, have them know + Nothing can your friendship sever. + + + + + + +WEEP NOT. + + + + + + WEEP not, mother, + For another + Tie that bound thyself to earth + Now is sundered, + And is numbered + With those of a heavenly birth. + She hath left thee. + God bereft thee + Of thy dearest earthly friend; + Yet thou'lt meet her, + Thou wilt greet her + Where reunions have no end + Her life's true sun + Its course did run + From morn unto meridian day; + And now at eve + It takes its leave, + Calmly passing hence away. + Watch the spirit- + 'T will inherit + Bliss which mortal cannot tell; + From another + World, my mother, + Angels whisper, "All is well." + 'Way with sadness! + There is gladness + In a gathered spirit throng; + She, ascended, + Trials ended, + Joins their ranks and chants their song. + Weep not, mother, + For another + Tie doth bind thyself above; + Doubts are vanished, + Sorrows banished, + She is happy whom you love. + + + + + + +RICH AND POOR. + + + + + +"GOOD-BY, Ray, good-by," said George Greenville; and the stage wound +its way slowly up a steep ascent, and was soon lost to view. + +"Well, well, he has gone. Glad of it, heartily glad of it! When will +all these paupers be gone?" said the father of George, as he entered +the richly-furnished parlor, and seated himself beside an open +window. + +"Why so glad?" inquired George, who listened with feelings of regret +to the remark. + +"Why?" resumed the owner of a thousand acres; "ask me no questions; +I am glad,--that's enough. You well know my mind on the subject." + +"Father, act not thus. Is this a suitable way to requite his +kindness?" + +"Kindness!" interrupted the old man; "say not 't was kindness that +prompted him to do me a favor; rather say 't was his duty,--and of +you should I not expect better things? Did I allow you to visit +Lemont but to become acquainted with such a poverty-stricken, +pauper-bred youth as Ray Bland?" + +Saying this, he arose and left the room. + +George seated himself in the chair vacated by his father. He looked +across the verdant fields, and mused upon his passionate remarks. +"Well," thought he, "I was right; shall I allow the god of Mammon to +bind me down? Of what use are riches, unless, whilst we enjoy, we +can with them relieve the wants and administer to the necessities of +our fellow-men? Shall we hoard them up, or shall we not rather give +with a free hand and a willing heart to those who have felt +misfortune's scourging rod,--who are crushed, oppressed and trampled +upon, by not a few of their more wealthy neighbors?" In such a train +of thought he indulged himself till the hour of dinner arrived. + +George Greenville had formed an acquaintance with Ray Bland whilst +on a visit to a neighboring town. He was a young man, possessing +those fine qualities of mind that constitute the true gentleman. His +countenance beamed with intelligence, and his sparkling eye betrayed +vivacity of mind, the possession of which was a sure passport to the +best of society. When the time came that George was to return home +to the companionship of his friends, they found that ties of +friendship bound them which could not be easily severed, and Ray +accepted the invitation of George Greenville to accompany him, and +spend a short time at the house of his father. The week had passed +away in a pleasant manner. The hour of parting had come and gone; +The farewell had been taken, the "good-by" had been repeated, when +the conversation above mentioned passed between him and his father. + +The family and connections of George were rich; those of Ray were +poor. The former lived at ease in the midst of pleasures, and +surrounded by all the comforts and conveniences of life; the latter +encountered the rough waves of adversity, and was obliged to labor +with assiduity, to sustain an equal footing with his neighbors. Thus +were the two friends situated; and old Theodore Greenville scorned +the idea of having his son associate with a pauper, as he termed all +those who were not the possessors of a certain amount of +money,--without which, in his opinion, none were worthy to associate +with the rich. + +"Ray is a person not so much to be hated and sneered at as you would +suppose," said George, breaking the silence, and addressing his +father at the dinner-table. + +"George, I have set my heart against him," was the reply. + +"Then," continued the first speaker, "I suppose you are not open to +conviction. If I can prove him worthy of your esteem and confidence, +will you believe?" + +"That cannot be done, perhaps. You may think him to be a worthy +young man; but I discard the old saying that poverty is no disgrace! +I say that it is; and one that can, if its victim choose, be washed +away. Ray Bland is a pauper, that's my only charge against him; and +all the thundering eloquence of a Cicero will not alter my opinion, +or move me an iota from the stand I have taken,--which is, now and +ever, to reject the company of paupers. It is my request that you do +the same." + +Amelia, the sister of George, now joined in the conversation, +inquiring of her father whether it was against his will for her to +associate with the poor. + +"Precisely so," was the brief reply; and the conversation ended. The +father left the house for a short walk, as was his custom, whilst +George and Amelia retired to the parlor, and conversed, for a long +time, upon the rash and unjust decision of their parent. The mutual +attachment that existed between George and Ray was not looked upon +with indifference by the sister of the former; and she determined +upon using all the means in her power to bring the latter into the +good will of her father; she resolved, like a noble girl, to cherish +a social and friendly feeling toward the friend of her brother. He +who knows the warmth of a sister's affection can imagine with what +constancy she adhered to this determination. The command of her +father not to associate with the poor only served to strengthen her +resolution, for she knew with what obstacles her brother would have +to contend. She had a kind heart, that would not allow a +fellow-being to want, so long as she had, or could obtain, the means +to relieve him. + +"Do you think father was in earnest in what he said?" inquired +Amelia. + +"I have no reason to doubt his sincerity," replied George; "but what +led you to ask such a question?" + +"Because, you know, he often speaks ironically; and, as he left the +dinner-room with mother, he smiled, and said something about the +poor, and a trick he was about to play." + +"True, Amelia," replied George, "he is to play a trick; but it +concerns not us. You know poor old Smith is one of father's tenants. +Smith has been sick, and has not been able to procure funds with +which to pay his rent, and father intends to engage a person to take +out all the doors and windows of the house. He hopes Smith will thus +be forced to leave. I have been thinking whether we cannot devise +some plan to prevent the poor man from being turned thus abruptly +from the house." + +"I am sure we can," replied Amelia; "yet I had much rather have a +trick played upon us than upon poor Smith. Can you not propose some +way by which we can prevent father from carrying out his +intentions?" + +"I will give you the money," replied George, "if you will convey it +to Mr. Smith, so that he will be enabled to pay his rent. Recollect +it must be carried in the night, and this night, as father expects +to commence his operations to-morrow or next day. You know that I +cannot go, as my time will be fully occupied in attending upon some +important business at home." It was not necessary to make this offer +more than once. The heart of Amelia bounded with joy, as she +anticipated being the bearer of the money to Smith; and, shortly +after dark, being provided with it, she proceeded to his house. + +It was a dark night. The moon was obscured by thick clouds, and no +twinkling star shone to guide her on her errand of mercy. As she +drew near the lonely dwelling of Paul Smith, she perceived no light. +She feared that he might be absent. Stealthily along she crept, and, +listening at the door, heard the voice of prayer, imploring aid and +support during the trials of life, that relief might soon be sent. +Amelia silently opened the door, and placed the money on a table, +accompanied with a note to Smith, requesting him not to disclose the +manner in which he received it, and, as silently withdrawing, wended +her way home. As she entered the parlor, she found her father and +brother engaged in earnest conversation,--so earnest that she was not +at first noticed. + +"Confound my tenants!" said Mr. Greenville. "There's old Paul Smith; +if to-morrow's sun does not witness him bringing my just dues, he +shall leave,--yes, George, he shall leave! I am no more to be trifled +with and perplexed by his trivial excuses. All my tenants who do not +pay shall toe the same mark. I'll make them walk up, fodder or no +fodder! Ha, ha, ha! old Smith shall know that I have some principle +left, if I have passed my sixtieth year-that he shall! Slipnoose, +the lawyer, shall have one job." + +"You are always visiting your friends, George. It seems as though +all are your friends. Yet I don't blame you, for friends are very +happy appendages to one's character. I pity the man who lives a +friendless life. That's the reason I have been such a friend to +Smith,--but no longer!" As he said this the wealthy landlord left the +room. + +Amelia related to her brother an account of her adventure, and both +were thankful that they been instrumental in relieving the wants of +their poor neighbors. The next morning, seated at the table, Mr. +Greenville began again to express his opinion respecting poor people +in general, and Paul Smith in particular, when a loud rap at the +door somewhat startled him. In a few moments a servant entered, and +gave information that a person was at the door who wished to see Mr. +Greenville. Arriving there, the landlord encountered his tenant, +Smith, who immediately told him that by some kind providence he was +enabled to pay him his due, and hoped that in future he should be +prompt in his payments. + +The landlord took the money, and, looking it over, handed him a +receipt for the same, and returned to the breakfast-table. Nothing +was said about Smith until Mr. Greenville, as he left the room, +remarked "that he did not know but that Smith meant well enough." + +Nearly a month had elapsed and nothing had been heard of Ray Bland, +when, on a certain morning, Mr. Greenville came in and handed George +a letter. Upon opening it, George found it to be written by his +friend Ray, informing him of his safe arrival home, thanking him for +the kind attention he received during his visit, and expressing +great pleasure in soon having another opportunity to visit him. +George communicated this intelligence to Amelia, and they determined +upon using their united efforts in endeavoring to bring over the +kind feelings of their father to their young, but poor, friend. + +"It's no use for you to talk," said old Mr. Greenville, after a long +conversation with the two; "the die is cast. I have resolved, and +all the arguments you can bring forward will not cause me to break +my resolution." + +"Well," remarked George, "perhaps the day will come when you will +deeply regret forming such a resolution. Perhaps the sunshine of +prosperity will not always illumine our path." + +"Be that as it may," interrupted Mr. Greenville, "we will not allow +our imagination to wander forth into the mystical regions of the +future, or picture to ourselves scenes of wretchedness, if such +await us. Flatter me not with the good intentions of Ray Bland." + +Months passed away, and the children of the proud Mr. Greenville +forbore to mention in the presence of their father aught concerning +their friend Ray Bland, or to excite the anger of the old gentleman +by combating his prejudices against the poor. + +Months passed away, and again Ray Bland found himself beneath the +roof of his former friend. He was received by George and Amelia with +the cordiality that had ever marked his intercourse with them; but +the father was, if possible, more morose and sullen than usual. + +Ray had several times made the attempt to know the cause of this +coldness, but as often as he alluded to it George would invariably +turn the subject; and he forbore to question further, content with +the happiness which he enjoyed in the society of those he held so +dear. + +It was the evening of a fine day in the early spring, that the three +friends sat together. It was the last evening of his visit, and Ray +expected not to return for a long time. Alone in his study, the +father vented his indignation against paupers, which respect for his +daughter's feelings only prevented in the presence of their visitor. +He opened the casement. Clouds were gathering in the sky, and now +and then a faint flash of lightning illumined the increasing +darkness; and the far-off voice of the storm was audible from the +distance, each moment increasing in strength and violence. Soon the +storm was upon them. + +The old gentleman retired to his apartment. Each moment the storm +increased in violence, and in vain did he strive to close his eyes +in sleep. + +At length a flash more vivid, accompanied by a peal of thunder more +terrific than any that had preceded it, startled the inmates of the +mansion. The wind howled terribly, and the old trees groaned and +creaked about the dwelling with a fearful and terrific sound. + +Within all was still and quiet. No word was spoken, for it was a +fearful night, and in fear and dread they suspended their +conversation. + +Amelia first broke the silence. "Something must be burning," +exclaimed she. In an instant the cry of fire was heard. All started +up and rushed to the door; and there, indeed, they were witnesses of +a sight which might well appall. The whole upper part of the house +was in flames. Instantly the cause flashed upon them. The house had +been struck and set on fire by lightning. "My father! O, my father!" +shrieked Amelia, and fell fainting to the floor. Quick as the word +came the thought of Ray Bland that the aged Mr. Greenville might be +in danger; and ere George Greenville had borne his sister to a place +of safety, through flame and smoke had Ray Bland reached the chamber +which he knew the old gentleman occupied. It was locked. One blow of +his foot, with all the force he could muster, and locks and bolts +gave way. The room was nearly enveloped in flames, the curtains of +the window and bed had been consumed, and now the flames had seized +the wood-work and burned with great fury. Upon the floor, prostrate +as if dead, lay the proud man, who scorned and detested the poor, +and who had boasted of being beyond the reach of adversity. To lift +him in his arms and bear him to the street was the work of an +instant. He had only been stunned, and the drenching rain through +which he was carried soon revived him. Ray bore him to the house of +poor Smith, the nearest to his own; and there, with feelings of +anguish which cannot be described, surrounded by his children and +neighbors, the old man learned a lesson which his whole previous +life had not taught, of the dependence which every member of society +has upon the whole. While his riches were taking wings to fly away +even before his own eyes, he felt how foolish and wicked was his +past conduct; and ever after the poor found no warmer friend or more +liberal hand than that of old George Greenville. + +In the course of a few months a new and spacious building was +erected upon the site of the one destroyed; and the neighbors say +that the pretty cottage which is being built just over the way is to +be the future residence of Ray Bland and the fair Amelia, whose +aristocratic father now knows no distinction, save in merit, between +the rich and poor. + + + + + + +THE HOMEWARD BOUND. + + + + + + SLOWLY he paced the vessel's whitened deck, + While thoughts of hours, and days, and scenes long past, + Brought forth from fountains well-nigh dry a tear: + For in imagination he could see + Himself a tiny boy, in childish sport + Upon a river's bank, quite near his home, + Chasing the butterfly, whose gaudy dress + Lured him away, till, wearied with the chase, + Upon some mossy stone he sat him down; + Or, in some rippling brook, beneath the shade + Of some tall oak, he bathed his parched brow; + Then up he sprang, retraced his wandering steps, + Yet heedless ran, and could not leave his play. + And since that day what scenes had he passed through, + What trials met, what sights his eyes beheld! + Beneath the burning skies of torrid zones, + On frozen banks of Nova Zembla's coast, + Or the more fertile climes of Italy; + There, where the luscious grape in fulness hangs, + And fields of roses yield a rich perfume; + 'Mid orange-groves whence sweetest odors rise, + 'Neath branches burdened with their fragrant fruit, + Forth he had wandered. + Mark the semblance now! + For much there is between his childish course + Upon the river's bank and his later + Wanderings. Then, he chased the butterfly. Now, + His inclination led to a pursuit + More bold, adventurous, and far more grand. + Ambition filled his soul. Sometimes he ran + In vain; and so it was in boyhood's days; + And thus 't is plainly seen that childhood hours + Are but an index of our future life, + And life an index of that yet to come. + As on the vessel swept, a tear would 'scape + Forth from its hidden cell, and trickle down + The sailor's deeply-furrowed cheek, to bathe + Those recollections with the dew of Thought! + Some deem it weak to weep. Away the thought! + It is not weakness when Affection's fount + O'erflows its borders, and to man displays + The feelings that its powers cannot conceal. + It is not weakness when our feeble words + Find utterance only in our flowing tears. + Call not such language "weakness"! Worlds may laugh, + Yet know no joy like that which often flows + In silent tears. + As nearer drew the seaman to his home, + As in the distance first he saw the spot + Where childhood's hours in happiness were spent, + His slow pace quickened to a faster walk, + And, had he had the power, he'd walked the waves, + And bravely dashed the intrusive spray aside, + To reach the much-loved spot more rapidly + Than wind and tide urged on his noble bark. + + + + + + +THE POOR OF EARTH. + + + + + + I'VE often wondered, as I've sat + Within mine own loved home, + And thought of those, my fellow-men, + Who houseless, homeless, roam; + That one upon this earth is found + Whose heart good promptings smother; + And will not share his wealth with him + Who is his poorer brother! + I've often wondered, as I've walked + Amid life's busy throng, + And seen my fellows who have been + By Fortune helped along, + That they who bask in its bright rays + No tear of pity shed + On him who doth no "fortune" seek, + But asks a crust of bread! + I've seen the gilded temple raised, + The aspirant of fame + Ascend the altar's sacred steps, + To preach a Saviour's name, + And wondered, as I stood and gazed + At those rich-cushioned pews, + Where he who bears the poor man's fate + Might hear Salvation's news. + I've walked within the church-yard's walls, + With holy dread and fear, + And on its marble tablets read + "None but the rich lie here." + I've wandered till I came upon + A heap of moss-grown stones, + And some one whispered in mine ear, + "Here rest the poor man's bones." + My spirit wandered on, until + It left the scenes of earth; + Until I stood with those who'd passed + Through death, the second birth. + And I inquired, with holy awe, + "Who are they within this fold, + Who seem to be Heaven's favorite, + And wear those crowns of gold?" + Then a being came unto me, + One of angelic birth, + And in most heavenly accents said, + "Those were the poor of earth." + Then from my dream I woke, but + Will ne'er forget its worth; + For ever since that vision + I have loved "the poor of earth." + And when I see them toiling on + To earn their daily bread, + And dire oppression crush them down, + Till every joy hath fled,-- + I mind me of that better world, + And of that heavenly fold, + Where every crown of thorns gives place + Unto a crown of gold. + + + + + + +IF I DON'T, OTHERS WILL. + + + + + + "IF I don't make it, others will; + So I'll keep up my death-drugged still. + Come, Zip, my boy, pile on the wood, + And make it blaze as blaze it should; + For I do heartily love to see + The flames dance round it merrily! + "Hogsheads, you want?-well, order them made; + The maker will take his pay in trade. + If, at the first, he will not consent, + Treat him with wine till his wits are spent; + Then, when his reason is gone, you know + Whate'er we want from his hands will flow! + "Ah, what do you say?-'that won't be fair'? + You're conscientious, I do declare! + I thought so once, when I was a boy, + But since I have been in this employ + I've practised it, and many a trick, + By the advice of my friend, Old Nick. + I thought 't was wrong till he hushed my fears + With derisive looks, and taunts, and jeers, + And solemnly said to me, 'My Bill, + If you don't do it, some others will!' + "If I don't sell it, some others will; + So bottles, and pitchers, and mugs I'll fill. + When trembling child, who is sent, shall come, + Shivering with cold, and ask for rum + (Yet fearing to raise its wet eyes up), + I'll measure it out in its broken cup! + "Ah! what do you say?-'the child wants bread'? + Well, 't is n't my duty to see it fed; + If the parents will send to me to buy, + Do you think I'd let the chance go by + To get me gain? O, I'm no such fool; + That is not taught in the world's wide school! + "When the old man comes with nervous gait, + Loving, yet cursing his hapless fate, + Though children and wife and friends may meet, + And me with tears and with sighs entreat + Not to sell him that which will be his death, + I'll hear what the man with money saith; + If he asks for rum and shows the gold, + I'll deal it forth, and it shall be sold! + "Ah! do you say, 'I should heed the cries + Of weeping friends that around me rise'? + May be you think so; I tell you what,-- + I've a rule which proves that I should not; + For, know you, though the poison kill, + If I don't sell it, some others will!" + A strange fatality came on all men, + Who met upon a mountain's rocky side; + They had been sane and happy until then, + But then on earth they wished not to abide. + The sun shone brightly, but it had no charm; + The soft winds blew, but them did not elate; + They seemed to think all joined to do them harm, + And urge them onward to a dreadful fate. + I did say "all men," yet there were a few + Who kept their reason well,--yet, weak, what could they do? + The men rushed onward to the jagged rocks, + Then plunged like madmen in their madness o'er; + From peak to peak they scared the feathered flocks, + And far below lay weltering in their gore. + The sane men wondered, trembled, and they strove + To stay the furies; but they could not do it. + Whate'er they did, however fenced the drove, + The men would spring the bounds or else break through it, + And o'er the frightful precipice they leaped, + Till rock and tree seemed in their red blood steeped. + One of the sane men was a great distiller + And one sold liquors in a famous city; + And, by the way, one was an honest miller, + Who looked on both their trades in wrath and pity. + This good "Honestus" spoke to them, and said, + "You'd better jump; if you don't, others will." + Each took his meaning, yet each shook his head. + "That is no reason we ourselves should kill," + Said they, while very stupid-brained they seemed, + As though they of the miller's meaning never dreamed. + + + + + + +NOT MADE FOR AN EDITOR. + +BEING A TRUE ACCOUNT OF AN INCIDENT IN THE HISTORY OF THE STUBBS FAMILY. + + + + + +MR. and MRS. STUBBS were seated at the side of a red-hot cylinder +stove. On one side, upon the floor, a small black-and-white dog lay +very composedly baking himself; on the other, an old brown cat was, +in as undisturbed a manner, doing the same. The warmth that existed +between them was proof positive that they had not grown cold towards +each other, though the distance between them might lead one to +suppose they had. + +In one corner of the room was the bust of a man, whose only +existence was in the imagination of a miserable ship-carver, who, in +his endeavors to breathe life into his block, came near breathing +life out of himself, by sitting up late at night at his task. In the +other hung a crook-necked squash, festooned with wreaths of +spider-webs. Above the mantel-piece was suspended a painting +representing a feat performed by a certain dog, of destroying one +hundred rats in eight minutes. The frame in which this gem of art +was placed was once gilt, but, at the time to which we refer, was +covered with the dust of ages. + +Mr. Stubbs poked the fire. Mrs. Stubbs poked the dog, when suddenly +the door flew open, and their son entered with blackened eyes, +bloody hands; bruised face and dirty clothes, the most +belligerent-looking creature this side of the "Rio Grande." + +"My voice a'nt still for war, it's loud for war," he said, as, with +a braggadocia sort of air, he threw his cap at the dog, who clenched +it between his teeth, shook it nearly to tatters, and then passed it +over to the cat. + +"What's the matter now, Jake?" said Mrs. Stubbs. "Always in +trouble,--fights and broils seem to be your element. I don't know, +Jake, what will become of you, if you go on at this rate. What say +you, father?" + +Mr. Stubbs threw down the poker, and casting a glance first at his +hopeful son, and then at his hoping wife, replied that Jake was an +ignorant, pugnacious, good-for-nothing scamp, and never would come +to anything, unless to a rope's end. + +"O, how can you talk so?" said his wife. "You know it's nat'ral." + +"Nat'ral!" shouted the father; "then it's ten times worse-the harder +then to rid him of his quarrelsome habits. But I've an idea," said +he, his face brightening up at the thought, as though he had +clenched and made it fast and sure. + +The mother started as by an electric shock. The boy, who had retired +into one corner in a sullen mood, freshened up, and looked at his +father. The ship-carver's fancy sketch brightened up also; but not +of its own free will, for the force with which Mr. Stubbs brought +his hand in contact with the table caused the dirty veil to fall +from the bust-er's face. + +"What is it?" inquired Mrs. Stubbs, with much animation. + +"Why, my dear woman, as we can do nothing with him, we'll make him +an editor." + +The old lady inquired what that was; and, being informed, expressed +doubts as to his ability. + +"Why," said she, "he cannot write distinctly." + +"What of that?'-let him write with the scissors and paste-pot. Let +him learn; many know q great deal more after having learned." + +"But he must have some originality in his paper," said Mrs. Stubbs, +who, it seemed, did not fall in with the general opinion that "any +one can edit a paper." + +"Never fear that," said Mr. Stubbs; "he'll conduct anything he takes +hold of, rather than have that conduct him. I'll tell you what, old +woman, Jake shall be an editor, whether he can write a line of +editorial or not. Jake, come here." + +Jake, who had nearly forgotten his fight, was elated at the +proposition of his father, and, being asked whether, in his opinion, +he could conduct a paper with ability, originality and success, +replied, in the slang phrase of the day, that he "could n't do +anything else," at the same time clenching his fist, as though to +convince his sire that he could do something else, notwithstanding. + +"As I have never asked you any question relative to public affairs, +and as the people of this generation are getting to be wise, I deem +it right that I should ask you a few questions before endeavoring to +obtain a situation. Now, Jake, who is the President of the United +States?" + +"General George Washington," replied the intelligent lad, or rather +young man; for, though he indulged in many boyish tricks, he was +about twenty years of age, a short, dull-looking member of the +"great unwashed." The father intimated that he was mistaken; the son +persisted in saying that he was not. + +"Never mind the catechizer," said Jake; "I'll conduct a newspaper, I +will, for Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs never see the day I could n't conduct +anything." + +"That's bright," said Mrs. Stubbs; "he possesses more talent than I +was aware of; he'll make an editor." + +"An' he shall," said the father, resolutely. + +The clock struck nine, which was the signal for Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs +to retire, and they did so. No sooner had they left than their +dutiful son mounted the table, and, taking down the fancy bust, +pulled the dog by the tail to awake him, and set him barking at it. +The cat must have her part in the tragedy, so Jake thought; and, +pulling her by the tail, she was soon on the field of action. + +"Now, sist-a-boy, Tozer; give her an editorial," said he; and, as +dog and cat had been through the same performance before, they acted +their parts in manner suiting. The dog barked, the cat snapped and +snarled, and Jake Stubbs stood by rubbing his hands in a perfect +ecstasy of delight. + +It is needless for us to relate the many curious adventures Mr. +Stubbs met with whilst searching for a situation for Jake. + +His endeavors to find a situation such as he wanted were, for a long +time, ineffectual. At length he blundered into a small +printing-office, where three men and a boy were testing the merits +of half a dozen doughnuts, and a bottle of root beer. + +Mr. Stubbs was very sorry to disturb them. When he mentioned his +errand, one of the men-a tall fellow, with check shirt and green +apron-said that he had, for a long time, contemplated starting a +paper, but, as he was not capable of editing one, he had not carried +out his intention. The principal reason why he had not published +was, he was poor; business had not prospered in his hands, and an +outlay of two thousand dollars would be needed to commence and +continue the paper. + +"Very well," replied Mr. Stubbs, "that is a large sum; but, if there +is no doubt of its being returned, I might think of loaning it to +you, for the sake of getting my talented son into business." + +"Not the least doubt, not the least," replied Mr. Pica; and he so +inflamed the imagination of Mr. Stubbs, that, strange as it may seem +to the cautious reader, he wrote a check for the amount, merely +taking the unendorsed note of Mr. Pica as security; then, hastening +home, he told Mrs. Stubbs to brush up the boy, for he was an editor. + +Behold, now, Mr. Jake Stubbs in a little room up three pair of +stairs, preparing "copy" for the first number of "The Peg Top, or +the Buzz of the Nation." He hasn't got black eyes now; all the +blackness of his person, if not of his character, has settled in his +fingers, and they are black with ink. Not all settled, for a few +daubs of the "blood of the world," as the dark fluid has been +called, were to be seen on his forehead, having passed there from +his fingers, when leaning upon them in a pensive mood, vainly +endeavoring to bring up thoughts from the mighty depths of his +intellect,--so mighty, in fact, that his thoughts were kept there, +and refused to come up. + +Mr. Jake Stubbs had been cutting and pasting all day, when, thinking +it a little too severe to inflict further duty upon the assistant +editor, he took his pen in hand, resolved upon writing a masterly +article as a leader. + +A sheet of blank paper had lain on the table before him for nearly +an hour. He would sit and think. Some idea would pop into his head, +then with a dash would the pen go into the ink, but before he could +get his pen out the idea had flown, and the world was the loser. +Then he threw himself back into his chair,--thought, thought, +thought. At length Jake obtained the mastery, as patience and +perseverance always will, and the pen became his willing slave, +though his mind, being the slave-driver, did not hurry it on very +fast. He was able to pen a few words, and wrote "The war with +Mexico-" + +Well, he had got so far; that was very original, and if he never +wrote anything else, would stamp him a man of talent. Into the ink, +on the paper, and his pen wrote the little word are. "The war with +Mexico are." Ten minutes more of steady thought, and three more +words brought him to a full stop. "The war with Mexico are a +indisputable fact." That last but one was a long word, and a close +observer could have seen his head expand with the effort. + +"Copy, sir, copy!" shouted the printer's boy, as he stood with his +arms daubed with ink, and a straw hat upon his head that had seen +service, and looked old enough to retire and live on a pension. + +"Copy what?" inquired the editor, who began to feel indignant, +imagining that the publisher had seen his labor to write an article, +and had sent him word to copy from some paper. + +"Here," said he, "take this to Mr. Pica, and tell him 't is +original, and gives an account of the war with Mexico, with news up +to this date." + +The boy took it, trudged up stairs with two lines of MS., and the +editor arose and walked his office, as though his labors were o'er, +and he might rest and see some mighty spirit engrave his name upon +the scroll of fame. + +He had crossed the floor half a dozen times, when in came the same +youth, shouting "Copy, sir, copy!" + +"Copy what?" shouted Jake, laying hold of the boy's shirt-sleeve. +"Tell me what you want copied! tell me, sir, or I will shake your +interiors out of you-" + +The boy was small, but spunky. His education had been received at +the corners of the streets. He had never taken lessons of a +professor, but he had practised upon a number of urchins smaller +than himself, and had become a thoroughly proficient and expert +pugilist. + +It was not for Bill Bite to be roughly handled by any one, not even +by an editor. So he pushed him from him, and said, + +"I want copy; that's a civil question,--I want a civil answer." + +Jake's organ of combativeness became enlarged. He sprang at the boy, +grasped him by the waist, and would have thrown him down stairs, had +not a movement the boy made prevented him. + +Bill's arms were loose, and, nearing the table, he took the inkstand +and dashed the contents into the face of his assailant. + +"Murder!" shouted the editor. + +"Copy!" shouted the boy; and such a rumpus was created, that up came +Mr. Pica, saying that the building was so shaken that an article in +type on the subject of "Health and Diet" suddenly transformed itself +into "pi." + +The two belligerents were parted; the editor and Master Bill Bite +stood at extremes. At this crisis who should enter but Mr. Stubbs, +senior, who, seeing his son's face blackened with ink, inquired the +cause rather indignantly; at which Mr. Pica, not recognizing in the +indignant inquirer the father of the "talented editor," turned +suddenly about and struck him a blow in the face, that displaced his +spectacles, knocked off his white hat into a pond of ink, and made +the old fellow see stars amid the cobwebs and dust of the ceiling. + +The son, seeing himself again at liberty, flew at the boy, and gave +him "copy" of a very impressive kind. + +Down from the shelves came dusty papers and empty bottles, whilst up +from the printing-office came the inmates, to learn the cause of +the disturbance. + +A couple of police-officers passing at the time, hearing the noise, +entered, and one of them taking Mr. Stubbs, senior, and the other +Mr. Stubbs, junior, bore them off to the lock-up. + +This affair put a sudden stop to "The Buzz of the Nation." The first +number never made its appearance. + +Mr. Pica, having obtained the amount of the check, went into the +country for his health, and has not been heard from since. + +Elder Stubbs and Stubbs the younger paid a fine of five dollars +each; and when they reached home and related to Mrs. Stubbs the +facts in the case, she took off her spectacles, and, after a few +moments' sober thought, came to the sage conclusion that her son +Jake was not made for an editor. + + + + + + +HERE'S TO THE HEART THAT'S EVER BRIGHT. + + + + + + HERE'S to a heart that's ever bright, + Whatever may betide it, + Though fortune may not smile aright, + And evil is beside it; + That lets the world go smiling on, + But, when it leans to sadness, + Will cheer the heart of every one + With its bright smile of gladness! + A fig for those who always sigh + And fear an ill to-morrow; + Who, when they have no troubles nigh, + Will countless evils borrow; + Who poison every cup of joy, + By throwing in a bramble; + And every hour of time employ + In a vexatious scramble. + What though the heart be sometimes sad! + 'T is better not to show it; + 'T will only chill a heart that's glad, + If it should chance to know it. + So, cheer thee up if evil's nigh, + Droop not beneath thy sadness; + If sorrow finds thou wilt not sigh, + 'T will leave thy heart to gladness. + + + + + + +MORNING BEAUTY. + + + + + + BRIGHTLY now on every hill + The sun's first rays are beaming, + And dew-drops on each blade of grass + Are in their beauty gleaming. + O'er every hill and every vale + The huntsman's horn is sounding, + And gayly o'er each brook and fence + His noble steed is bounding. + There's beauty in the glorious sun + When high mid heaven 't is shining, + There's beauty in the forest oak + When vines are round it twining; + There's beauty in each flower that blooms, + Each star whose light is glancing + From heaven to earth, as on apace + 'T is noiselessly advancing. + Beauties are all around thy path, + And gloriously they're shining; + Nature hath placed them everywhere, + To guard men from repining. + Yet 'mong them all there's naught more fair, + This beauteous earth adorning, + Than the bright beauty gathering round + The early hours of morning. + + + + + + +THE RECOMPENSE OF GOODNESS. + + + + + + WHEN our hours shall all be numbered, + And the time shall come to die, + When the tear that long hath slumbered + Sparkles in the watcher's eye, + Shall we not look back with pleasure + To the hour when some lone heart, + Of our soul's abundant treasure, + From our bounty took a part? + When the hand of death is resting + On the friend we most do love, + And the spirit fast is hasting + To its holy home above, + Then the memory of each favor + We have given will to us be + Like a full and holy savor, + Bearing blessings rich and free. + O, then, brother, let thy labor + Be to do good while you live, + And to every friend and neighbor + Some kind word and sweet smile give. + Do it, all thy soul revealing, + And within your soul you'll know + How one look of kindly feeling + Cause the tides of love to flow. + + + + + + +BRIDAL SONGS. + +TO THE WIFE. + + + + + + LET a smile illume thy face, + In thy joyous hours; + Look of sympathy be thine, + When the darkness lowers. + He thou lovest movest where + Many trials meet him; + Waiting be when he returns, + Lovingly to greet him. + Though without the world be cold, + Be it thy endeavor + That within thy home is known + Happiness forever. + TO THE HUSBAND. + WHATSOEVER trials rise, + Tempting thee to falter, + Ne'er forget the solemn vows + Taken at the altar. + In thy hours of direst grief, + As in those of gladness, + Minister to her you love, + Dissipate her sadness. + Be to cheer, to bless, to love, + Always your endeavor; + Write upon your heart of hearts + Faithfulness forever. + + + + + + +THE JUG AFLOAT. + + + + + +"WHAT I tell thee, captain, is sober truth. If thee wishes to +prosper, thee must not allow thy sailors grog, lest, when at sea, +they become tipsy, and thy ship, running upon hidden rocks, shall be +lost; or else, when at the mast-head, giddiness come upon them, and, +falling, thy crew shall number one less." + +Thus spake a good old Quaker, a native of the city of Penn. Captain +Marlin had been for many days and nights considering whether it were +best to carry a complement of wine for himself and friends, and grog +for his crew. He had that morning met Simon Prim, and asked his +opinion, which he gave as above; yet Captain Marlin seemed +undetermined. He felt it to be an important question, and he desired +to come to a right conclusion. + +They had been passing up Broadway; had reached the Trinity, crossing +over towards Wall-street. Simon, with his usual gravity, raised his +hand, and, pointing to the towering steeple of the splendid edifice, +said: + +"If thou, neighbor, desired to ascend yonder spire, thinkest thou +thou wouldst first drink of thy wine, or thy grog?" + +"Certainly not," replied Captain Marlin. + +"Then," continued the Quaker, "do not take it to sea with thee; for +thou or thy men mayest be called to a spot as high as yonder +pinnacle, when thee little thinkest of it." + +The two walked down Wall-street without a word from either, till, +reaching a shipping-office, Captain Marlin remarked that he had +business within. The Quaker very politely bowed, and bade him take +heed to good counsel, and good-day. + +The owner of the vessel was seated in an arm-chair, reading the +shipping news in the Journal. + +"Did you know," said he, as his captain entered, "that Parvalance & +Co. have lost their ship, 'The Dey of Algiers,' and none were saved +but the cabin-boy, and he half dead when found?" + +"Indeed not; when-where-how happened it?" inquired Captain Marlin, +in some haste. + +"On a voyage from Canton, With a rich cargo of silks, satins, teas, +&c. The boy says that the men had drank rather too much, and were +stupidly drunk,--but fudge! Captain Marlin, you know enough to know +that no man would drink too much at sea. He would be sure to keep at +a good distance from a state of intoxication, being aware that much +was intrusted to his care which he could not well manage whilst in +such a state." + +"Perhaps so," said Captain Marlin, doubtingly. "Mr. Granton, this +touches a question I have been for days considering. It is, whether +I shall allow my men grog." + +"Of course, of course!" answered the ship-owner; "nothing so good +for them round the Cape. You know the winds there, rather tough +gales and heavy seas. Cold water there, Mr. Marlin! Why, rather give +them hot coffee with ice crumbled in it, or, carry out a cask of +ice-cream to refresh them! Man alive, do you think they could live +on such vapor? You talk like one who never went to sea, unless to +see a cattle-show." + +Captain Marlin could not refrain from laughing at such reasoning, +yet was more than half inclined to favor it. He was fond of his +wine, and being, as such folks generally are, of a good disposition, +he wished to see all men enjoy themselves, especially when at sea. +He wished evil to no man, and had he thought that liquor might +injure any of his crew, he would not that morning, in that office, +have come to the conclusion to have it on board the "Tangus." + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +On a bright, clear morning, a deeply-freighted ship started from a +New York slip; a fair wind bore it swiftly down the bay, and a few +minutes' sail found it far from sight of the metropolis of the +Union. Friends had taken the last glimpse of friends, the last +interchange of kindly feelings had passed, and deep waters now +separated them. It was the "Tangus," Robert Marlin captain, with a +picked crew, and bound for the coast of Sumatra. Simon Prim shook +his head, as he with others turned and walked home. "'T is a pity +men will not see evil and flee from it," said he, and he pulled his +straight coat-collar up, and thrust his hands more deeply than ever +into his pockets. He was a little startled by a light tap upon the +shoulder, and quite a happy voice exclaiming, "Why, Mr. Prim, how +are you?" + +"Verily, neighbor; thou didst move me; but I was thinking so deeply +of Captain Marlin and his success, that no wonder thy light touch +should do so." + +"But what of him, Prim?" + +"His ship, the Tangus, has just left, bound on a long voyage, and +with a quantity of deadly poison on board, with which to refresh the +crew. I tell thee, neighbor, I have fears for the result. The jug +may possibly stand still when on land, but when it's afloat it's +rather unsteady." + +"Very true, but you seem to express unusual anxiety in regard to +Captain Marlin and his good ship; thousands have been just as +imprudent." + +"But not in these days of light and knowledge, friend. There have +been enough sad examples to warn men not to trifle on such subjects. +Twenty years ago I drank. We had our whiskey at our funerals and our +weddings. I have seen chief mourners staggering over the grave, and +the bridegroom half drunk at the altar; but times are changed now, +and thank God for the good that has been effected by this +reformation!" + +"You speak true, Simon; and I wonder Captain Marlin could, if he +considered the evils brought about by intoxicating drink, carry it +to sea with him." + +"I told him all as I tell it to thee, friend Jones. He asked my +opinion, and I gave it him, yet it seems he thought little of it. +Good-day, neighbor; I have business with a friend at the 'Croton,' +good-day;" and, saying this, Mr. Prim walked up a bye street. + +Jones walked on, and thought considerable of the Quaker's last +words. His mind that day continually ran upon the subject. Indeed, +he seemed unable to think of anything else but of a jug afloat, and +at night spoke of it to his wife. + +The wife of Captain Marlin had that day called upon Mrs. Jones, and, +although her husband had scarcely got out of sight, looked with +pleasure to the day of his return, and already anticipated the +joyous occasion. There is as much pleasure in anticipation as in +realization, it is often said, and there is much truth in the +saying. We enjoy the thought of the near approach of some wished for +day, but when it arrives we seem to have enjoyed it all before it +came. + +Mrs. Jones was far from thinking it wrong in Captain Marlin that he +carried liquor with him on his voyage, and gave it as her opinion +that the vessel was as safe as it could possibly be without it. + +"Remember what I say, that is a doomed ship," said Mr. Jones, after +some conversation on the subject. + +"You are no prophet, my dear," said his wife, "neither am I a +prophetess; but I will predict a pleasant voyage and safe return to +the Tangus." With such opposite sentiments expressed, they retired. + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +Insensible to all that is beautiful in nature, and grand and +majestic in the works of creation, must the heart of that man be who +can see no beauty, grandeur, or majesty, in the mighty abyss of +waters, rolling on in their strength-now towering like some vast +mountain, and piling wave upon wave, till, like pyramids dancing on +pyramids, their tops seem to reach the sky; then sinking as deep as +it had before risen, and again mounting up to heaven. There's beauty +in such a scene, and no less when, calm and unruffled, the setting +sun sinks beneath the horizon, and for miles and miles leaves its +long, glistening track upon the unmoved waters. + +'T was so when the crew of the "Tangus" were assembled upon the deck +of that noble ship. The day previous had been one of hard labor; the +vessel had bravely withstood the storm, and seemed now to be resting +after the contest. Not a ripple was to be seen. Far as the eye could +reach, was seen the same beautiful stillness. So with the crew; they +were resting, though not in drowsy slumberings. + +"I say what, Bill," remarked one, "'An honest man's the noblest work +of God,' somebody says, and that's our captain, every inch, from +stem to stern, as honest as Quaker Prim, of Gotham." + +"Ay, ay, Jack," said another; "and did you hear how that same Prim +tried to induce Captain Marlin to deprive us of our right?" + +"Grog, you mean?" + +"Ay, ay." + +"No; but how was it?" + +"Arrah, the dirty spalpeen he was, if he was afther a trying for to +do that-the divil-" + +"Will Mr. McFusee wait? By the way, Jack, he, Prim, got him by the +button, and began to pour into his ears a long tirade against a +man's enjoying himself, and, by the aid of thee, thy, and thou, half +convinced the old fellow that he must give up all, and live on +ice-water and ship-bread." + +"Did?" + +"Ay, ay, you know Captain Marlin. He always looks at both sides, +then balances both, as it were, on the point of a needle, and +decides, as Squire Saltfish used to say, 'cording to law and +evidence." + +"By the powers, he's a man, ivery inch, from the crown of his hat to +the soles of his shoes, he is." + +"Mr. McFusee, will you keep still?" said Mr. Boyden, the narrator. +Mr. McFusee signified that he would. + +"Well, he balanced this question, and the evidence against flew up +as 't were a feather; but down went the evidence for, and he +concluded to deal every man his grog in due season." + +"That's the captain, all over," remarked Jack. + +As we before said, their labors the day previous were great, and, as +a dead calm had set in, and the vessel did not even float lazily +along, but remained almost motionless,--not like a thing of life, but +like a thing lifeless,--the captain ordered the crew each a can of +liquor, and now they sat, each with his measure of grog, relating +stories of the past, and surmises of the future. + +"I tell you what," said Jack Paragon, "these temperance folks are +the most foolish set of reformers myself in particular, and the +United States, Texas, and the Gulf of Mexico, in general, ever saw." + +"Even so," remarked Mr. Boyden, "but they do some good. 'Give the +devil his due,' is an old saw, but none the less true for that. +There's Peter Porper, once a regular soaker, always said his +'plaints were roomatic,--rum-attic, I reckon, however, for he used to +live up twelve pairs of stairs,--he and the man in the moon were +next-door neighbors; they used to smoke together, and the jolly +times they passed were never recorded, for there were no newspapers +in those dark ages, and the people were as ignorant as crows. Well, +one of these temperance folks got hold of him, and the next I saw of +him he was the pet of the nation; loved by the men, caressed by the +women-silver pitchers given him by the former, and broadcloth cloaks +by the latter." + +"No selfish motives in keeping temperate!" said Jack Rowlin, +ironically. + +"Can't say; but liquor never did me harm. When I find it does, I +will leave off." + +"That's the doctrine of Father Neptune-drink and enjoy life." + +"Every man to his post!" shouted the captain, as he approached from +the quarterdeck. Quick to obey, they were where they were commanded +in an instant, each with his tin can half filled with liquor. +Captain Marlin, seeing this, ordered them to drink their grog or +throw it overboard; they chose the former mode of disposing of it, +and threw their empty cans at the cook. + +In the distance a small black speck was decried. + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + +The sun had set in clouds. The heavens were hung in darkness. Ever +and anon a peal of thunder echoed above, a flash of vivid lightning +illumed the waters, and far as eye could see the waters tossed high +their whitened crests. The winds blew stormy, and now heavy drops of +rain fell upon the deck of the "Tangus." "Every man to his duty!" +shouted the captain; but the captain's voice was not obeyed. + +Objects at two feet distance could not be seen. Louder that voice +was heard. "Every man to his duty,--save the ship!" + +"Captain, what is my duty?" inquired the cook. + +"I appoint you under officer. Search for the men, and, if they are +not all washed over, tell them I order them to work. If they do not +know it, tell them the ship's in danger, and they must work." + +The storm was fast increasing, till, at length, instead of +blackness, one sheet of livid flame clothed the heavens above. Now +all could be seen, and the captain busied himself. But two of the +crew were to be seen, and they lay as senseless as logs. They heeded +not the rage of the storm. The terrific peals of thunder awoke them +not-they were dead drunk! + +By the time the storm commenced, the liquor they had drank began to +have its effect. Four of the crew, who were usually wide awake-that +is, uncommonly lively-when intoxicated, had unfortunately fell +overboard, and were lost. + +The captain had now food for reflection, but the time and place were +not for such musings. + +He endeavored to arouse them, but in vain; so, with the aid of the +only sober man aboard besides himself, he conveyed them to a place +of safety. In the mean time the ship strained in every joint, and he +momentarily expected to find himself standing on its wreck. + +The waves washed the deck, and everything movable, cook-house and +all, went by the board. The only hope of safety was in cutting away +the masts, and to this task they diligently applied themselves. All +night the captain and cook worked hard, and when morning came they +found the storm abating. Soon the sun shone in its brightness; but +what a scene did its light reveal! The once stately ship dismasted; +four men, including the mate of the vessel, lost, and two lying +insensible in the cabin. + +It was not strange that the question came home to the mind of +Captain Marlin, with force, "Is it right to carry liquor for a +ship's crew?" He need ask the opinion of no one; he could find an +answer in the scene around him. + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + + +"Then thy ship has put in for repairs?" said Simon Prim, as he +entered Granton & Co.'s office, on Wall-street. + +"What?" exclaimed Mr. Granton, who had heard nothing of the matter. +Simon, pulling a paper from his pocket, read: + +"LOSS OF LIFE AT SEA.--By a passenger in the 'Sultan,' from--, we +are informed that the ship 'Tangus,' from this port, bound to +Sumatra, and owned by Messrs. Granton & Co., of this city, put in at +that place in a dismasted condition. + +"The 'Tangus' had been three weeks out, when, in a gale, four men +were washed overboard. The remainder of her crew being insensible, +and the whole duty falling upon the captain and cook, they with +great difficulty managed the ship. It is rumored that all were +intoxicated. This is the seventh case of loss at sea, caused by +intemperance, within four months. When will men become wise, and +awake to their own interests on this topic?" + +The ship-owner rapidly paced his office. "Can it be?" said he to +himself. "Can it be?" + +"Give thyself no trouble, friend," said Prim; "what is done is done, +and can't be undone. Thy ship is not lost, and things are not so bad +as they might be. Look to the future, and mourn not over the past; +and remember that it is very dangerous to have a jug afloat." + +These few words somewhat quieted him, yet not wholly, At this moment +the wife of Captain Marlin entered. Having heard of the news, she +came to learn all that was known respecting it. + +"Madam," said he, after relating all he knew, "my mind is changed on +the question we some time since discussed. Yes, madam, my mind is +changed, and from this hour I will do all I can to exterminate the +practice of carrying grog to sea for the crew. And I tell thee +what," he continued, turning to friend Prim, who stood near by, "I +tell thee what, thee was right in thy predictions; and, though it +has been a dear lesson to me, I have learned from it that it is poor +policy that puts a jug afloat." + + + + + + +GIVE, AND STAY THEIR MISERY. + + + + + + WOULD ye who live in palace halls, + With servants round to wait, + Know aught of him who, craving, falls + Before thine outer gate? + Come with me when the piercing blast + Is whistling wild and free, + When muffled forms are hurrying past, + And then his portion see. + Come with me through the narrow lanes + To dwellings dark and damp, + Where poor men strive to ease their pains; + Where, by a feeble lamp, + The wearied, widowed mother long + Doth busy needle ply, + Whilst at her feet her children throng, + And for a morsel cry. + Come with me thou in such an hour, + To such a place, and see + That He who gave thee wealth gave power + To stay such misery! + Come with me,--nor with empty hand + Ope thou the poor man's door; + Come with the produce of thy land, + And thou shalt gather more. + + + + + + +THE SPIRIT OF MAN. + + + + + + YE cannot bind the spirit down; + It is a thing as free + As the albatross-bird that wings + Its wild course o'er the sea. + Go, bind the lightning, guide the sun, + Chain comets, if you can; + But seek not with thy puny strength + To bind the soul of man. + Though all the powers of earth combine, + And all their strength enroll, + To bind man's body as they will, + They cannot bind his soul. + No power on earth can hold it down, + Or bid it hither stay, + As up to heaven with rapid course + It tireless wings its way. + Time is too limited for it, + And earth is not its clime; + It cannot live where sound the words, + "There is an end to time." + It seeks an endless, boundless sphere, + In which to freely roam; + Eternity its course of life, + Infinity its home. + There, there will it forever live; + And there, a spirit free, + 'T will range, though earth may pass away, + And Time no longer be. + + + + + + +PAUSE AND THINK. + + + + + + O! HOW many souls are sorrowing + In this sunlit world, to-day, + Because Wrong, heaven's livery borrowing, + Leadeth trusting souls astray; + Because men, all thoughtless rushing, + Dance along on Error's brink, + And, the voice of conscience hushing, + Will not for a moment think! + 'T is the lack of thought that bringeth + Man to where he needs relief; + 'T is the lack of thought that wringeth + All his inner self with grief. + Would he give a moment's thinking + Ere his every step is made, + He would not from light be shrinking, + Groping on in Error's shade! + Think, immortal! thou art treading + On a path laid thick with snares, + Where mischievous minds are spreading + Nets to catch thee unawares. + Pause and think! the next step taken + May be that which leads to death; + Rouse thee! let thy spirit waken; + List to, heed the word it saith! + Think, ere thou consent to squander + Aught of time in useless mirth; + Think, ere thou consent to wander, + Disregarding heaven-winged truth. + When the wine in beauty shineth, + When the tempter bids thee drink, + Ere to touch thy hand inclineth, + Be thou cautious-pause and think! + Think, whatever act thou doest; + Think, whatever word is spoke; + Else the heart of friend the truest + May be by thee, thoughtless, broke. + How much grief had been prevented, + If man ne'er had sought to shrink + From the right:-to naught consented, + Until he had paused to think! + + + + + + +LITTLE NELLY. + + + + + +MATILDA was a fashionable girl,--a young lady, perhaps, would be the +more respectable name by which to call her. She had been reared in +affluence. She had never known a want. She had had wants, but she +did not know it. She had wanted many things that make a lady's life +indeed a life. But Matilda never dreamt of such things. + +It was n't fashionable to love the outcast, and therefore she +bestowed no pitying look on them. It was n't fashionable to give a +few pennies even to a poor, lame orphan girl in the street. So she +pretended not to have noticed the plea of little Nelly, who had +accosted her during her morning rambles. + +"Little Nelly." I remember how she looked when at twilight she sat +down on a curb-stone to count the money. She looked sorrowful. She +was, indeed, worthy of pity; but little she got. The crowd went +hurrying, hustling on: few thoughts came down to little Nelly, on +the curb-stone. It had been a gala day. Red flags had flaunted on +high poles, and there had been a great noise of drums and fifes, and +everybody had seemed happy. Why, then, should sorrow come, with its +dark lantern, and look in the face of this little girl? + +I will tell you. + +There was a poor woman whose husband had been killed in Mexico. She +lived in one small room in a secluded part of the city, and by means +of her needle, and such assistance as was given to her daughter, who +diligently walked the streets, selling apples, she managed to live +in a style which she denominated "comfortable." Thus, for upwards of +one year, she toiled and lived, and was thankful for all her many +blessings. + +But sickness came; not severe, but of that kind that bears its +victim along slowly to rest. She was unable to do much. She did not +wish to do much; but she sat day by day, yea, night by night often, +and diligently pursued the avocation that brought her daily bread. + +Weeks passed, and yet she was ill. One morning, she called her +daughter to her side, and, taking her hand in her own, said: + +"Little Nelly, 't is Independence day, to-day. You heard the guns +fire, and the bells ring, and the shouts of the happy children, this +morning, before you arose. I watched you as you lay listening to all +these, and I asked myself, Will my little Nelly be happy? and I +thought I heard my mother's voice;--she died long, long ago, but I +thought I heard her voice right at my side, saying, 'We shall all be +happy soon;' and I wept, for I could not help it. + +"But I've called you now, Nelly, to tell you that I'm much better +this morning, and that, if you can get twenty-five cents to-day, we +will have a happy time to-night." + +Little Nelly looked happy for a moment, but soon a shadow came over +her face; for she could not comprehend the meaning of her mother +when she said she was "better," for she looked more feeble than she +had ever seen her since the news of how her father was shot in the +face at Monterey was told her. + +But she tried to be cheerful. She tried to smile, but, O, it was +very hard; and she got her mother's breakfast, and, having cleared +the things away, took her little basket, and her mother's purse, and +went out. + +It was, indeed, a happy day without. There was joy depicted on every +countenance, and the general happiness infused some of its spirit +into the heart of our little trader. She seemed almost lost in the +great crowd; and there were so many dealers about, and so many that +presented greater attractions in the display of their stock, that +few bought of little Nelly. + +It was late in the afternoon, and she had sold but a little, when +she encountered a young lady gayly dressed, in whose hand was +prominently displayed a bead purse, through the interstices of which +the gold and silver glistened. + +Nelly held out her humble purse, in which no beads were wrought, +through which no coin glistened,--she held it up, and ventured to +ask, in pleasant tones, a few pennies of the lady. But not a penny +for little Nelly. Not even a look recognized her appeal, but costly, +flowing robes rushed by, and nearly prostrated her; they did force +her from the sidewalk into the gutter. + +Go on, ye proud and selfish one! Go, bend the knee to Fashion's +altar, and ask a blessing of its presiding spirit! Bestow no pitying +glance on honest poverty; no helping hand to the weak and falling! +There is a law which God hath written on all his works, proclaiming +justice, and giving unto all as they shall ask of him. Pass on, and +heed not that little praying hand; but remember you cannot do so +without asking of that law its just requital. + +Nelly walked on. She mingled again with the great mass, and twilight +came. It was then that she sat down, as I have before stated, to +count her money. She had but thirteen cents. All day she had sought +to dispose of her stock, that she might carry to her mother the sum +named, with which to have a happy time at home. And now the day had +gone; the night was drawing its great shadowy cloak about the earth, +and Nelly had but about one half of the required sum. What should +she do? + +It was at this moment I met her. I stooped down, and she told me all +her story;--told me all her sorrow,--a great sorrow for a little +breast like hers. I made up the trifling amount, and, taking her by +the hand, we went together towards her home. + +Reaching the house, we entered, and were met on the stairs by an old +lady, who whispered in my ear, "Walk softly." I suspected in a +moment the reason why she asked me thus to walk. She then led the +way. She tried to keep back the little girl, but she could not. She +hurried up the stairs, and through a long, dark entry, to a door, +which she quickly opened. + +Nelly sprang to the bed on which lay her mother. I heard a sigh-a +sob. It was from the child. The mother spoke in a tone so joyous +that I was at first surprised to hear it from one who, it was +supposed, was near her end. But I soon found it was no matter of +surprise. + +How clear and fair was that face! How pleading and eloquent those +eyes, as they turned, in all their full-orbed brightness, upon me, +as I approached the bedside of the mother of Nelly! There were +needed no words to convey to my mind the thoughts that dwelt within +that soul, whose strength seemed to increase as that of the body +diminished. + +With one of her pale hands she took mine; with the other, that of +her daughter. + +"Blessings on you both!" she said. "Nelly, my dear Nelly, my +faithful, loving Nelly, I am much better than I was; I shall soon be +well, and what a happy time we will have to-night! I hear that voice +again to-night, Nelly. Don't you hear it? It says, 'We shall all be +happy soon.' I see a bright star above your head, my child; and now +I see my mother. She is all bright and radiant, and there is a +beauty around her that I cannot describe. Nelly, I am better. Why, I +feel quite well." + +She sprang forward, and, with her hands yet clasping Nelly's and my +own, she stretched her arms upward. There was a bright glow of +indescribable joy upon her features. She spoke calmly, sweetly +spoke. "We shall all be happy soon-happy soon-happy-" then fell back +on the pillow, and moved no more-spoke not again. + +She was indeed happy. But, Nelly-she was sad. For a long time she +kept her hand in that of her mother. She at length removed it, and +fell upon the floor, beneath the weight of her new sorrow. Yet it +was but for a moment. Suddenly she sprang up, as if imbued with +angelic hope and peace. We were surprised to see the change, and to +behold her face beam with so much joy, and hear her voice lose its +sadness. We looked forth with that inner sight which, on such +occasions, seems quickened to our sense, and could see that mother, +and that mother's mother, bending over that child, and raising her +up to strength and hope, and a living peace and joy. + +Nelly's little purse lay on the floor, where she had dropped it when +she came in. The old nurse picked it up, and laid it on a stand +beside the bed. A tear stole out from beneath the eyelids of the +child as she beheld it, and thought how all day she had worked and +walked to get the little sum with which her mother and she were to +be made happy on that Independence night. I called her to me. We sat +down and talked over the past, the present and the future, and I was +astonished to hear the language which her pure and gentle, patient +soul poured forth. + +"Well, sir," she said, "we are happy to-night, though you think, +perhaps, there is greater cause for sorrow. But mother has gone from +all these toiling scenes. She will work no more all the long day, +and the night, to earn a shilling, with which to buy our daily +bread. She has gone where they have food that we know not of; and +she's happy to-night, and, sir, we shall all be happy soon. We shall +all go up there to live amid realities. These are but shadows here +of those great, real things that exist there; and I sometimes think, +when sitting amid these shadows, that it will be a happy time when +we leave them, and walk amid more substantial things." + +Thus she talked for some time. + +Having rendered such assistance as I could, I left. The next day +there was a funeral, and little Nelly was what they called "the +chief mourner;" yet it seemed a very inappropriate name for one +whose sorrow was so cheerful. There were but few of us who followed; +and, when we reached the grave, and the face of the earthly form was +exposed to the sunlight for the last time, little Nelly sung the +following lines, which I had hastily penned for the occasion: + + + + + + +WE SHALL ALL BE HAPPY SOON. + + + + + + Dry our tears and wipe our eyes! + Angel friends beyond the skies + Open wide heaven's shining portal, + Welcome us to joys immortal. + Fear not, weep not, ours the boon; + We shall all be happy soon! + Hark! a voice is whispering near us; + 'T is an angel-voice to cheer us; + It entreats us not to weep, + Fresh and green our souls to keep; + And it sings, in cheerful tune, + We shall all be happy soon. + Thus through life, though grief and care + May be given us to bear, + Though all dense and dark the cloud + That our weary forms enshroud, + Night will pass, and come the noon, + We shall all be happy soon. + +When the last line of each verse was sung, it was no fancy thought +in us, in Nelly more than all others, that suggested the union of +other voices with our own; neither was it an illusion that pictured +a great thing with harps, repeating the words, "We shall all be +happy soon." + +The sexton even, he who was so used to grave-yard scenes, was doubly +interested; and, when the last look was taken, and Nelly seemed to +look less in the dark grave and more up to the bright sky above her +than those in her situation usually do, I saw him watch her, and a +tear trickled down his wrinkled face. + +As we turned to leave, I asked him why he wept. His features +brightened up. "For joy, for joy," said he. "I have put away the +dead here for forty long years; but I never beheld so happy a burial +as this. It seems as though the angels were with that child. She +looks so heavenly." + +Perhaps they were. And why say "perhaps"? Do we not know they are +ever round us, and very near to such a one as Nelly, at such a time? + + + + + + +REUNION. + + + + + + WHEN we muse o'er days departed, + Lights that shone but shine no more, + Friends of ours who long since started + O'er the sea without a shore; + Journeying on and journeying ever, + Their freed spirits wing their flight, + Ceasing in their progress never + Towards the fountain-head of light; + Oft we wish that they were near us,-- + We might see the friends we love,-- + Then there come these words to cheer us, + "Ye shall meet them all above." + When the sun's first ray approacheth, + Ushering in the noonday light; + When the noise of day encroacheth + On the silence of the night; + When the dreams depart that blest us + In the hours forever fled,-- + In which friends long gone carest us, + Friends we number with the dead,-- + Comes this thought, Ye ne'er shall hear them, + Ne'er shall see the friends ye love; + Voices say, "Ye shall be near them, + With them in the world above." + When within the grave's enclosure + Ye do drop the silent tear, + Tremble not at its disclosure, + Myriad spirits hover near. + Hark! they whisper, do ye hear not, + Mingling with your rising sighs, + Words that bid you hope, and fear not, + Angel-voices from the skies? + And as dust to dust returneth,-- + That which held the gem you love,-- + Thine afflicted spirit learneth + It will meet that gem above. + Thus whene'er a friend departeth + In my soul I know 't is right; + And, although the warm tear starteth, + As he passes from my sight, + I do know that him I cherish + Here on earth shall never die; + That, though all things else shall perish, + He shall live and reign on high. + And, that when a few hours more + Shall have passed, then those I love, + Who have journeyed on before, + I shall meet and greet above. + + + + + + +THE VILLAGE MYSTERY. + + + + + +ABOUT fifty miles from a southern city, about five years ago, a most +mysterious personage seemed to fall from the clouds into the midst +of a circle of young ladies, whose hours and days were thenceforth +busily employed in quizzing, guessing, pondering and wondering. + +He was a tall, graceful-formed gentleman, wearing a +professional-looking cloak, and buff pants, tightly strapped over +boots of delicate make, polished up to the very highest capabilities +of Day and Martin. He had no baggage; which fact led some +wise-headed old ladies to report him to be a gentleman of leisure, a +literary millionaire, it might be, who was travelling through "the +States" for the purpose of picking up items for a book on "Ameriky." +The old men wagged their heads, and looked most impenetrably +mysterious. The young men became jealous. To be sure he was not +superlatively handsome, but he had a foreign air, which was +considerable among the girls; and his appearance indicated wealth, +for his dress was of the first quality and cut. He had half a dozen +glistening rings on his hands; he wore a breast-pin of dazzling +brilliance; and every time he moved a chained lion could not have +made more noise, and clatter, and show with his fetters, than he did +with a massive double-linked chain, that danced and flirted upon his +crimson vest. + +Abby and Nelly, the belles of the place, had each had an eye upon +the new comer, since he passed by the splendid mansion of their +abode, casting a sly glance up to the open window at which they +stood. + +In a week, our foreign friend had made the circuit of all the +fashionable society of Greendale. He had drank tea with the +"Commissioners," and walked out with their amiable daughters. He had +visited the pastor, and had evinced great interest in the prosperity +of the church. He had even exhorted in the conference-meeting, and +had become so popular that some few, taking it for granted that so +devout a man must be a clergyman, had serious thoughts of asking the +old parson to leave, and the stranger to accept the pulpit,--four +hundred and eighty-two dollars a year, and a donation-party's +offerings. He had attended the sewing-circle, and made himself +perfectly at home with everybody and everything. The young men's +society for ameliorating the condition of the Esquimauxs and +Hottentots had been favored with his presence; and, likewise, with a +speech of five minutes long, which speech had, in an astonishingly +short time, been printed on pink satin and handsomely framed. + +The lower class of people, for whom the stranger talked so much, and +shed so many tears, and gave vent to so many pitiful exclamations, +but with whom, however, he did not deign to associate, were filled +with a prodigious amount of wonder at the lion and his adventures. +They gathered at Squire Brim's tavern, and at the store on the +corner, and wondered and talked over the matter. The questions with +them were, Who is he?-where did he come, and where is he going to? +They would not believe all they had heard conjectured about him, and +some few were so far independent as to hint of the possibility of +imposition. + +There were two who determined to find out, at all hazards, the name, +history, come from and go to, of the mysterious guest; and, to +accomplish their purpose, they found it necessary for them to go to +Baltimore early the subsequent morning. + +The morning came. After taking a measurement of the height, breadth +and bulk of the foreigner, as also a mental daguerreotype of his +personal appearance, they departed. + +Having been very politely invited, it is no strange matter of fact +that, just as the sun has turned the meridian, on the fifth of +March, a young man is seen walking slowly upon the shady side of +Butternut-street, Greendale. To him all eyes are directed. Boys stop +their plays, and turn their inquisitive eyes towards the pedestrian. +The loungers at Brim's tavern flock to the door, and gaze earnestly +at him; while Bridget the house-maid, and Dennis the hostler, hold a +short confab on the back stairs, each equally wondering whose +"bairn" he can be. + +As he continues on his way, he meets a couple of sociable old +ladies, with whom he formed an acquaintance at the sewing-circle. +They shake hands most cordially. + +"Abby and Nelly are waiting for you; they're expecting you," says +one of the ladies, as she breathes a blessing and bids him good-by, +with a hope that he will have a pleasant time at the deacon's. + +Let us now take a few steps in advance, and enter the hospitable +mansion to which our mysterious personage, who has given his name as +Sir Charles Nepod, is passing. + +Up these beautiful white steps walk with dainty tread. At this +highly-polished door ring with gentle hand. + +A stout serving-man answers our call, and a tittering serving-girl +scampers away and conceals herself behind the staircase, as we +enter. What, think you, can be going on? A wedding, +forsooth,--perhaps a dinner-party. + +A brace of charming girls, the deacon's only daughters, are seated +in the front parlor. We are introduced, and soon learn that they are +waiting the arrival of the talented, the benevolent Sir Charles; +and, as a matter of form and courtesy, rather than of sincerity and +hospitality, we are invited to remain and meet him in the +dining-room. We decline; bid them good-by, and leave. As we pass +out, we are hailed in a loud whisper by the man who first met us, +who glibly runs on with his talk as he leads the way, walking +sideways all the time to the door. + +"An' sirs,--sirs, dus yers know what the young Misthresses is afther? +Well, sirs, they's going' fur to hev' a greath dinner with the +furriner. Yes, sirs, with the furriner as come frum a furrin land, +and was n't born in this at all a' tall." + +As we reach the door, he steps up, whispers in our ears, "An' I +tells yer what, sirs, Kate,--that's the gal yer sees, sirs,--me and +she's goin' to see all frum the little winder beyant. This is +conveniently private to you, sirs, an' I hopes ye'll say nothing to +no one about it, sirs; 't is a private secret, sirs." + +What should induce this man to give us this information, we cannnot +conceive. However, we have no reason to doubt what he tells us, and +therefore understand that a dinner-party is to come off, with a +wedding in perspective. + +As we pass into the street, we meet Nepod. + +As he ascends the steps, the two girls, forgetting all rules of +etiquette, spring to the door, completely bewildering honest Mike, +who is at hand, and welcome the man of the age. + +"Mother and aunty have just gone out," says Nelly;--"they thought we +young folks would enjoy our dinner much better by ourselves alone." + +"How considerate!" replies the guest. "I met the good old ladies on +the street. How kind in them to be so thoughtful! How pleasantly +will pass the hours of to-day! This day will be the happiest of my +life." + +The three pass to the dining-room. Though early in March, the +weather is quite warm. In the haste of the moment, and somewhat +confused by his warm welcome, our hero has taken his hat and cloak +and laid them on a lounge near an open window. Seated at the table, +the company discourse on a variety of subjects, and the two sisters +vie with each other in doing the agreeable. + +Down town all was excitement, and a great crowd was gathered at the +tavern. The investigating committee had returned from the city, and +with the committee three men of mysterious look. To the uninitiated +the mystery that had puzzled them for so long a time grew yet more +mysterious. Nothing could be learned from the two who had returned, +respecting Sir Charles, or the additional strangers. Only dark and +mysterious hints were thrown out, rendering the whole affair more +completely befogged than before. + +Mr. Brim, the keeper of the tavern, silently conducted the new +comers out by a back passage, and soon they were seen in the same +path which Sir Charles had followed. + +One of the men quietly opened the front door of the deacon's home, +and, entering, knocked upon the door of the dining-room. A voice +said, "Come in;" and he proceeded to do so. + +In an instant, as if struck by an electric shock, the distinguished +guest sprang from the table, and leaped through the open window, +leaving his hat and cloak behind. But the leap did not injure him, +for he fell into the arms of a man who stood ready to embrace him; +and, mystery on mystery, they placed hand-cuffs on his wrists! + +Judge, if you can, of the astonishment and mortification of the +deacon's girls, when they were told that he who had been their guest +was a bold highwayman, who had escaped from the penitentiary. + +There was great ado in Greendale that afternoon and evening. Those +who had been unable to gain his attention said they knew all the +time he was a rogue. The young men's society voted to sell the frame +and destroy the printed speech; and the next Sabbath the good pastor +preached about a roaring lion that went about seeking whom he might +devour. + + + + + + +THE WAYSIDE DEATH. + + + + + +Not many years since, an old man, who had for a longtime sat by the +wayside depending upon the charity of those who passed by for his +daily bread, died a few moments after receiving an ill-mannered +reply to his request for alms. Subsequent inquiries proved that he +had been a soldier in the American Revolution. + + WHEN Freedom's call rang o'er the land, + To bring its bold defenders nigh, + Young Alfred took a foremost stand, + Resolved to gain the day or die. + And well he fought, and won the trust; + When the day's conflicts had been braved, + The foe's proud ensigns lay in dust, + While Freedom's banner victor waved. + But now he is a poor old man, + And they who with him, side by side, + Fought bravely in that little van, + Have left him, one by one,--have died. + And now to no one can he tell, + Though touched with patriot fire his tongue, + The story of those days which well + Deserve to be by freemen sung, + And cherished long as life shall last; + To childhood told, that it may know + Who braved the storm when came the blast, + And vanquished Freedom's direst foe. + He sits there on the curb-stone now, + That brave old man of years gone by; + His head 'neath age and care would bow, + But yet he raiseth it on high, + And, stretching out his feeble hands, + He asks a penny from man's purse, + Food for himself from off that land + He fought to save. Yet, but a curse + Falls from their lips to greet his ear; + And he, despairing, turns and sighs, + And bows his head,--there fills one tear, + It is the last-he dies. + Now men do rudely lift his hat, + To gaze upon his furrowed face, + And say, "It is the man who sat + Here for so long a foul disgrace." + Crowds gather round the spot to see, + And then pass idly on, and say, + To those who ask who it can be, + "'T is but a vagrant of the way." + Thus he who fought and bled to gain + The blessings which are round us strewn, + For one he asked, besought in vain, + Received man's curse, and died-unknown. + O, my own country! shall it be, + That they who through thy struggle passed, + And bore thy banner manfully, + Shall thus neglected die at last? + O, shall it be no help shall come + From thy overflowing wealth to bless? + Wilt thou be blind, wilt thou be dumb, + To pleas like theirs in wretchedness? + Answer! and let your answer be + A helping hand lowered down to raise + From want and woe those who for thee + Won all thy honor, all thy praise, + And made thee what thou art to-day, + A refuge and a hope for man; + Speak! ere the last one wings away; + Act! act while yet to-day you can. + + + + + + +BEAUTY AND INNOCENCE. + +[FOR AN ENGRAVING OF COTTAGE GIRL AND LAMB.] + + + + + + O, MAIDEN, standing in the open field, + On pasture sparkling with the morning dew! + What joy thou findest Nature now to yield + To hearts developed right,--hearts that are true! + Above is beauty, as along the sky + The dawn of light sends forth its herald ray + To arch the heavens, and myriad leagues on high + Proclaim the coming of the god of day. + Beneath is beauty; see the glistening gems + Around thy feet in rich profusion strewn; + Such as ne'er glows in kingly diadems, + Such as man's handiwork hath never shown. + Around is beauty; on each vale and hill, + In open field and in the shady wood, + A voice is whispering, soft, and low, and still, + "All, all is beautiful, for God is good." + Thou, too, art beautiful, O, maiden fair, + While Innocence within thine arms doth rest; + And thou wilt e'er be thus, no grief thou 'lt share, + If such a blessing dwell within thy breast + As that whose emblem now lies gently there. + + + + + + +NIGHT. + + + + + + I'VE watched the sun go down, and evening draw + Its twilight mantle o'er the passive earth, + And hang its robe of blue, all gemmed with stars, + High over all for mortal eyes to gaze at. + And now I come to tread this sodded earth, + To walk alone in Nature's vaulted hall; + Yet, not alone;--I hear the rustling leaf, + The cricket's note, the night-bird's early lay; + I feel the cool breeze as it fans my brow, + And scent the fragrance of the untainted air. + I love the night. There's something in its shade + That sends a soothing influence o'er the soul, + And fits it for reflection, sober thought. + It comes bearing a balm to weary ones, + A something undefinable, yet felt + By souls that feel the want of something real. + And now 't is night, and well it is that I + Am here. I stand, my hand on this old tree, + Pressing its mossy side, with no one near + I can call fellow in the human strife, + The great, unfinished drama of this life. + Alone, alone, with Nature and its God, + I'll sit me down, and for a moment muse + On busy scenes, and, like some warrior chief, + Behold, yet mingle not in earth's great acts. + To-night how various are the states of men! + Some, bowed by sickness, press their sleepless couch, + Wishing while day doth last that night would come, + And now that night is with them wish for day. + Remorse holds some in its unyielding grasp; + Despair, more cruel yet, haunts some men's souls; + Both, ministers of justice conscience sends + To do its fearful bidding in those breasts + Which have rebelled and disavowed its rule. + Perchance, a maiden happy as a queen + To-night doth fix her destiny. A happy throng + Gather around, and envy her her bliss. + They little know what magic power lies low + In the filled wine-cup as they pass it round; + They little think it plants a venomed dart + In the glad soul of her whose lips do press + Its dancing sparkles. + Sorrow's nucleus! + Round that cup shall twine memories so dark + That night were noonday to them, to their gloom. + Dash it aside! See you not how laughs + Within the chalice brim an evil eye? + Each sparkling ray that from its depth comes up + Is the foul tempter's hand outstretched to grasp + The thoughtless that may venture in his reach. + How to-night the throng press on to bend + The knee to Baal, and to place a crown + On Magog's princely head! Dollars and dimes, + A purse well-filled, a soul that pants for more; + An eye that sees a farthing in the dust, + And in its glitter plenitude of joy, + Yet sees no beauty in the stars above, + No cause for gladness in the light of day,-- + A hand that grasps the wealth of earth, and yields + For sake of it the richer stores of heaven; + A soul that loves the perishing of earth, + And hates that wealth which rust can ne'er corrupt. + How many such! How many bar their souls + 'Gainst every good, yet ope it wide to wrong! + This night they're all in arms. They watch and wait; + Now that the sun hath fled, and evening's shade + Doth follow in its path, they put in play + The plans which they in daylight have devised, + Entrapping thoughtless feet, and leading down + The flower-strewn path a daughter or a son, + On whose fair, white brow, the warm, warm moisture + Of a parent's kiss seems yet to linger. + Stay! daughter, son, O, heed a friend's advice, + Rush not in thoughtless gayety along! + Beware of pit-fills. Listen and you'll hear + From some deep pit a warning voice to thee; + For thousands low have fallen, who once had + Hopes, prospects, fair as thine; they listened, fell! + And from the depths of their deep misery call + On thee to think. O, follow not, but reach + A helping hand to raise them from their woe! + Clouds hide the moon; how now doth wrong prevail! + Wrong holdeth carnival, and death is near. + O, what a sight were it for man to see, + Should there on this dark, shrouded hour + Burst in an instant forth a noonday light! + How many who are deem‚d righteous men, + And bear a fair exterior by day, + Would now be seen in fellowship with sin! + Laughing, and sending forth their jibes and jeers, + And doing deeds which Infamy might own. + But not alone to wrong and base intrigue + Do minister these shades of night; for Love + Holds high her beacon Charity to guide + To deeds that angels might be proud to own. + Beneath the shadows that these clouds do cast, + Hath many a willing hand bestowed a gift + Its modest worth in secret would confer. + No human eye beheld the welcome purse + Dropped at the poor man's humble cottage door; + But angels saw the act, and they have made + A lasting record of it on the scroll + That bears the register of human life. + Many a patient sufferer watches now + The passing hours, and counts them as they flee. + Many a watcher with a sleepless eye + Keeps record of the sick man's every breath. + Many a mother bends above her child + In deep solicitude, in deathless love. + Night wears away, and up the eastern sky + The dawn approaches. So shall life depart,-- + This life of ours on earth,--and a new birth + Approach to greet us with immortal joys, + So gently on our inner life shall come + The light of heaven. + Time moveth on, and I must join again + The busy toil of life; and I must go. + And yet I would not. I would rather stay + And talk with these green woods,--for woods can talk. + Didst ever hear their voice? In spring they speak + Of early love and youth, and ardent hope; + In summer, of the noon of wedded life, + All buds and blossoms and sweet-smelling flowers; + In autumn, of domestic bliss with all its fund + Of ripe enjoyments, and then winter hears + The leafless trees sing mysterious hymns, + And point their long lean arms to homes above. + Yes, the old woods talk, and I might hold + A sweet communion here with them to-night. + Farewell to Night; farewell these thoughts of mine, + For day hath come. + + + + + + +NOT DEAD, BUT CHANGED. + + + + + + I SAT and mused o'er all the years gone by; + Of friends departed, and of others going; + And dwelt upon their memories with a sigh, + Till floods of tears, their hidden springs o'erflowing, + Betrayed my grief. Soon, a bright light above me, + Voices saying, "We're near thee yet to love thee," + Dispelled my tears. I raised my drooping head, + And asked, "Who, who,--the dead?" + When the angelic lost around me ranged + Whispered within my ear, "Not dead, but changed." + + + + + + +THE DISINHERITED. + + + + + +MY next door neighbor's name was Jotham Jenks. This was all I knew +about him, until the circumstance I am about to tell you occurred. + +One evening I had seated myself by my fire, and had taken up an +evening paper with which to occupy my time, until an acquaintance of +mine, who I momentarily expected, should arrive. It was +December,--cold, blustering, and by no means an agreeable time to be +out of doors, or away from a good fire. Such being the state of +affairs, as far as weather was concerned, I began to think I should +not see my friend that night, when a smart rap upon the outer door, +half a dozen times repeated, prevented me from further speculation. + +Why did n't he ring?-there was a bell. It must have been a stranger, +else he would have used it. + +Presently a servant came with the information that a stranger was at +the door with a carriage, and wished my immediate presence. + +"Request him to walk in," said I. + +"He cannot wait a moment," answered the servant;--"he wishes you to +put on your hat and coat, and go with him." + +"Where?" + +"He did not say." + +This was a strange interruption,--strange that a man, a stranger, in +fact, should call for me to go out with him on such a night; but I +mustered courage, and went out to meet him. I don't know what +induced me so readily to grant his request; but out I went, hatted, +coated and booted. As I approached, I heard the falling of steps, +and the voice of the coachman requesting me to hurry. Reaching the +carriage, I looked in and beheld Jotham Jenks. In I jumped, and +before I was seated the carriage was moving. + +The whip snapped, the wheels whirled round, and we passed through +the lighted streets with almost incredible speed. I ventured to make +an inquiry, and the reply was, + +"You are doing a good deed. My name is Jotham Jenks. Ask no +questions now." + +Thus was a veto put upon the movements of my tongue for the time +being. I, however, recognized the voice of Mr. Jenks; and though I +knew but little respecting him, I judged from his appearance that he +was a quiet, unoffending man; and such I afterwards found him. + +For thirty minutes the horses raced along, causing the water, ice +and snow, to take to themselves wings and fly upon pedestrians, +windows, and sundry other animate and inanimate objects of creation. +For myself, I began to experience some misgiving, for thus exposing +myself to what, I did not know. + +At length the carriage turned down a dark, narrow street, leading to +one of the wharves, upon which we finally found ourselves. The +driver jumped from his seat, opened the carriage-door, threw down +the steps, and we got out. + +Matters had reached a crisis. Was I to be thrown into the water? The +assurance of my companion that I was doing a good deed seemed to +disfavor this supposition, as what possible good could that do +myself or any one else? Yet, for what was I taken from a warm room, +on such a cold, dismal, dark night, and hurried to the wharf? + +"Now," said I to the stranger, "I must know the meaning of all +this,--the why and the wherefore." + +He took my hand in his. It was quite dark. I could not see, yet I +could tell by his voice that he wept, as he said, + +"In a berth in the cabin of that vessel lies a young man, far from +his home, among strangers,--sick, perhaps dying. No relative, other +than those of the great brotherhood of. mankind, is near to minister +to his wants, or to speak comfort to his troubled heart. He had been +here about two days, when I was informed of his situation by a +friend who came in the same vessel. I have brought you here that you +might listen to his statements, and assist me in assisting him. +There is much of romance in his narrative, and, as you are preparing +a volume of life-sketches, as found in town and country, I have +thought that what falls from his lips might fill a few pages with +interest and profit to your readers." + +I thanked him for his thoughtfulness. My suspicions and fears were +all allayed; I asked no more questions, but followed my friend as he +passed to the vessel, and descended the narrow stairway to the +cabin. + +A small lamp hung from the ceiling, and shed a sort of gloomy light +around. I had been in chambers of sickness, but never in a room +where more neatness was discernible, or more sufficiency for its +tenant, than in the cabin in which I then was. A sailor boy seated +by a berth indicated to me the spot where the sick man lay. We were +informed that he had just fallen into a sleep, and we were careful +not to awake him. + +But, notwithstanding all our care, our movements awoke him. He gazed +around as one often does after a deep sleep; but a consciousness of +his situation, and a recognition of my companion, soon dispelled his +vacant looks, and his features were illumed with as expressive a +smile as it has ever been my fortune to behold. + +I was introduced to the invalid, and soon we were as familiar as old +acquaintances. His name was Egbert Lawrence, and his age I should +judge from appearances to be about twenty-five. + +"It is possible that my dear, good friend, Mr. Jenks, has given you +some account of my circumstances," he remarked, addressing me. + +I replied that he had not, any further than to state that he was +friendless. He started, as I said this, and exclaimed, + +"Friendless! His own modesty, that sure mark of true merit, induced +him to say that; but, dear sir, I have a friend in him, greater than +in any other on earth now. I had a friend, but, alas! she's gone." + +I corrected his impression; remarked that I only intended to convey +the fact that he was in a strange country, among a strange people, +and that Mr. Jenks had told me he was worthy of assistance, and that +a sketch of his life would interest me. + +"Then you would like to hear of my past, would you?" + +"Most certainly," I replied; "and should consider it a favor should +you consent to give it to me." + +To this he at once consented. + +"I was born in the west of England," he began, "and can well +remember what a charming little village it was in which I passed my +earliest days. My mother was a woman of the finest +sensibilities,--too fine, in fact, for the rough winds of this world. +Her heart beat too strongly in sympathy with the poor and oppressed, +the weary-footed and troubled ones, to live among and not have the +weight of their sorrows and cares bear also upon her, and gradually +wear out the earth tenement of her spirit. + +"As far as a fine, sensitive feeling was hers, so far it was mine. I +inherited it. But I would not flatter myself so much as to say that +I, in like manner, partook of her heavenly, loving nature, or that I +in any of her noble traits was worthy of being her son. + +"Many times have I been the bearer of her secret charities. Many +times have I heard the poor bless the unknown hand that placed +bounties at their door. Many times have I seen my mother weep while +I told her of what I heard the recipients of her benevolence tell +their neighbors, and the many conjectures in their minds as to who +the donor could be. And, O, there was joy sparkling in her eyes when +I told her of what I had seen and heard! The grateful poor, +concluding, after all their surmising, that, as they could not tell +for a certainty who it was who gave them food and clothing, they +would kneel down and thank God; for, said they, in their honest, +simple manner, He knows. The benevolent hand cannot hide itself from +his presence, or escape his reward. + +"My father was quite a different person. How it was they met and +loved, I could not for a long time determine. But one evening my +mother told me all about it, and said he was not the man of her +choice, but of her parents' choice; and that she had never loved him +with that deep and earnest love that alone can bind two hearts in +one embrace. But she said she had endeavored to do her duty towards +him. Good woman! I knew that. 'T was her very nature to do that. 'T +was a law of her being, and she could not evade it. + +"My father was a rough, coarse-minded man. He held an office under +the government, and, from being accustomed to the exercise of some +little authority without doors, became habituated to a morose, +ill-natured manner of words and behavior within our home. I remember +how I changed my tone of voice, and my mode of action, when at night +he came home. With my mother I talked and laughed, and played +merrily in her presence, and rather liked to have her look on my +sports; but when my father came I never smiled. I sat up on my chair +in one corner as stiff and upright as the elm-tree, in front of our +house. I never played in his presence. I seldom heard a kind word +from him. My mother used to call me 'Berty, my dear,' when she +wished me; but my father always shouted, sternly, 'Egbert, come +here, sir!' and I would tremblingly respond, 'Sir.' + +"Few persons seemed to love him; those who did, did so with an eye +to business. It was policy in them to flatter the man who could +favor them pecuniarily, and they hesitated not to do so. One time, +when my father's vote and influence were worth five thousand pounds +to his party, and he exhibited symptoms of withholding them, he had +rich presents sent him, and every night some half a dozen or more +would call in and sit and talk with him, and tell him how admirably +all the schemes he had started for the good of the town had +succeeded, and in all manner of ways would flatter the old +gentleman, so that he would be quite pleasant all the next day. At +this time handsome carriages came to take him to ride, and gentlemen +proposed an afternoon's shooting or fishing, or sport of some kind, +and my father always accepted and was always delighted. The simple +man, he couldn't see through the gauze bags they were drawing over +his head! lie did not notice the nets With which they were +entangling his feet. When election came, he gave his vote, and did +not keep back his influence. + +"My father was not benevolent to any great degree. He gave, it is +true. He gave to missionary societies, to education and tract +societies, and his name was always found printed in their monthly +reports; but he never gave, as my mother did, to the poor around us, +unseen, unknown. Not even he knew of my mother's charitable acts; +but all the town knew of his, and he was looked upon by the great +mass of public mind to be the most benevolent. But it was not so. +Far from it. One shilling from my mother, given with the heart, with +sympathy, given for the sake of doing good, not for the sake of +popularity, was a greater gift than a hundred pounds from my +father's hand, given as he always gave it. + +"I attended school but little. My mother wished me to have a good +education, but my father said if I could 'figure' well it was +enough. I was taken from school and put in a store,--a place which I +abhorred. I was put there to sell tape, and pins, and thread, and +yarn; and I was kept behind the counter from early morn until late +at night. + +"I had one brother, but his mind was nothing like mine. He partook +of my father's nature. We seldom agreed upon any matter, and I +always chose to be alone rather than with him. I do not think I was +wrong in this, for our minds were of different casts. Neither of us +made our minds or our dispositions. There was, therefore, no blame +upon any one, if, on account of the difference in our mental +organizations, our affinities led us apart. It was a perfectly +natural result of a natural cause. + +"I will not weary you with more detail of my life to-night; but +to-morrow, if you have any interest in what I have begun to tell +you, I will tell you more." + +I had noticed that he began to be exhausted with his effort, and was +about to propose that a future time be allotted to what more he +chose to relate. + +I assured him of an increased interest in him, and suggested +removing him to a good boarding-house. He at first declined, but +upon further urging he accepted, and, having seen that all his wants +were for that night attended to, we left; with the understanding +that a carriage should convey him to more commodious quarters on the +morrow, if the weather permitted. + +I had no fears of my companion as we rode up the wharf and drove +through the streets, the storm beating down furiously around us. I +reached my home, and Mr. Jenks thanked me for my kindness in blindly +following him, and I in return thanked him for the pleasant +adventure to which he had introduced me. + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +The next morning the weather was clear and the air invigorating, as +is often the case after a severe storm. With my neighbor Jenks I +procured a good home for the wanderer, and in a short time he was +located in it. + +I was soon seated by his side, and he continued his narrative. + +"I told you last evening of my parents, and of my entrance upon +business life. About that time a great sorrow visited me. My mother +was taken sick, rapidly declined, and in a fortnight left this state +of existence. Beyond this world it seemed all dark to me then; but +now it is brighter there than here, and there is no uncertainty in +my mind respecting that coming state. + +"I have not told you she died. She did not die. There is no such +word as death in my vocabulary. She did not sleep even. She passed +from a crumbling, falling building into an enduring and beautiful +temple, not made with hands. But to me, then, as I have told you, it +was all dark; and it was not a wonder that I was sad, and that it +was indeed a heavy sorrow that rested on my spirit. Even with the +faith that she had, the thought of being left with a man such as my +father was would have made me sad. You will wonder, perhaps, that I +had not learned from such a mother as mine a clearer faith than that +which possessed my mind at the time of her departure; but I had not. +It was impossible for me to accept a truth with that amount of +evidence which satisfied her mind, and I doubted, at times, a future +existence. But I do not doubt it now. I have had proof,--abundant +proof; and, O, the joy that fills my soul is unfathomable. + +"My father now became more tyrannical than ever, and everything +tended to destroy whatever there was of my mother's disposition in +my character. But nothing could force it from me. I was sensitive as +ever to the remarks and the looks of all with whom I came in +contact, and the severe and unmerited reprimands of my father almost +crushed me. + +"Several years passed by. I wasted them in a retail store. It was, +however, not a complete loss to me, for there I formed an +acquaintance with a young lady, the daughter of a poor collier. Our +friendship ripened to mutual love, and we were happy only when in +each other's presence. Our interviews were frequent, and unknown to +any one but ourselves for a long time. At length my father became +acquainted with the facts. He called me to his room one night, and +scolded me, threatened to disinherit me, and treated me as though I +had been guilty of the most heinous crime. + +"'You miserable, good-for-nothing scamp!' said he. 'Why do you seek +to lower yourself in the estimation of every man, and bring disgrace +on the name and fame of my family, by associating with the poor +daughter of a worthless laborer?' + +"This fired my brain; but I was timid and dare not speak my thoughts +in his presence. I listened. He showered upon me all the evil +epithets his tongue could dispense, and, raving like a madman, he +pushed me to the door, and told me to cease my visits upon Evelina +or leave his house forever and change my name, for he would not +shelter me, or own any relationship to me. + +"Poor girl! She little thought how much I that night endured for +her, or how much I was willing to bear. She was a beautiful +being,--so much like my mother, so gentle, and loving, and +benevolent! We were one. True, no earthly law recognized us as such; +but God's law did,--a law written with his hand on our beating +hearts. We had been joined far, far back, ages gone by, when our +souls first had their birth,--long ere they became enshrined in earth +forms. The church might have passed its ceremonial bond about us, +but that would have been mere form--that would have been a union +which man might have put asunder, and often does. But of a true +union of souls it is useless to say 'what God has joined let no man +put asunder;' for he cannot any more than he can annul any other of +his great laws. + +"My father's reprimands and threatenings could not, therefore, +dissolve that bond which united me to Evelina, and she to me. So, as +soon as I left his room, I sought her presence. I told her all, and +she wept to think of what she had caused, as she said. But I tried +to convince her, and succeeded in doing so finally, that it was not +she who had caused it. She had not made her soul or its attributes. +God had made them, and if they were in unison with mine, or if they +had attractions that drew my. soul to hers, the law under which they +came together and would not be separated was God's law, and we could +not escape it. + +"That night we walked down by the river's side, and we talked of +those great principles that govern us. We studied, there in the +clear moonlight, God's works, and I asked her whether in loving the +beautiful and the good we did not love God. + +"Her mind opened a bright effulgence of light to my spirit. 'Yes,' +said she, 'it is even so. God is a spirit. He fills immensity,--and +if so, then he imbues this little flower with his own life, for he +is the life of all things. It is as he made it, and as we love it we +love him. When we love a being for his goodness, we love God; for +that goodness is of God." + +"'Yes,' I remarked; 'I see it is so. I do not love you as a material +being. It is not your flesh and bones merely that I love, but it is +the goodness dwelling in you. As that goodness is more abundant in +you than in others, in like degree does God dwell in you more than +in them. If, therefore, I love you more than I love them, I love God +more than I should did my supreme love find its highest object in +them. In loving you, therefore, I love God so far as you possess the +characteristics by which we personify that being. It is not wrong, +therefore, to love you or the flower; for goodness exists in one, +and beauty in the other, and they both are of God, and in loving +them we love God.' + +"We parted at a late hour. I went with her to the door of the little +cottage in which she dwelt with her father. Her mother had died, as +they call it, long years before; and, as I kissed her, and pressed +her hand and bade her good-by, I felt more strongly than ever a +determination to bear any privation, endure any suffering, for her +sake. + +"I reached my home. I found the doors fastened and all quiet. The +moon shone very clear, and it was nearly as light as at noon-day. I +tried the windows, and fortunately found one of them unfastened. I +raised it very carefully, and crept in, and up to my room. The next +morning at breakfast my father spoke not a word, but I knew by his +manner that he was aware of my disregard of his command, and I +thought that all that prevented him from talking to me was a want of +language strong enough to express the passionate feelings that ran +riot in his soul. + +"I judged rightly. For at night his passion found vent in words, and +such a copious torrent of abuse that I shuddered. Nevertheless, I +yielded not one position of my heart, and was conscious that I had a +strength of purpose that would ever defend the right, and could not +be swayed by mere words. + +"There was no limit to my father's abuse when it became known to a +few of his friends that I had been seen in company with the +collier's daughter. I endured all, and was willing to endure more. +He seemed to have a peculiar dislike of Evelina's father, as also to +her. This I could not account for. + +"At length I became of age, and on my birthday my father called me +to him, and, in his usual stern, uncompromising way, asked me if I +persisted in paying attention to Evelina. I answered promptly that I +did. I had had so many conflicts that I had lost much of my +timidity, and I now defined my position clear, and maintained it +resolutely. + +"'Then leave my house at once!' said my father. 'I throw you from me +as I would a reptile from my clothes; and go, go with my curse upon +you! Take your penniless girl, and build yourself a name if you can; +for you have lost the one you might have held with honor to yourself +and to me. I had chosen for you a wife, a rich and fashionable lady, +the daughter of a nobleman, and one of whom to be proud; but you +have thought best to be your own judge in such matters, and you made +a fool of yourself. But you shall not stamp my family with such +folly, or wed its name to dishonor.' + +"I endeavored to reply; but he would hear no word from my lips. He +sprang from his seat, walked the room in the greatest rage, and +whenever I opened my mouth to speak would shout, 'Stop your noise, +you ungrateful, heartless wretch!' + +"He was determined to carry out his threat. That night he locked me +out of the house, and took special pains to make the windows fast. +In the papers of the next day he advertised me as disinherited and +cast off, and warned the world against me. He also circulated false +reports respecting me, and spared neither money nor effort to injure +me. He prejudiced my employers, so that they at once discharged me, +without a moment's warning. And all this from a father! How often I +thought of that loving, sympathizing mother! How often I recognized +her presence in my silent hours of thought! Dear, sainted friend! +she was with me often, unseen but not unfelt. + +"Evelina faltered not. She bore all the opprobrium of false friends +with a brave heart, and rested on my promises as the dove rests its +weary head beneath its downy wing. Her father had confidence in me. + +"It was astonishing how changed all things were. The day previous, I +was the son of a wealthy and influential man. I was respected, +apparently, by all. Very many professed a friendship for me, and +told me how much they valued my company. Young ladies politely +recognized me as I passed through the streets; and old ladies +singled me out as an example for their sons to follow. But on that +day no one knew me. Not one of those who had professed such +friendship for me came and took me by the hand when I needed their +friendly grasp the most! Young ladies, when we met, cast their +glances on the earth, on the sky, anywhere but on me. Old ladies +scandalized me, and warned the objects of their paternal +consideration against a course like mine. + +"And why all this? It was because I loved Evelina,--a poor man's only +child!" + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +Egbert's health seemed to improve now that he was in more +comfortable quarters, and had sympathizing friends to whom he could +narrate the story of his life. In the course of a few days he rode +out a short distance. After a rest of a week, during which his +strength had increased, he continued his narrative, in which we had +become deeply interested. + +"I found a home at the cottage of Evelina. We made arrangements to +be married according to law, and in due time I applied to the +minister of the town to perform the ceremonies. I was surprised when +he refused; yet I well knew what inducements led him to act thus. My +father was the leading man in his church. The minister looked to him +as one of the chief pillars of support to his society, and +consequently to his means of livelihood. There was no one in the +town upon whom the public eye, religious or political, rested with +more hope than upon my father. He exhorted in the meetings with an +earnestness worthy of the most devoted follower of Cromwell; and was +as strict and rigid in the performance of his public religious +duties as the most precise Puritan of the old school could wish. Did +the chapel need repairs, my father was consulted. Was it proposed to +make a donation to the pastor, my father was expected to head the +list with a large subscription, and he did. Was it strange, then, +that he gave such a decided refusal to my simple request, knowing, +as he did, and everybody did, my circumstances? It seems not. +Perhaps it was foolish for me to ask a favor of such a man; but I +did, and he had an opportunity of exhibiting his allegiance to +public opinion, and his disregard of the voice within, that must +have commanded him to do right, and to adhere to truth and justice +in the face of all opposition. + +"It was soon noised abroad that I had endeavored to get married and +had failed. There was great rejoicing, and one old lady took the +trouble to send her man-servant to me with the message that she was +glad to know that her good pastor had indignantly refused to place +his seal on my bond of iniquity. + +"The dark cloud that all this time overshadowed my path rested also +on the path of Evelina's father. This was all that troubled me. He, +good man, had more true religion in his soul than the pastor and all +the people in theirs; yet he was scorned and ill-treated. All this +was not new to him. He had lived in that town four-and-forty years, +and had always been frowned upon by the boasting descendants of +proud families, and had received but little good from their hands. +The church looked upon him as a poor, incorrigible sinner. No one +spoke to him, unless it was to ask him to perform some hard job. It +was not strange that, judging from the works of the people who +called themselves Christians, he had a dislike to their forms. He +chose a living Christianity; and theirs, with all its rites, with +all its pretensions, with all its heralded faith, was but a mockery +to him. It was but a shadow of a substantial reality. He chose the +substance; he rejected the shadow, and men called him 'infidel' who +had not a tithe of vital religion in their own souls, while his was +filled to repletion with that heavenly boon. For a time the war of +persecution raged without, and slander and base innuendoes the +weapons were employed against us. But within all was peace and +quiet, and our home was indeed a heaven,--for we judged that heaven +is no locality, no ideal country staked off so many leagues this +way, and so many that; but that it is in our own souls, and we could +have our heaven here as well as beyond the grave. We thought Christ +meant so when he said 'the kingdom of heaven is within you'! We +pitied those who were always saying that when they reached heaven +there would be an end of all sorrow, and wished they could see as we +did that heaven was to reach them, not they to reach it. We feared +that the saying of Pope, 'Man never is, but always to be, blest,' +might prove true of them, and that even when they had passed the +boundary which they fancied divided them from heaven, they would yet +be looking on to so the future state for the anticipated bliss. + +"What cared we, in our home, for the jibes and sneers and falsehoods +without? Those who are conscious of being in the right have no fear +of the goal to which their feet are tending. I heard from my father +often, but never met him. By some means he always evaded me. That +which troubled him most was the calmness with which I received the +results of his course towards me. He knew that I was happy and +contented. This was what troubled him. Had I manifested a great +sorrow and writhing beneath what he deemed troubles, he would have +greatly rejoiced, and so would all his friends. I had accumulated a +small property, and was prospering, notwithstanding the efforts of +many to embarrass me. A few began to see that I was not so bad as I +had been represented to be, and they began to sympathize with me. +This aroused my father's anger afresh. We had been married by a +magistrate of another town, and the clouds above our outside or +temporary affairs seemed breaking away, when an event occurred that +frustrated all our plans. + +"One evening I heard the cry of 'fire,' and, on attempting to go +out, I found the entry of the house filled with a dense smoke. The +smoke poured into the room in which Evelina and her father were +seated. I rushed to the window, dashed it out, and, having seen my +wife and her father safely deposited without, secured what of the +property I could. In a few moments the cottage was enveloped in +flames, and it was not long before no vestige of our happy home +remained, except the smoking embers and a heap of ashes. We were +now, indeed, poor in gold and lands; but it seemed to each of us +that what had been taken from our purse had been put in our hearts, +for we loved each other more than ever before, if such a love were +possible; and, though we received but little sympathy from without, +we had a fund of sympathy within, that made us forget our seeming +sorrows, and rejoice in bliss unspeakable. + +"It was reported that I had fired the cottage. I well knew with whom +this charge originated, and I had good reasons for believing that +the match that fired our house came from the same source. + +"Our condition was such that we concluded to leave the place where +so much had been endured, and those who had strewn our path with +what they intended for thorns and brambles. + +"We left. We journeyed to Liverpool, and engaged a passage in a New +York packet for the United States. It was a beautiful morning when +we set sail, and everything seemed reviving in the possessing of +life. Our ship's flags looked like smiling guardians as they +fluttered above us, and all on board the 'White Wing' were happy. +There were about three hundred passengers. There were old and young; +some travelling on business, some for a place they might call their +home, some for pleasure, and a few for the improvement of their +health. There were entire families, and, in some cases, those of +three generations. How varied were the hopes that filled their +souls! how different the objects that led them forth over the deep +and trackless sea, exposing themselves to countless perils! + +"Evelina and myself mused thus as we sat on the deck at twilight of +the first day out, and watched the movements, and listened to the +various expressions that fell from the lips of the crowded +passengers. + +"She always had a bright gleam of religious, philosophical thought, +with which to illumine every hour of our existence, and radiate, +with heavenly joy, our every conversation. 'There are not more +dangers here than on land,' said she; 'to be true to our inner +consciousness, we must say that wherever we are we are exposed to +peril, and wherever we are we are protected from evil. I have known +a man to cross the ocean a hundred times, and fall at last at his +own door, and by it become maimed for life. There is no such a thing +as an accident. Every result has a legitimate cause. Everything acts +in obedience to undeviating laws of God. We complain when we fall, +but the same law that causes us to fall guides planets in their +course, and regulates every motion of every object. It is only when +we disobey these laws that evil comes, and every transgression +receives its own penalty. It is impossible that it should be +otherwise.' + +"We soon became acquainted with a number of the passengers, and +passed very many pleasant and profitable hours together. Evelina was +the light of every circle, and the days flew by on rapid wings. The +ship had made a rapid passage, and we were fast nearing our destined +haven. + +"One Sabbath evening a storm commenced. The wind blew a hurricane. +Everything on deck was lashed, and the sea rolled and pitched our +vessel about as though it had been but a feather on its surface. We +had all day expected the storm, and were prepared for it. As night +advanced the storm increased. The rain fell in torrents, and the +darkness was most intense. After a while, the lightning came, and +the thunder reverberated with terrific peals over us. There were +shrieks and wailings aboard our vessel, and many a brave heart +quailed beneath the terror upon us. + +"I cared not for myself. My chief concern was for my dear wife and +her father. We kept our state-room for a long time, but at length +deemed it prudent to leave it. As we did so, we heard an awful +crash, and many a shriek and hurried prayer. I myself began to fear, +as the mast and flying rigging went by us; but Evelina, even in such +an hour, had words to cheer us all. She seemed, indeed, more of +heaven than earth; and I cared not for my fate, provided we both met +the same. + +"The captain ordered the boats to be got in readiness, and it was +quickly done. Soon another crash, and another mast fell, bearing to +the raging abyss of waters another company of helpless men, women +and children. + +"I clasped my wife in my arms, and, amid the wreck and frantic crowd +of passengers, sprang to a boat. I placed Evelina in it, and was +just about to assist her father to the same boat, when a large wave +dashed over the ship and bore me alone over the wide waters. I +remembered no more until I opened my eyes, and the sun was shining +brightly all around me, and a young man was bathing my head, and +brushing back my wet hair, while some were standing by expressing +great joy. + +"I soon became conscious of my situation, and I asked for Evelina. +What a sadness filled my soul when I was told she was not +there,--that they had not heard of any such person! Human language is +weak with which to express the sorrow I then felt. Through all my +varied life I had had nothing that so crushed my spirit, and filled +it with a sense of loneliness which it is impossible to describe. I +ascertained that I was on board of a vessel bound to Boston; that I, +was found holding on a raft, almost insensible when found, and quite +so a few moments afterwards. For a long time no one expected that I +would recover my consciousness, but the constant efforts of the +passengers and crew were finally crowned with success, and I opened +my eyes. + +"I gave all the information I could respecting the fate of the +vessel, but thoughts of my wife, and surmisings as to her fate and +that of her father, often choked my utterance, and my words gave way +for my tears. + +"The next morning I was delirious, with a fever. My anxiety for my +wife, and the exposure I had suffered, brought my body and mind into +a very critical state. For several days I talked wildly. At the +close of the fifth, I became sane in mind. I was yet quite ill. That +night the ship entered Boston harbor. It anchored in the stream, and +the next morning it hauled up to a wharf." + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + +"I was a perfect stranger. The captain was attentive to my wants, +and made me as comfortable as he could. You will remember how neat +and quiet all appeared when, with my friend Jenks, you called on me. +All of the passengers took an interest in my welfare, and made up a +purse for me; but they could not remain long with me. They had been +long absent from home, and were desirous of seeing their families +and friends, or else they had business in this or some other place. +One of them introduced my friend Jenks to me; and, O, sir, he has +been, indeed, a good friend to one having so few claims on his +attention. He told me one night of you, and, agreeable to his +promise, he brought you to the cabin of the vessel. The rest you +know." + +Egbert had regained his strength to a great degree, and gave me the +close of his narrative while we were having a pleasant drive through +the country. A month had passed since we first met, and though many +of the passengers had been heard from, the names of Evelina and her +father had not been reported. + +When we reached our home, from our afternoon's drive, I took up an +evening paper, and the first paragraph I read was the following: + +"MORE FROM THE WHITE WING.-The Orion, which arrived at this port +this morning, brought fifteen passengers, rescued from the boats of +the 'White Wing.' Among the names mentioned in the above notice were +these: "Mrs. Evelina Lawrence and her father, of England;" and, at +the conclusion, was the following item: + +"The case of Mrs. Lawrence and her father is one of those that +loudly call for a bestowal of public sympathy and aid in her behalf. +She has lost a beloved husband,--one who, judging from the heavy +sorrow that oppresses her, and the sighs and tears that break her +recital of the events of their last hours together, was bound with +the closest bonds of soul affinity to her own spirit. They must have +been one, and are, indeed, one now, though to mortal eyes separated. +We commend her to the kind charities of those who would follow the +golden rule of doing unto others as they, in like circumstances, +would have others do unto them." + +Egbert noticed my interest in that which I was reading; indeed, it +would have been strange if he had not; for I could not suppress my +joy, and it found expression in an occasional exclamation. + +At length, I handed him the paper. + +"My God! my wife!" he exclaimed, and he actually danced with joy and +thankfulness. He would have rushed into the street, and by sudden +exposure have caused a relapse of disease, had not I taken him by +the hand, and forcibly, for a few moments, restrained him. So +excessive was his happiness that, for a short time, he was delirious +with joy. He laughed and wept by turns: at one moment extending +his arms, and folding them as if clasping a beloved form; the next, +trembling as if in some fearful danger. But this did not long +continue. He soon became calm and rational, and we called a carriage +for the purpose of going to the vessel on board of which he expected +to greet his wife and her father. + +My neighbor Jenks accompanied us, and, as we rode hastily along, my +mind reverted to the night when first I met Egbert. That eventful +evening came more vividly to mind as we found ourselves on the same +wharf, and the carriage door was opened, and we alighted on nearly +the same spot that we did at that time. + +Egbert leaped from the carriage, and at one bound was on the +vessel's deck. He flew to the cabin, and in a moment I heard the +loud exclamations on either side, "My Evelina!" "My Egbert!" Mr. +Jenks and myself followed below. An old gentleman met us, and, +though a stranger, he grasped a hand of ours in each of his, and +wept with joy as he bade us welcome. The cabin was witness of a +scene which a painter well might covet for a study. In close embrace +Egbert and Evelina mingled joys that seldom are known on earth. The +old man held our hands, his face raised, eyes turned upward, while +tears of happiness, such as he had never before known, coursed down +his features. The officers of the ship came hurrying in, and the +crew darkened the gangway with their presence. What a joyous time +was that! The evening was passed in recounting the adventures of +each; and even I had something to add to the general recital. It +appeared that the boat in which Egbert had placed his charge was +safely cleared of the wreck; and, after being floated about two +days, was met by an English ship bound to London. They, together +with about twenty others who were in the boat, were soon comfortably +cared for. At the expiration of a few weeks, they reached London, +and were there placed on board a vessel bound to Boston, at which +place they in due season arrived. The grief of Mrs. L. during all +this time I will not attempt to describe. The mind of my reader can +better depict it than I can with pen. Hope buoyed her up. And, +though she had seen him swept from her side into the waters where +waves towered up to the skies and sank again many fathoms below, yet +she did hope she might see him again on earth. + +In the silent hour of night, as she lay and mused of those things, +she thought she could hear a sweet voice whispering in her ear, +"Berty lives, and you will meet him once again." And, as if in +response to the voice, she said in her own mind, "I know he lives; +but it may be in that bright world where, unencumbered with these +mortal frames, we roam amid ever-enduring scenes." The voice again +said, "On earth, on earth." + +But now they had met. It was no mere vision now, and the truth +flashed upon her mind that that voice she had heard and thought a +dream was not all a dream. And then she mused on as she was wont to +do, and, after relating to us the incident, she said, "May it not be +that much of our life that we have thought passed in dreamland, and +therefore among unreal things, has been spent with actual +existences? For what is an 'unreal thing'? It would not be a 'thing' +had it no existence; and what is the 'it' that we speak of? Can we +not then conclude that there is nothing but what is and must have an +existence, though not so tangible to our senses as to enable us to +handle it or see it? What we call 'imagination' may be, after all, +more real than the hard stones beneath our feet-less indestructible +than they." + +Thus she spake, and her theory seemed very plausible to me, though +my friend Jenks, who was an exceedingly precise, matter-of-fact man, +could not see any foundation for the theory. + +It was a late hour when Mr. Jenks and myself passed to our homes. +The next day Evelina and her father were coseyly quartered at the +house in which Egbert had boarded. + +In the course of a a few weeks they arranged to go to the west, and +locate in a flourishing town on the banks of the Ohio, not many +miles above Cincinnati. + +Mr. Jenks and myself accompanied them to the cars; and, amid our +best wishes for their success, and their countless expressions of +gratitude to us, the train started, and in a few moments the +Disinherited was going to an inheritance which God had provided, and +which lay in rich profusion awaiting their possession. + +Our hearts went with them. We could truly say they were worthy God's +blessing; yet we had not need ask him to bestow it upon them; for +their very existence was a proof that he gave it to them. + + + + + + +THE SEASONS ALL ARE BEAUTIFUL. + + + + + + THE seasons all are beautiful, + There is not one that's sad,-- + Not one that does not give to thee + A thought to make thee glad. + I have heard a mournful cadence + Fall on my listening ear,-- + 'T was some one whispering, mournfully, + "The Autumn days are here." + But Autumn is not sorrowful,-- + O, full of joy is it; + I love at twilight hour to watch + The shadows as they flit,-- + The shadows of the falling leaves, + Upon their forest bed, + And hear the rustling music tones + Beneath the maiden's tread. + The falling leaf! Say, what has it + To sadden human thought? + For are not all its hours of life + With dancing beauty fraught? + And, having danced and sang its joy, + It seeketh now its rest,-- + Is there a better place for it + Than on its parent's breast? + Ye think it dies. So they of old + Thought of the soul of man. + But, ah, ye know not all its course + Since first its life began, + And ye know not what future waits, + Or what essential part + That fallen leaf has yet to fill, + In God's great work of art. + Count years and years, then multiply + The whole till ages crowd + Upon your mind, and even then + Ye shall not see its shroud. + But ye may see,--if look you can + Upon that fallen leaf,-- + A higher life for it than now + The life you deem so brief. + And so shall we to higher life + And purer joys ascend; + And, passing on, and on, and on, + Be further from our end. + This is the truth that Autumn brings,-- + Is aught of sorrow here? + If not, then deem it beautiful, + Keep back the intrusive tear. + Spring surely you'll call beautiful, + With its early buds and flowers, + Its bubbling brooks, its gushing streams, + And gentle twilight hours. + And Summer, that is beautiful, + With fragrance on each breeze, + And myriad warblers that give + Free concerts 'mong the trees. + I've told you of the Autumn days, + Ye cannot call them sad, + With such a lesson as they teach, + To make the spirit glad. + And Winter comes; how clear and cold, + In dazzling brilliance drest!- + Say, is not Winter beautiful, + With jewels on his crest? + Thus are all seasons beautiful; + They all have joy for thee, + And gladness for each living soul + Comes from them full and free. + + + + + + +SPRING. + + + + + +IT is early spring-time. The winter has passed with reluctant step, +and even now the traces of its footsteps are discernible on every +side. At noon of these bright days the sun looks down smilingly upon +the soil it seeks to bless with its cheerful, cheering rays. The +tiny grass-blades peep out, and stretch forth their graceful forms, +as if to thank the unknown source from which their enjoyments +spring. "Unknown," I said. Is it "fancy" that makes my soul withdraw +that word, and suggest that it may be that even that blade of grass +recognizes the hand that ministers to all its wants? I think not. I +think that what we term "fancy" and "imagination" are the most real +and enduring portions of existence. They are of that immortal part +that will live after crumbling column and the adamantine foundations +of earth have passed away, and lost their present identity in +countless forms of a higher existence. Are not all the forces of +nature unseen, yet are they not real? Most assuredly they are. But I +am talking of spring. I hinted at winter's tardy withdrawal. Look +you how that little pile of snow hides itself in yonder shady +nook,--right there where the sun's rays never come; right there, as +if ashamed, like a man out of place,--pity that it lingers. Here and +there, at the side of the brook, a little ice is waiting to be +dissolved, that it may bound away, bright and sparkling, over the +glistening pebbles. + +The farmer opens his barn doors that the warm, fresh breeze may +ramble amid its rafters. The cattle snuff the refreshing winds, that +bear tidings of green fields. The housewife opens door and windows, +and begins to live more without than within. + +Let us to the woods. How the old leaves rustle beneath our tread! +Winter bides his cold, wet hand underneath these leaves and +occasionally we feel his chilling touch as we pass along. But from +above the pleasant sunshine comes trickling down between the +branches, and the warm south wind blows cheeringly among the trees. +Didst thou not hear yon swallow sing, Chirp, chirp?--In every note he +seemed to say, "'T is spring, 't is spring." + +Yes, 't is spring; bright, glorious season, when nature awakes to +new life and forest-concerts begin. + +Up with the window, throw open the closed shutter, let the fresh air +in, and let the housed captive breathe the invigorating elixir of +life; better by far than all your pills and cordials, and more +strengthening than all the poor-man's plasters that have been or +ever will be spread. + +The bale and hearty youth, whose clear and boisterous laugh did the +old man good, as he heard it ring forth on the clear air of a +winter's night, has become satiated with the pleasures of +sleigh-rides and merry frolics, and welcomes the spring-time of year +as a man greeteth the return of an old friend from a long journey. +How his bright eye flashes with the joyous soul within him, as he +treads the earth, and beholds the trees put forth their buds, and +hears the warblings of the birds once again, where a few weeks since +winter brooded in silence! + +In town and country, the coming of spring changes the general +appearance of affairs. Not early nature, but men change. There is no +longer the cold and frigid countenance. Men do not walk with quick +and measured tread, but pass carelessly, easily along, as though it +was a luxury and not a task to walk. Children are seen in little +companies, plucking the flowers and forcing the buds from their +stems, as though to punish them for their tardiness. + +The very beasts of burden and of the field partake of the general +joy; as Thomson says, "Nor undelighted by the boundless spring Are +the broad monsters of the foaming deep From the deep ooze and, gelid +cavern roused, They flounce and tumble in unwieldy joy." + +In the town storekeepers obtain fresh supplies of goods; the +mechanic contracts new jobs; the merchant repairs his vessel, and +sends it forth, deeply freighted with the productions of our own +clime, to far distant, lands; and the people generally brush up, and +have the appearance of being a number of years younger than they +were a month since. + +In the country, the farmer is full of work. The ploughs are brought +forth from their winter quarters, the earth is opened, that the warm +sun and refreshing rains may prepare it for use; old fences are +repaired, and new ones made; the housewife brushes up inside and +out, and with the aid of the whitewash every old fence and shed is +made clean and pleasing to the eye. + +Welcome spring, a hearty welcome to thee! Touch the cheek of the +maiden, and make it as bright as the rose; with thy fresh air give +health to the sick and joy to the downcast. Thou bringest with thee +sweet-smelling flowers, and the birds of the woods carol forth thy +welcome. + + + + + + +A TEXT FOR A LIFETIME. + + + + + +ONE word for humanity. One word for those who dwell in want around +us. O, ye who know not what it is to hunger, and have naught to meet +your desire; ye who never are cold, with naught to warm your chilled +blood, forget not those who endure all these things. They are your +brethren. They are of the same family as yourself, and have a claim' +upon your love, your sympathy, your kindness. + +Live not for yourselves. The world needs to learn this lesson. +Mankind have to learn that only as they bless others are they +themselves blest. It was the fine thought of the good Indian, +Wah-pan-nah, that man should not pile up his dollars,--they may fall +down and crush him,--but spread them out. + +"There be dark spot on you brother's path,--go lay dollar there and +make it bright," said he. + +And since that suggestion came we have thought it over and over, and +have found it a text for a lifetime of goodness. Go place the bright +dollar in the poor man's hand, and the good you do will be reflected +in rays of gratitude from a smiling face, and fall on you like the +warm sunshine, to cheer and refresh and strengthen your own soul. + +There are in this world too many dollars "piled up," and on the +surface we see but the brightness of one. Were these all spread out, +what a wide field of radiant beauty would greet our vision! Instead +of being a useless encumbrance, a care, a constant source of +perplexity to one man, this wealth would make every man comfortable +and happy. It would perform its legitimate work, were it not chained +by avarice,--that canker-worm that destroys the fairest portions of +our social system. + +And there is a joy in doing good, and in dispensing the bounties +with which we are blest, that hath no equal in the household of man. +To know that we have fed the hungry, clothed the naked, wiped away +one tear, bathed in the sunlight of hope one desponding spirit, +gives to us a happiness that hoarded wealth, though broad as earth +and high as heaven, cannot impart. + +This is the true wealth. This the wealth that rust cannot corrupt. +There is no other real wealth in the universe. Gold and silver, +houses and lands, are not wealth to the longing, aspiring soul of +man. The joy of the spirit, which is the reward of a good deed, +comes a gift from God, a treasure worthy of being garnered into the +storehouse of an immortal being. + +There was one spot on earth where joy reigned. It was not in marble +palace; but in a low cot, beneath a roof of thatch. + +There was an indwelling sense of duty done; a feeling somewhat akin +to that which we might suppose angels to feel, when a poor, +earth-wearied traveller is relieved by them. + +That was a subject fit for a Raphael's pencil, as she, of form and +feature more angelic than human, sat beside that cottage door, and +her mild blue eye gazed steadfastly up to heaven, and the light of +the moon disclosed to mortal view her calm and beautiful features. + +Two hours previous, over a sick and languishing child a mother bowed +with maternal fondness. She pressed her lips to his chilled +forehead, and wiped the cold sweat from his aching brow. + +"Be patient, my child," said she; "God will provide." And why did +she bid him "be patient"? None could have been more so; for through +the long hours of that long summer day he had lain there, suffered +and endured all; yet not one sigh had arisen from his breast, not +one complaint had passed his parched lips. + +"I know it," said he. And the mother kissed him again, and again +said, + +"God will provide." + +Mother and son! the one sick, the other crushed down with poverty +and sorrow. Yet in this her hour of adversity her trust in the God +of her fathers wavered not; she firmly relied on Him for support, +whom she had never found forgetful of her. The widow and the +fatherless were in that low tenement, and above was the God who had +promised to protect them. + +Again she whispered in the lad's ear, "God will provide." + +The light of that day's sun had not rested upon food in that +dwelling. Heavily the hours passed by. Each seemed longer than that +which had preceded it. + +A rap at the door was heard. She arose and hastened to it. No person +was in sight; but in the moon's bright rays stood a basket, on which +lay a card, stating that it and its contents were for her and her +child, and that on the morrow a nurse and every comfort they might +want would be provided. + +She bowed herself beside it, and thanked God for the gift. Then with +a joyful heart she carried it within, and her child's eye sparkled +as he heard the glad news, that He who watcheth the sparrows had not +forgotten them. + +Let us return now to that thatched cottage. She, whose mild eye +gazeth up to heaven, whilst passing the door of the famishing mother +and child an hour previous, had heard the words with which that +mother had encouraged her dying son. + +With speed the maiden hastened to her home, and from her own limited +store carried forth that basket, and heaven-like bestowed the gift +unseen and unknown, save by Him who seeth and who rewardeth. The +deed of mercy accomplished, she hastened to her home; and now, as +she looks upward, how her eye beams with joy, and her heart breaks +forth in songs of gratitude to Him who made her the instrument of so +much good! + +Gold, with all its power, cannot bring joy unless dealt forth with a +willing heart like hers. The king in his palace, whose sceptre's +sway extends over vast dominions, hath no pleasures capable of +rivalling that which, by an act of charity, was brought to the soul +of that young cottage girl. + +Reader, whatever your condition, you can possess a joy like hers. If +you have not what men call wealth, with which to help the weak and +desponding, you have a smile of sympathy, a look of kindness, a word +of love. Give those, and you shall know what a blessed thing is +Charity. + + + + + + +NOW CLOSE THE BOOK. + + + + + + NOW close the book. Each page hath done its part, + Each thought hath left its impress on the heart. + O, may it be that naught hath here been traced + That after years may wish to have effaced! + O, may it be Humanity hath won + Some slight bestowment by the task now done! + If struggling Right hath found one cheering word, + If Hope hath in desponding heart been stirred, + If Sorrow hath from one lone soul been driven + By one kind word of Sympathy here given, + Then in my soul a living joy shall dwell, + Brighter than art can paint or language tell. + Yes, close the book: the story and the song + Have each been said, and sung. I see the throng + Of gentle ministrants who've led my pen + Withdraw their aid. I hear the word, Amen. + And now to you, who have been with me through + The "Town and Country," I must bid adieu. +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Town and Country, or, Life at Home and Abroad +by John S. 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Adams + +Release Date: November, 2003 [Etext #4669] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on February 26, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Town and Country, or, Life at Home and Abroad +by John S. Adams +******This file should be named 4669.txt or 4669.zip****** + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +The "legal small print" and other information about this book +may now be found at the end of this file. Please read this +important information, as it gives you specific rights and +tells you about restrictions in how the file may be used. + +*** +This etext was created by Charles Aldarondo (Aldarondo@yahoo.com). + +TOWN & COUNTRY. + +OR LIFE AT HOME AND ABROAD, WITHIN & WITHOUT US. + +BY JOHN S. ADAMS. + +BOSTON: + +1855. + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + + + +SAVED BY KINDNESS +THE LOVE OF ELINORE +'TIS SWEET TO BE REMEMBERED +I CALL THEE MINE +THE OLD TREE AND ITS LESSON +VOICES FROM THE SPIRIT LAND +THE BEACON LIGHT +BEAR UP +A WELCOME SONG TO SPRING +THE HOPE OF THE FALLEN +THOUGHTS THAT COME FROM LONG AGO +DETERMINED TO BE RICH +THE HEAVEN-SENT, HEAVEN-RETURNED +FLOWERS, BRIGHT FLOWERS +FORGET ME NOT +WHAT IS TRUTH +THE HOMESTEAD VISIT +THE MARINER'S SONG +LOVE'S LAST WORDS +LIGHT IN DARKNESS +MT. VERNON, AND THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON +FREEDOM'S GATHERING +SONG OF THE BIRD +I CHANGE BUT IN DYING +HE IS THY BROTHER +THE WINE-DEALER'S CLERK +ANGELINA +FAREWELL, MY NATIVE LAND +UNLEARNED TO LOVE +WHAT WAS IT? +LETTERS AND LETTER-WRITING +A VISION OF REALITY +JEWELS OF THE HEART +LIGHT FROM A BETTER LAND +POOR AND WEARY +THE BANDBOX MOVEMENT +NEW ENGLAND HOMES +LOVE THAT WANES NOT. +ONWARD COURAGEOUSLY +A FOREST PIC-NIC SONG +THE WARRIOR'S BRIDE +THE ADVENT OF HOPE +CHILD AND SIRE +A BROTHER'S WELCOME +THE IMMENSITY OF CREATION +A VISION OF HEAVEN +THERE'S HOPE FOR THEE YET +SOLILOQUY OVER THE GRAVE OF A WIFE +THE FUGITIVES +THE UNIVERSAL JUBILEE +THE BATTLE OF THE RED MEN +SUNLIGHT ON THE SOUL +A SONG FROM THE ABSENT +TO THE LOVED ONE AT HOME +TWILIGHT FOREST HYMN +THE SUMMER SHOWER +AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN AUTOMATON +TO THE UNKNOWN DONOR OF A BOUQUET +TO A SISTER IN HEAVEN +I DREAMED OF THEE LAST NIGHT, LOVE +THEY TELL OF HAPPY BOWERS +MAN CANNOT LIVE AND LOVE NOT +BETTER THAN GOLD +GONE AWAY +LINES TO MY MIFE +CHEER UP +TRUST THOU IN GOD +THE MINISTRATION OF SORROW +GIVING PUBLICITY TO BUSINESS +THE MISSION OF KINDNESS +A PLEA FOR THE FALLEN +JOY BEYOND +THE SUMMER DAYS ARE COMING +THE MAN WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING +PRIDE AND POVERTY +WORDS THAT TOUCH THE INNER HEART +OUR HOME +SPECULATION AND ITS CONSEQUENCE +RETROSPECTION +NATURE'S FAIR DAUGHTER, BEAUTIFUL WATER +THE TEST OF FRIENDSHIP +WEEP NOT +RICH AND POOR +THE HOMEWARD BOUND +THE POOR OF EARTH +IF I DON'T OTHERS WILL +NOT MADE FOR AN EDITOR +HERE'S TO THE HEART THAT'S EVER BRIGHT +MORNING BEAUTY +THE RECOMPENSE OF GOODNESS +BRIDAL SONGS +THE JUG AFLOAT +GIVE, AND STAY THEIR MISERY +THE SPIRIT OF MAN +PAUSE AND THINK +LITTLE NELLY +WE SHALL ALL BE HAPPY SOON +REUNION +THE VILLAGE MYSTERY +THE WAYSIDE DEATH +BEAUTY AND INNOCENCE +NIGHT +NOT DEAD, BUT CHANGED +THE DISINHERITED +THE SEASONS ALL ARE BEAUTIFUL +SPRING +A TEXT FOR A LIFETIME +NOW CLOSE THE BOOK + + + + + + +TOWN AND COUNTRY. + +SAVED BY KINDNESS. + +A kind word is of more value than gold or precious stones. + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + + + +"THEN you are here!" said a stern, gruff voice, addressing a pale, +sickly-looking youth, whose frame trembled and whose lip quivered as +he approached one who sat at the side of a low pine table;--it was +his master, a man of about forty, of athletic form, and of power +sufficient to crush the feeble youth. + +"Well," he continued, "if you are sure that you gave it to him, go +to bed; but mind you, whisper-breathe not the secret to a living +soul, on peril of your life! You may evade my grasp, but like blood +I will track you through life, and add a bitter to your every cup of +sweet." + +The lad had no sooner left the room than a man entered, whose +carelessly arranged apparel and excited appearance indicated that +something of vast importance-at least, as far as he was +concerned-burthened his mind. + +"Harry," he said, throwing himself upon a chair, "I fear we are +betrayed-discovered--completely used up." + +"Discovered!" shouted the person addressed. "How? where? why?" + +"It is so, friend Harry. The boy you sent made a sad error." + +"Then murder the boy!" and, clutching a dagger, he motioned to leave +the room, and would have done so to plunge it in the bosom of the +lad, had not his informant interfered, and thus prevented him from +executing so rash and cruel an act. + +"What!-I will-will do it!" he shouted, endeavoring to release +himself from the hands of the other. + +"Never!" was the bold, unwavering response. "Move a step, and death +shall be thy doom. Seest thou that?" and the speaker drew from his +bosom a richly-mounted pistol. + +"Doubtless thou art right," said Harry, in a more calm manner; "the +excitement of the moment urged me to desperation, and, if any but +you had arisen in my path, the glistening steel should have met his +heart. But, Bill, how,--I am confused, my eyes swim,--tell me, how are +we discovered? Must the last act in the great drama of our +fortune-making be crushed in the bud?-and who dare do it?" + +"If you will restrain your indignation, I will tell you." + +"A hard task, yet I will try." + +"That answer will not do; you must say something more positive." + +"Then I say, I will." + +"Enough,--the boy Sim handed the note to the kitchen-girl." + +"But, Bill, think you she suspected its contents?" + +"That I cannot say, but she is inquisitive, and has been known to +unseal letters committed to her care, by some ingenious way she has +invented. She looked uncommonly wise when she handed it to me and +said, 'Mr. Bang, that's of no small importance to you.'" + +"The deuce she did! I fear she deserves the halter," said Harry. + +"What, with the h off?" + +"No, there is too much Caudleism in her to make her worthy of that; +but this is no time for our jokes. Your suspicions are too true; but +how shall we act? what plans shall we adopt?" + +"None, Harry, but this;--we must act as though we were the most +honest men on earth, and act not as though we suspected any of +suspecting us." + +"O, yes, I understand you, Bill; we must not suspect anything wrong +in her." + +"That's it," answered Bill, and, plunging his hand into his pocket, +he drew from thence a small scrap of greasy, pocket-worn paper, and +read a few words in a low whisper to his friend Harry. A nod from +the latter signified his approval. He returned the mysterious +memorandum to his pocket, and planting upon his head a poor, very +poor apology for a hat, swung his body round a few times on his +heel, and leaving the house; pushed open a small wicket-gate, and +entered the street. He hurriedly trudged along, heaping silent +curses upon the head of Harry's boy, the kitchen-girl, and sundry +other feminine and masculine members of the human family not yet +introduced to the reader. + +Bold Bill gone, Harry sat for some considerable length of time +ruminating upon the strange turn affairs had taken, and indulging in +vague speculations upon whether the next would be as unfavorable; +and at this point of our story we will divulge somewhat of his +history. + +Henry Lang had been in years past a man well-to-do in the world; he +was once a merchant respected for his strict integrity and +punctuality in business affairs; but by a false step, a making haste +to be rich, he was ruined. The great land speculation of '37 and +thereabout was the chief, and in fact the only cause of his +misfortune. On one day he could boast of his thousands, and no paper +held better credit than that signed or endorsed by him. The next, +the bubble broke, his fortune was scattered, his riches took to +themselves wings and flew away, his creditors, like vultures, +flocked around and speedily devoured what little remained of his +once large possessions. He was a man easily affected by such +occurrences, and they deeply wounded his sensitive feelings. What +should he do? He looked around upon those who once professedly loved +him; but no hand was extended, no heart sympathized with him in the +hour of trouble. He left his country, and with it a wife and one +child, a daughter, lovely, if not in personal appearance, in highly +virtuous and intellectual qualities, which, after all, will be +admitted to be of more value than that which time withers and +sickness destroys. + +With a sad heart Mr. Lang left these and the spot of earth around +which many fond recollections clustered. After twenty months of +tedious wanderings, he returned, but he was a changed man; his +ambitious spirit had been crushed, all his hopes: had departed, and +he gave himself up to the fanciful freaks of a disordered mind. +Defeated in his honest endeavors to obtain a livelihood, he was now +seeking out dishonest ways and means to retrieve his fallen fortune. +He sought for those of a kindred spirit, nor was he long in finding +such; in a short time he became acquainted, and soon after +connected, with a gang of adventurous men, about six in number, who +by various fraudulent means were each amassing much wealth. + +"And he deserted me in this my time of need! Can it be true that he +has gone? For him I would willingly have endured any privation. Did +he not know that my love was strong? Could he not believe me when I +said, that, as I joyed with him in his prosperity, I would mourn +with him in its reverse?-that I could ever be near to comfort and +console,--one with him at all times, under all circumstances?" + +"Comfort yourself, dear mother!" said a calm voice, "Remember that +these trials are for our good, and that the sorrows of earth are but +to prepare us for the joys of heaven. Cheer up, mother! let those +thoughts rejoice thy heart! Despair not, but take courage!" + +With such words did the daughter administer consolation to the +afflicted, when hearing that her husband had forsaken her and sailed +for a foreign port. It was indeed a heavy blow, and she felt it +severely. She could have endured the thought of having all her +earthly possessions taken from her,--but to be deserted, to be left +at such a time dependent upon the charities of the world for a +subsistence, such a thought she was not prepared to withstand. + +The few words of Julia having been said, a deep silence for some +moments pervaded the room. She sat and gazed up into the face of her +mother, whose tears bore witness to the deep anguish of her soul. +The silence was interrupted by the rising of the latter, who for a +few moments paced the room, and then sank helplessly into a chair. +The attentive child sprang to her relief, a few neighbors were +called in, she was laid upon her bed. That night a severe attack of +fever came upon her; for many days her life was despaired of; but at +length a ray of hope cheered the solitude of the chamber of the +sick, and at the close of six weeks her health was in a great degree +restored. + +"Time heals all wounds," is a common saying, true in some cases, but +not in all. Some wounds there are that sink deep in the heart,--their +pain even time cannot remedy, but stretch far into eternity, and +find their solace there. Others there are which by time are +partially healed;--such was that of Mrs. Lang. During her sickness, +many of the little incidents that before had troubled her passed +from her mind. She now yielded submissively to her sad allotment, +believing, as during her sickness she had often been told, that +afflictions come but for our own good, however paradoxical such a +statement might seem to be. + +The kindness of a neighbor enabled her, with her daughter, to remove +their place of residence. This neighbor-a lady of moderate pecuniary +circumstances-furnished them with needle-work, the compensation for +which enabled them to obtain supplies necessary for a comfortable +living. + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +For some time Mr. Henry Lang sat with his head resting upon his +hands, and with them upon the table. Deep silence prevailed, broken +only, at lengthy intervals, by the loud laugh following the merry +jest of some passer-by, or the dismal creaking of the swing-sign of +an adjacent tavern. + +How long Mr. Lang might have remained in that position is not for us +to determine. But it would have been much longer, had not a loud rap +at the outer door awakened him from his drowsy condition. + +He started at the sound, and, taking in his hand a dim-burning +candle, proceeded to answer the call. Opening the door, a man +closely enveloped in a large cloak and seal-skin cap, the last of +which hung slouchingly about his head and face, inquired, in a +gruff, ill-mannered voice, whether a person unfavorably known to the +police as "Bold Bill" had been there. Harry trembled, knowing his +interrogator to be one of the city watch; yet he endeavored to +conceal his fears and embarrassment by a forced smile, and remarked: + +"That is indeed a strange name, and one of which I have never before +heard. Tell me what he has been about." + +"Why do you think he has been about anything, or why think you I am +acquainted with his actions?" inquired the stranger, in a stern +voice, as though the supreme majesty of the law represented by him +was not to be spoken lightly of. His scrutinizing features relaxed +not in the least, but he looked our hero steadfastly in the face. + +"By the appearance of your dress I judge you to be a watchman, and +as such I suppose you to be in search of that odd-named person on +account of his being suspected of having broken the law." + +"You are right," answered the officer. "I am a watchman! The +authority invested in me is great. I trust I duly appreciate it. I +guard your dwelling when you are slumbering, unconscious of what +takes place around you." + +"You are very kind," remarked Harry, suddenly interrupting him, and +speaking rather ironically than otherwise. + +The watchman continued: "Life is to me nothing unless I can employ +it in doing good. Do you understand me?" + +"Perfectly." + +"Will you walk in?" inquired Mr. Lang, as a sudden gust of wind +nearly extinguished his light. + +"No, I thank you; that would be of no service to my fellow-men; and, +as I am in search of the man who committed the robbery, ten minutes +ago, upon Mr. Solomon Cash, the broker, I must-" + +"Robbery!" exclaimed Harry, appearing perfectly astonished at the +thought. "O, the degeneracy of the nineteenth century,--the +sinfulness of the age!" + +"Amen!" responded the officer; and, pulling his large, loose cloak +more closely about him, he made a motion to continue on in the +service of his fellow-men. + +"But wait, my good man," said Harry. "Am I to suppose, from what you +said, that 'Bold Bill' is the perpetrator of this base crime?" + +"Precisely so," was the laconic reply; and the man moved on in +execution of his benevolent designs. + +"He should be brought to justice," said Harry, as he turned to +enter. No sooner, however, had he closed the door, than he burst +forth in a loud laugh. This was soon changed to seriousness, for he +became confident that his friend Bill was in danger. To shield him, +if guilty, from detection, and protect him, if innocent, was now his +great object. But where should he find him? That was a problem he +could not solve. The boy was sleeping soundly; he must awaken him, +he must go out in search of his friend. + +With this intention, he dressed himself in a stout, heavy overcoat, +and, locking the door hurriedly, walked up the street. On he went, +as though his life depended upon whether he reached a certain square +at a certain time. He looked at nothing save some far-distant +object, from which, as it approached, he withdrew his eyes, and +fixed them on an object yet distant. Turning a corner, a collision +took place between him and another man, who appeared to be in as +much haste as himself. He was about to proceed, when he who had met +him so abruptly struck him very familiarly upon the shoulder, +saying, as he did so, "Harry, how are you?-good luck-tin-lots of +it-watch-haste." + +The person thus addressed was not long in discovering who it was +that spoke to him, and from his words and actions that he had reason +to be in some haste. It was he for whom he was in search; and, being +aware that the nature of the case demanded despatch, he cordially +grasped his hand, and, without another word between them, they in a +short time reached the dwelling of Mr. Lang. + +"What are the facts now?" inquired Harry, after having narrated the +incident that had occurred since he left, namely, the watchman's +visit. + +"Then you think there is no danger in my staying here?" inquired +Bill. + +"Not in the least," replied Harry; "for I positively asserted that +you was not here, and strongly intimated that I knew no person of +your name. Danger! there is none; so proceed, friend Bill,--but a +little wine." + +Wine is an indispensable with all rogues; it nerves to lawlessness, +and induces them, when under its influence, to commit acts which in +their sober moments they would scorn to perform. + +The wine-glass emptied, Bill proceeded in his narrative. + +"When I left here, I started intending in a direct course to go +home. Musingly I walked along, cursing my fate, and several other +things, too numerous to mention, and speculating upon the probable +success of our scheme, till I arrived in front of the old broker's. +He was just putting up his iron-clamped shutters. I was on the +opposite side, at some distance, yet not so far but that I plainly +saw him enter and pack snugly away in his little black trunk divers +articles of apparently great worth. I carelessly jingled the last +change in my pocket, of value about a dollar or so; and the thought +of soon being minus cash nerved me to the determination of robbing +the broker. Thus resolved, I hid myself behind a pile of boxes that +seemed placed there on purpose, till I heard the bolt spring, and +saw the broker, with the trunk beneath his arm, walk away. As he +entered that dark passage, 'Fogg-lane,' I pulled my cap down over my +face, and dogged him, keeping the middle of the passage; and, seeing +a favorable opportunity, I sprang upon him from behind, and snatched +the box; then left him to his fate. + +"I ran off as fast as my legs, urged on by the cry of 'stop thief,' +would carry me. Notwithstanding the speed at which I ran, I found +the crowd bearing down upon me; and, my hope almost failing, I had +resolved to give in and suffer the consequences, when, seeing a dark +lane, I ran into it, then dodged behind a pump. The crowd ran on; I +found I had escaped. Now, Harry, a friendly shake in honor of my +good luck." + +"As you say," answered Harry, "and it is my humble opinion you are +not entirely free from change." + +"Really, Harry, I don't know what the box contains; however, 't is +confounded heavy. It is full of gold or iron." + +"My face for a scrubber, if small change is n't pretty much the +contents; the fourpences and dimes lie pretty near together, friend +Bill." "But," continued Harry, "'t is best to secrete yourself, box +and all, till the law dogs are silenced. If they come here, I will +throw them a bone; but hark!-" + +The two remained silent; for the sound of approaching footsteps +momentarily grew more distinct. It sounded nearer, and now was in +front of the door. + +"To the closet," whispered Harry; and in a moment Mr. Lang was the +only occupant of the room. He was right in his supposition; for the +door opened; and the same man, in the same cloak, with the same +consequential air, accompanied by others, entered abruptly, and +interrogated Harry rather closely. "Positively, I know nothing about +him," said Mr. Lang. This declaration seemed to have a wonderful +effect upon each of the officers. They gazed steadfastly at him, +then at each other, and their features indicated their belief in +what he said. + +"Benevolent as I am," said the officer, "I must require a strict +search;--not that we suspect him to be on your premises, noble sir, +but my duty demands it." + +The officer, having thus far declared what he thought to be his +duty, proceeded to its performance by pushing open the doors through +which egress could be had to the street, and all others. As chance +would have it, the right door was by them unobserved. But where was +the fugitive? He had been hurried into a closet. It was not after +the manner of most closets. It was about three feet square, at one +side of which was a door communicating with the cellar, through +which any person might pass, and from thence into the street. He +could not stand long and listen to the loud converse of those +without. He felt himself in danger if he remained, and determined +upon leaving the closet. So, having passed into the cellar, he +entered the street. + +The night was dark; the hour late, and no persons stirring. Softly +he crept beneath the window, and, perceiving none in the room but +Harry, softly tapped the glass. Mr. Lang raised his arm, by which +signal Bill understood that he was aware of his having left the +closet. Then through back lanes, seldom pedestrianated, and narrow +passages, he wended his way, with his stolen treasure closely held +beneath the loose folds of his jacket. He passed on, till, reaching +a dark street, he beheld a dim light in a low oyster-cellar; he +entered. A black fellow was the proprietor, cook, &c. Bill asked for +lodgings. + +"Well, massa, dem I 'ave; but I always take pay in advance from +gemmen." + +Bill asked the price. + +"Wall, 'tis fourpance on a chest, and threepance on de floor." + +Mr. Bang availed himself of the best accommodations, and accepted +the chest. He stretched himself upon it, having settled the bill, +but slept little. His mind was continually roaming. Now he imagined +himself in the closet, with scarcely room to breathe, and an +officer's hand on the latch; now groping along untraversed paths, +till, falling into some hole, he awoke from his revery. + +'T was near the dawn of day when, from his house, accompanied by the +boy, Mr. Lang passed out in search of Bill. A light rain was +falling, and in perspective he saw a dull, drizzly sort of a day,--a +bad air for a low-spirited individual. The "blues" are contagious on +such a day. Yet he strove to keep his spirits up, and to make the +best of a bad job. + +As he passed by the office of the broker, he perceived a crowd, and +many anxious inquiries were heard respecting the robbery. It +appeared the broker had received but little injury, and was as busy +as any one in endeavoring to find out the rogue. Harry put on as +bold a face as possible, and inquired of the broker the +circumstances, which he very minutely narrated. + +"Have you any suspicions of any one?" inquired Mr. Lang. + +"Of no one," was the brief response. + +"It would be very sad if the rascal could not be found," continued +Mr. Lang. "The gallows is too good for one who would make such a +cowardly attack, and treat with such baseness one who never harmed +his fellow." + +"I am of your opinion," answered the broker; and the two, having +thus fully expressed their opinion, parted. + +Mr. Lang was not much troubled in finding his companion. He entered +the cellar just as the latter had arisen from his chesty couch, and +a cordial grasp of the hand bore witness that friends had met. + +Both were aware that the place in which they were was not of very +good repute, and made all possible haste to remove. But, to effect +this successfully, it was necessary that Mr. Lang should have a +change of dress. + +He was making this change when half a dozen men unexpectedly +entered. "You are my prisoner," said one, catching hold of Mr. Lang +by the coat-collar. "Tropes, secure the other." + +They were now both in custody, and the officers, after a little +search, discovered the broken box, and arrested the black man. + +"For what am I arrested?" inquired Mr. Lang. + +"That you will soon know," was the reply. + +"But I demand an answer now. I will not move a step till I get it." + +"What! what's that?" said a stout, rough-looking man, striking the +prisoner, and treating him more like a dog than what he was. + +"I demand an answer to my inquiry. For what am I arrested?" + +"He's a dangerous man," remarked another of the officers; "it's best +to put him in irons;" whereupon he drew from a capacious pocket a +pair of rusty manacles. Mr. Lang, and his two fellows in trouble, +found it best to coolly submit, and did so. Five minutes passed, and +the cold walls of a prison enclosed them. + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +Daylight breaks, and the dwellers upon a thousand hills rejoice in +the first rays of the morning sun. + +"Didst thou ever hear that promise, 'God will provide'? inquired a +pale, yet beautiful girl, as she bent over the form of a feverish +woman, in a small, yet neatly-furnished room. + +"Yes," was the reply; "and he who allows not a sparrow to fall +unnoticed, shall he not much more care for us? Yes, Julia, God will +provide. My soul, trust thou in God!" + +It was Mrs. Lang. The good lady who had befriended her was suddenly +taken ill, and as suddenly died. Mrs. Lang, with her daughter, left +the house, and, hiring a small room at an exorbitant rent, +endeavored, by the use of her needle, to live. She labored hard; the +morning's first light found her at her task, and midnight's silent +hour often found her there. The daughter too was there; together +they labored, and together shared the joys and sorrows of a worse +than widowed and orphaned state. Naturally of a feeble constitution, +Mrs. Lang could not long bear up under that labor, and fell. Then +that daughter was as a ministering angel, attending and watching +over her, and anticipating her every want. Long was she obliged to +labor to provide the necessaries of life; often working hard, and +receiving but ten to fifteen cents a day for that which, if paid for +as it should be, would have brought her a dollar. It was after +receiving her small pittance and having returned to her home, that +the words at the commencement of this chapter fell from her lips. +Her mother, with deep solicitude, inquired her success. + +"He says he can get those duck trousers made for three cents, and +that, if I will not make them for that, he can give me no more work. +You know, mother, that I work eighteen hours of the twenty-four, and +can but just make two pair,--that would be but six cents a day." + +"My child," said the mother, rising with unusual strength, "refuse +such a slavish offer. Let him not, in order to enrich himself, by +degrees take your life. Death's arrows have now near reached you. Do +not thus wear out your life. Let us die!" + +She would have said more; but, exhausted by the effort, she sank +back upon her pillow. Then came the inquiry, "Didst thou ever hear +that promise, 'God will provide'?" + +The question had been put, and the answer given, when a slight rap +at the door was heard. Julia opened it; a small package was hastily +thrust into her hand, and the bearer of it hasted away. It was a +white packet, bound with white ribbon, and with these words, "Julia +Lang," legibly written upon it. She opened it; a note fell upon the +floor; she picked it up, and read as follows: + +Enclosed you will find four five-dollar bills. You are in want; use +them, and, when gone, the same unknown hand will grant you more. + +"Let me break now a secret to you which I believe it is my duty to +divulge. You will recollect that your father mysteriously abandoned +you. He is now in this city, in--street jail, awaiting his trial. +I am confident that he is innocent, and will be honorably acquitted; +and I am as confident that it needs but your presence and your kind +entreaty to bring him back once again to his family and friends. I +have spoken to him, but my words have had no effect except when I +spoke of his family. Then I could see how hard he strove to conceal +a tear, and that I had found a tender chord, that needed but your +touch to cause it to work out a reformatory resolution. + +"I write because Mr. Lang was a friend of mine in his days of +prosperity. I know he has no heart for dishonesty; but, thinking +himself deserted by those who should cling to him, he madly resolved +to give himself up, and follow where fate should lead. Yours, truly, +"CHARLES B--. + +N.B. Others have also spoken with him; but their appeals have been +in vain. If you will be at the corner of L--avenue and W--street, +at three o'clock to-day, a carriage will be in readiness to convey +you to his presence. C. B. + +Anxiously did Mrs. Lang watch the features of her child as she stood +perusing the letter; and as she sat down with it unfolded, +apparently in deep thought, her inquisitiveness increased. She +inquired-she was told all. "Go," said she to her daughter, "and may +the blessings of Heaven attend you!" + +Julia stood wondering. She had doubted before; she feared it might +be the scheme of some base intriguer; but now her doubts vanished, +and hope cheered her on. + +Long seemed the intervening hours, and many were the predictions +made concerning the success of her mission; yet she determined to +go, in the spirit of Martin Luther, though every stone in the prison +should arise to persecute her. + +The appointed hour came, and, letter in hand, she left her room, and +repaired to the spot. There she found a carriage; and the driver, +who, it appeared, was acquainted with her, inquired whether she +desired to go to--street jail. Replying in the affirmative, she +entered, and the carriage drove off. When she had reached the +street, and came in full view of the prison, her timidity almost +overcame her; but, recollecting the object she had in view, she +resisted a desire that involuntarily arose to return. + +"Is the warden in?" inquired the driver of the gate-keeper. + +"He is;--another feast for the lion, eh?" and the keeper, who had +more self-assurance than manners, having laughed at his own +nonsense, pulled a bell-cord, and the warden appeared. + +"The gentleman who came this morning to see Mr. Lang wished me to +bring this young lady here, and introduce her to you as Mr. Lang's +daughter." Having said this, the hack-man let down the steps, and +aided her out. The gate-keeper retired into a sort of sentry-box, +and amused himself by peeping over the window-curtain, laughing very +immoderately when anything serious was said, and sustaining a very +grave appearance when anything having a shade of comicality +occurred. + +The warden very politely conducted Julia into his office, and soon +after into the jail. It was a long building inside of a building, +with two rows of cells one above the other, each numbered, and upon +each door a card, upon which was written, in characters only known +to the officers of the prison, the prisoner's name, crime, term of +imprisonment, and general conduct whilst confined. + +As Mr. Lang was waiting trial, he was not in one of these cells, but +in one of large dimensions, and containing more conveniences. + +As they entered, he was seated at a small table, with pen, ink and +paper, engaged in writing. He did not at first recognize his child, +but in a moment sprang to her, and clasping her in his arms, said, +"My child." + +Such a change in him needs some explanation. + +After being committed to prison, his first thought was upon the +change of his condition from what it formerly was; and his first +resolution was to reform. He thought of the deep plots he and his +companion had laid to amass a fortune; but, supposing that the +latter would be convicted, and condemned to serve a long time in +confinement, he concluded that that scheme was exploded. + +"Yet," thought he, "if there be none on earth I can call my +friends,--if my family forsake me (yet just would it be in them +should they reject my company),--of what avail would my reformation +be, except to a few dogging creditors, who would jeer and scoff at +me at every corner, and attempt to drive me back to my present +situation? It might be some satisfaction to them to see me return; +but what feelings would it arouse within me,--with what hatred would +I view mankind! No; if none will utter a kind word to me, let me +continue on; let the prison be my home, and the gallows my end, +rather than attempt to reform while those who were once my friends +stand around to drive me lack by scoffing remarks!" + +Such were the sincere thoughts of Mr. Lang. He would return, but +none stood by to welcome him. A few had visited him, most of whom +had severely reflected upon his misdeeds. They opened a dark +prospect for him in the future. "Now," said they, "you must here +remain; receive retribution for your evil deeds, and a sad warning +to others not to follow in your steps, lest they arrive at the same +goal." Was there encouragement in this? Surely not; he deemed them +not the words of friendship, and he was right in his judgment. + +"Why did you visit this dark prison?" inquired Mr. Lang. + +"Because you are here, father!" was the artless reply. + +"And could you forgive your father? How could you seek him, when he +forsook you?" Mr. Lang could not make this last observation without +becoming affected even to tears. + +Julia seemed to take courage; new energies seemed to be imparted to +her. She felt an unseen influence at her side, and a holy calmness +resting upon her soul. + +"Prison-walls cannot bar you from my heart, though in the worst +place on earth. Though friends laugh me to scorn when I seek your +presence, you are my father still, and ungrateful would I be did I +not own you as such! + +"In thinking of the present, I do not forget the past; I remember +the days of old, the years in which we were made glad;--and you, +father, when free from these walls, will you not return again to +your family, and make home what it once was? To-day I will see Mr. +Legrange; he wants a clerk, and, by a little persuasion, I am +certain I can get you the situation. Will you not reform?" + +She could say no more; yet her actions spoke louder than words could +possibly do, and her imploring attitude went home to the heart of +her parent. He, for the first time since the commencement of his +wayward course, felt that the hand of sympathy was extended to greet +him, should he make a motion to return. And why should he not grasp +it? He did. There, in that prison-cell, upon his knees, he promised +to repent and return. + +"Pleasant residence, Miss!" said the gate-keeper, as our heroine +left the yard, and then laughed as though he had committed a pun +that would immortalize him from that time forth. + +She noticed not his ill-mannered remark, but, reentering the +carriage, thought of nothing but the joy her mother would feel upon +learning her success, till the carriage stopped and the driver let +down the steps. Having related her adventure, she left her home with +the intention of seeing Mr. Legrange. + +Mr. Legrange was a merchant on Cadiz wharf; he was wealthy, and as +benevolent as wealthy. Notices were often seen in the papers of +large donations from him to worthy institutions, sometimes one and +sometimes three thousand dollars. His fellow-men looked upon him as +a blessing to the age. There was no aristocracy in him; he did not +live like a prince in the costliest house in the city, but a small, +neat tenement was pointed out as his abode. Not only was he called +the "Poor Man's Friend," but his associate and companion. He did not +despise the poor man, and wisely thought that to do him good he must +live and be upon an equality with him. + +Mr. Legrange had just opened an evening paper, when a light rap at +his counting-house door induced him to lay it aside. Opening it, a +young woman inquired if Mr. Legrange was in. + +"That is my name," was the reply. "Good-morning, Miss Lang." + +Julia was rejoiced that she was recognized. She had not spoken to +Mr. Legrange since her father's failure in business; previous to +that sad occurrence she had known him personally, yet she scarcely +thought he would know her now. + +"This is a lovely day," said Mr. Legrange, handing her a chair. +"Your mother is well, I hope." + +"As well as might be expected: she will recover fast, now." + +"Indeed! What? Some glad news?" + +"Yes, sir; father is in the city, and has reformed." + +"Thank God for that!" said Mr. Legrange. "It is one of the blessings +of this life to hope for better days." + +"He has reformed," continued Miss Lang, "yet he may be led back +unless he gets steady employment; and I heard that--" + +"--that I want a clerk," said Mr. Legrange, anticipating her in her +remarks; "and," continued he, "your father is just the man I want. I +knew him in his better days, before a fatal misstep felled him to +the ground. Miss Lang, let your father call next Tuesday; to-morrow +I start on a journey, and shall not return till then." + +With many sincere thanks, Julia left the room; her heart overflowed +with gratitude to the Giver of all things. She saw his hand and felt +his presence. + +It was well that Mr. Legrange was about to leave the city, as Mr. +Lang's examination was to be had the next day, and Mrs. Lang and her +daughter confidently expected he would be acquitted. + +The morrow came; the examination began and terminated as they had +expected. William Bang was remanded back to prison to await his +trial for robbery. Mr. Lang was acquitted, and, joining a company of +friends whom Julia had collected, left for the residence of his +family. + +What a meeting was that! Angels could but weep for joy at such a +scene, and drop their golden harps to wipe away their tears of +gladness. Long had been their separation. What scenes had the +interval disclosed! And how changed were all things! She was in +health when he left, but now in sickness; yet it was not strange. + +That day was the happiest he had spent for many months, and he +rejoiced that an angel of light, his daughter, had sought him out. +She had been, indeed, a ministering spirit of good to him, and in +the happy scene then around her she found her reward,--O, how +abundant! + +With a light and joyous step did Henry Lang repair to the store of +Mr. Legrange. The sun's rays were just peering over the house-tops, +and he thought that he, like that sun, was just rising from +degradation to assume new life, and put forth new energy. + +We need not lengthen out our the by narrating what there ensued. He +that day commenced his clerkship, and to this day holds it. He often +received liberal donations from his employer in token of his regard +for him, and by way of encouraging him in his attempts to regain his +lost fortune. + +It was on a December evening that a family circle had gathered +around their fireside. The wild wind whistled furiously around, and +many a poor wight lamented the hard fate that led him abroad to +battle the storm. "Two years ago this night," said the man, "where +was I? In an obscure house, planning out a way to injure a +fellow-man! Yea, would you believe it? the very man who has since +been my benefactor,--my employer!" + +The door-bell rang, and the conversation was abruptly terminated. + +In a few minutes none other than Mr. Legrange entered; he received a +hearty welcome, and was soon engaged in conversation. + +"Mr. Lang," said he, as he was about to depart, "your daughter +remembers receiving an anonymous letter signed 'Charles B--.' I do +not say it to please my own vanity, but I ordered my clerk to write +it, and sent it by my son. I thought of you when you little thought +you had a friend on earth who cared for you, and rejoice that I have +been the humble instrument in effecting your reformation." + +"Here," he continued, handing him a paper, "this is the deed of a +house on--street, valued at eight thousand dollars; accept it as a +present from me to you and your family, and remember this, that a +kind word is of more value than gold or precious stones. It was that +which saved you, and by that you may save others. Good-evening; I +will see you at the store tomorrow." + +Having said this, he left, waiting not to receive the thanks that +grateful hearts desired to render him. + +And now, reader, our story is ended. If you have followed us thus +far, neglect not to receive what we have faintly endeavored to +inculcate; and ever remember, while treading life's thorny vale, +that "a kind word is of more value than gold or precious stones." + + + + + + +THE LOVE OF ELINORE. + + + + + + SHE stood beside the sea-shore weeping, + While above her stars were keeping + Vigils o'er the silent deep; + While all others, wearied, slumbered, + She the passing moments numbered, + She a faithful watch did keep. + Him she loved had long departed, + And she wandered, broken-hearted, + Breathing songs he loved to hear. + Friends did gather round to win her, + But the thoughts that glowed within her + Were to her most fond and dear. + In her hand she held bright flowers, + Culled from Nature's fairest bowers; + On her brow, from moor and heath, + Bright green leaves and flowers did cluster, + Borrowing resplendent lustre + From the eyes that shone beneath. + Rose the whisper, "She is crazy," + When she plucked the blooming daisy, + Braiding it within her hair; + But they knew not, what of gladness + Mingled with her notes of sadness, + As she laid it gently there. + For her loved one, ere he started, + While she still was happy-hearted, + Clipped a daisy from its stem, + Placed it in her hair, and told her, + Till again he should behold her, + That should be her diadem. + At the sea-side she was roaming, + When the waves were madly foaming, + And when all was calm and mild, + Singing songs,--she thought he listened,-- + And each dancing wave that glistened + Loved she as a little child. + For she thought, in every motion + Of the ceaseless, moving ocean, + She could see a friendly hand + Stretched towards the shore imploring, + Where she stood, like one adoring, + Beckoning to a better land. + When the sun was brightly shining, + When the daylight was declining, + On the shore she'd watch and wait, + Like an angel, heaven-descending, + 'Mid the ranks of mortals wending, + Searching for a missing mate. + Years passed on, and when the morning + Of a summer's day gave warning + Of the sweets it held in store, + By the dancing waves surrounded, + Like a fairy one she bounded + To her lover's arms once more. + Villagers thus tell the story, + And they say a light of glory + Hovereth above the spot + Where for days and years she waited, + With a love all unabated, + And a faith that faltered not. + There's a stone that is uplifted, + Where the wild sea-flowers have drifted; + Fonder words no stone o'er bore; + And the waves come up to greet them, + Seeming often to repeat them, + While afar their echoes roar- + "DEATHLESS LOVE OF ELINORE." + + + + + + +'TIS SWEET TO BE REMEMBERED. + + + + + + 'T IS sweet to be remembered + In the turmoil of this life, + While toiling up its pathway, + While mingling in its strife, + While wandering o'er earth's borders, + Or sailing o'er its sea,-- + 'T is sweet to be remembered + Wherever we may be. + What though our path be rugged, + Though clouded be our sky, + And none we love and cherish, + No friendly one is nigh, + To cheer us in our sorrow, + Or share with us our lot,-- + 'T is sweet to be remembered, + To know we're not forgot. + When those we love are absent + From our hearth-stone and our side, + With joy we learn that pleasure + And peace with them abide; + And that, although we're absent, + We're thought of day by day;-- + 'T is sweet to be remembered + By those who are away. + When all our toils are ended, + The conflict all is done, + And peace, in sweetest accents, + Proclaims the victory won; + When hushed is all the tumult, + When calmed is all the strife, + And we, in patience, meekly + Await the end of life: + Then they who, when not present, + In spirit yet were near, + And, as we toiled and struggled, + Did whisper in our ear, + "'Tis sweet to be remembered, + And thou art not forgot," + If fortune smile upon us, + Shall share our happy lot. + + + + + + +I CALL THEE MINE. + + + + + + YES, ever such I'll call thee, will ever call thee mine, + And with the love I bear thee a wreath of poesy twine; + And when the stars are shining in their bright home of blue, + Gazing on them, thou mayest know that I like them are true. + Forget thee! no, O, never! thy heart and mine are one. + How can the man who sees its light forget the noonday sun? + Or he who feels its genial warmth forget the orb above; + Or, feeling sweet affection's power, its source-another's love? + Go, ask the child that sleepeth upon its mother's breast + Whether it loves the pillow on which its head doth rest; + Go, ask the weary mariner, when the dangerous voyage is o'er, + Whether he loves the parent's smile that meets him at the door: + But ask not if I love thee when I would call thee mine, + For words are weak to tell thee all, and I the task resign; + But send thy spirit out for love, and when it finds its goal, + 'T will be encircled and embraced within my deepest soul. + + + + + + +THE OLD TREE AND ITS LESSON. + + + + + +THERE is a story about that old tree; a biography of that old +gnarled trunk and those broad-spread branches. + +Listen. + +Many, very many years ago,--there were forests then where now are +cities, and the Indian song was borne on that breeze which now bears +the sound of the Sabbath bell, and where the fire of the work-shop +sends up its dense, black smoke, the white cloud from the Indian's +wigwam arose,--yes, 't was many years ago, when, by the door of a +rough, rude, but serviceable dwelling, a little boy sat on an old +man's knee. He was a bright youth, with soft blue eyes, from which +his soul looked out and smiled, and hair so beautiful that it seemed +to be a dancing sunbeam rather than what it really was. + +The old man had been telling him of the past; had been telling him +that when he was a child he loved the forest, and the rock, and the +mountain stream. + +Then he handed the lad a small, very small seed, and, leading him a +short distance, bade him make a small hole in the ground and place +the seed within it. He did so. And the old man bent over and kissed +his fair brow as he smoothed the earth above the seed's +resting-place, and told him that he must water it and watch it, and +it would spring up and become a fair thing in his sight. + +'Twas hard for the child to believe this; yet he did believe, for he +knew that his friend was true. + +Night came; and, as he lay on his little couch, the child dreamed of +that seed, and he had a vision of the future which passed with the +shades of the night. + +Morning dawned, and he hastened to water and to watch the spot where +the seed was planted. + +It had not come up; yet he believed the good old man, and knew that +it would. + +All day long he was bending over it, or talking with his aged +companion about the buried seed. + +A few days passed, then a little sprout; burst from the ground; and +the child clapped his hands, and shouted and danced. + +Daily it grew fairer in the sight of the child, and rose higher and +higher. And the old man led him once more to the spot, and told him +that even so would the body of his little sister rise from the grave +in which a short time before it hid been placed, and, rising higher +and higher, it would never cease to ascend. + +The old man wept; but the child, with his tiny white hand, brushed +away his tears, and, with child-like simplicity, said that if his +sister arose she would go to God, for God was above. + +Then the mourner's heart was strengthened, and the lesson he would +have taught the child came from the child to him, and made his soul +glad. + +A few weeks passed, and the old man died. + +The child wept; but, remembering the good friend's lesson, he wiped +away his tears, and wept no more; for the seed had already become a +beautiful plant, and every day it went upward, and he knew that, +like that, his sister and his good friend would go higher and higher +towards God. + +Days, weeks, months, years passed away. The plant had grown till it +was taller than he who had planted it. + +Years fled. The child was no more there, but a young man sat beneath +the shade of a tree, and held a maiden's hand in his own. Her head +reclined on his breast, and her eyes upturned met the glances of his +towards her, and they blended in one. + +"I remember," said he, "that when I was young a good old man who is +now in heaven, led me to this spot, and bade me put a little seed in +the earth. I did so. I watched the ground that held it, and soon it +sprang up, touched by no hand, drawn forth, as it would seem, from +its dark prison by the attractive power of the bright heaven that +shone above it. See, now, what it has become! It shades and shelters +us. God planted in my heart a little seed. None but he could plant +it, for from him only emanates true love. It sprang up, drawn forth +by the sunlight of thy soul, till now thou art shadowed and +sheltered by it." + +There was silence, save the rustle of the leaves as the branches +bowed assent to the young man's words. + +Time drove his chariot on; his sickle-wheels smote to earth many +brave and strong, yet the tree stood. The winds blew fiercely among +its branches; the lightning danced and quivered above and around it; +the thunder muttered forth its threatenings; the torrent washed +about its roots; yet it stood, grew strong and stately, and many a +heart loved it for its beauty and its shade. + +The roll of the drum sounded, and beneath a tree gathered crowds of +stalwart men. There was the mechanic, with upturned sleeves and +dusty apron; the farmer, fanning himself with a dingy straw hat; the +professional man and trader, arguing the unrighteousness of +"taxation without representation." + +Another roll of the drum, and every head was uncovered as a young +man ascended a platform erected beneath the tree. In a soft, low +voice, he began. As he proceeded, his voice grew louder, and his +eloquence entranced his auditors. + +"Years ago," said he, "there were an old man and a young child. And +the child loved the man, and the man loved the child, and taught him +a lesson. He took him by the hand, and, leading him aside, gave him +a seed and told him to plant it. He did so. It sprang up. It became +mighty. Independent it stood, sheltering all who came unto it. That +old man went home; but here stands the child, and here the tree, +great and mighty now, but the child has not forgotten the day when +it was small and weak. So shall the cause we have this day espoused +go on; and though, to-day, we may be few and feeble, we shall +increase and grow strong, till we become an independent nation, that +shall shelter all who come unto it." + +The speaker ceased, and immediately the air resounded with loud +shouts and huzzas. + +The struggle for independence came. Victory ensued. Peace rested +once more upon all the land, But not as before. It rested upon a +free people. Then, beneath that same tree, gathered a mighty host; +and, as oft as came the second month of summer, in the early part of +it the people there assembled, and thanked God for the lesson of the +old tree. + +An old man lay dying. Around his bedside were his children and his +children's children. + +"Remove the curtain," said he. "Open the window. Raise me, and let +re see the sun once more." + +They did so. + +"See you yonder tree? Look upon it, and listen. I was a child once, +and I knew and loved an old man; and he knew me and loved me, and he +led me aside, placed in my hand a tiny seed, and bade me bury it in +the earth, and I did so. Night came, with its shade and its dew; +day, with its sunshine and its showers. And the seed sprang +up,--but the old man died. Yet, ere he went, he had taught me the +lesson of that seed, which was, that those who go down to the earth +like that, will arise, like that, towards heaven. You are looking +upon that tree which my friend planted. Learn from it the lesson it +hath taught me." + +The old man's task was performed, his life finished, and the +morrow's light lit the pathway of many to his grave. They stood +beneath the shadow of that tree; and deeply sank the truth in every +heart as the village pastor began the burial service and read, "I am +the resurrection and the life." + + + + + + +VOICES FROM THE SPIRIT-LAND. + + + + + + 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; + And they, words of comfort whispering, + Say they'll watch on every hand, + And my soul is cheered in hearing + Voices from the spirit-land. + In my wanderings, oft there cometh + Sudden stillness to my soul; + When around, above, within it + Rapturous joys unnumbered 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. + Loved ones who have gone before me + Whisper words of peace and joy; + Those who long since have departed + Tell me their divine employ + Is to watch and guard my footsteps,-- + O! it is an angel band! + And I love, I love to list to + Voices from the spirit-land. + + + + + + +THE BEACON-LIGHT. + + + + + + DIMLY burns the beacon-light + On the mountain top to-night; + Faint as whisper ever fell, + Falls the watcher's cry,--"All's well;" + For the clouds have met on high, + And the blast sweeps angry by; + Not a star is seen this night,-- + God, preserve the beacon-light! + Lo! a man whom age doth bow + Wanders up the pathway now; + Wistfully his eye he turns + To the light that dimly burns; + And, as it less glow doth shed, + Quicker, quicker is his tread; + And he prays that through the night + God may keep the beacon-light. + Far below him, rocks and waves + Mark the place of others' graves; + Other travellers, who, like him, + Saw the beacon-light burn dim. + But they trusted in their strength + To attain the goal at length;-- + This old traveller prays, to-night, + "God, preserve the beacon-light!" + Fainter, fainter is its ray,-- + Shall its last gleam pass away? + Shall it be extinguished quite? + Shall it burn, though not as bright? + Fervently goes up his prayer; + Patiently he waiteth there, + Trusting Him who doeth right + To preserve the beacon-light. + Look you now! the light hath burst + Brighter than it was at first; + Now with ten-fold radiance glows, + And the traveller homeward goes. + As the clouds grow darker o'er him, + Brighter grows the light before him; + God, who doeth all things right, + Hath preserved the beacon-light. + Thus upon the path we tread + God a guiding light hath shed; + Though at times our hearts are weary, + Though the path we tread is dreary, + Though the beacon's lingering ray + Seems as if 't would pass away,-- + Be our prayer, through all the night, + "God, preserve the beacon-light!" + Threatening clouds may gather o'er us, + Countless dangers rise before us: + If in God we seek for strength, + He will succor us at length: + He his holy light will send, + To conduct us to the end. + Trust thy God, through day and night, + He'll preserve thy beacon-light. + + + + + + +BEAR UP. + + + + + + BEAR up, bear up, though Poverty may press thee, + There's not a flower that's crushed that does not shed, + While bowing low, its fragrance forth to bless thee, + At times, more sweet than when it raised its head; + + When sunlight gathered round it, + + When dews of even crowned it, + By nature nursed, and watched, and from its bounty fed + Bear up, bear up! O, never yield nor falter! + God reigneth ever, merciful and just; + If thou despairest, go thou to his altar, + Rest on his arm, and in his promise trust. + + There Hope, bright Hope, will meet thee; + + There Joy, bright Joy, shall greet thee; + And thou shalt rise to thrones on high from out the dust. + + + + + + +A WELCOME SONG TO SPRING. + + + + + + SHOUT a welcoming to Spring! + Hail its early buds and flowers! + It is hastening on to bring + Unto us its joyous hours. + Birds on bough and brake are singing, + All the new-clad woods are ringing; + In the brook, see Nature flinging + Beauties of a thousand dyes, + + As if jealous of the beauties + Mantling the skies. + Hail to Beauty! Hail to Mirth! + All Creation's song is gladness; + Not a creature dwells on earth + God would have bowed down in sadness! + Everything this truth is preaching, + God in all his works is teaching, + As if man by them beseeching + To be glad, for he doth bless; + + And to trust him, for he's mighty + In his tenderness. + + + + + + +THE HOPE OF THE FALLEN. + +CHAPTER I. + + + + + +IT was at the close of a beautiful autumnal day that Edward Dayton +was to leave the place of his nativity. For many years he had looked +forward, in joyous anticipation, to the time when he should repair +to the city, and enter upon the business of life. And now that that +long looked-for and wished-for day had arrived, when he was to bid +an adieu to the companions of his youth, and to all the scenes of +his childhood, it was well for him to cast a retrospective glance; +and so he did. + +Not far distant, rearing its clear white steeple far above the +trees, stood the village church, up the broad, uncarpeted aisle of +which he had scores of times passed; and, as the thought that he +might never again enter those sacred walls came to his mind, a tear +glistened in his eye that he could not rudely wipe away. + +Next was the cot of the pastor. He had grown old in the service of +his Master, and the frosts of nearly three-score winters rested +their glory upon his head. All loved and respected him, for with +them he had wept, and with them he had rejoiced. Many had fallen +around him; withered age and blooming youth he had followed to the +grave; yet he stood forth yet, and, with clear and musical voice, +preached the truths of God. + +An old gray building, upon whose walls the idler's knife had carved +many a rude inscription, was the village school. There, amid those +carvings, were seen the rough-hewn initials of many a man now +"well-to-do in the world." Some, high above the rest, seemed as +captains, and almost over-shadowed the diminutive ones of the little +school-boy, placed scarce thirty inches from the ground. + +Edward was a pet among the villagers. He had taken the lead in all +the frolickings, and many a bright-eyed lass would miss his +presence, and loud, clear laugh, at the coming "huskings." + +Young and old reluctantly bade him "good-by," and, as the stage +wound its circuitous way from the village, from many a heart +ascended a prayer that He who ruleth over all would prosper and +protect him. + +"Good luck to him, God bless him!" said dame Brandon, as she entered +the house. "He was always a kind, well-meant lad," she continued, +"and dame Brandon knows no evil can befall him; and Emily, my dear, +you must keep your eye on some of the best fruit of the orchard, for +he will be delighted with it, and much the more so if he knows your +bright eyes watched its growth and your hands gathered it." + +These words were addressed to a girl of seventeen, who stood at an +open window, in quite a pensive mood. She seemed not to hear the +remark, but gazed in the direction the stage had passed. + +The parents of Edward had died when he was quite young, and he, +their only child, had been left to the care and protection of dame +Brandon; and well had she cared for him, and been as a mother to the +motherless. + +"Now, Emi', don't fret! Edward won't forget you. I've known him +long; he has got a heart as true as steel." + +'T was not this that made her sad. She had no fears that he would +forget his Emi', but another thought pressed heavily on her mind, +and she said, + +"But, aunty, city life is one of danger. Temptations are there we +little think of, and stronger hearts than Edward's have quailed +beneath their power." + +"Well done!" quoth Mrs. B., looking over her glasses; "a sermon, +indeed, quite good for little you. But girls are timid creatures; +they start and are frightened at the least unusual sound." She +assumed a more serious manner, and, raising her finger, pointing +upwards, said, "But know you not there is a Power greater than that +of which you speak?" + +Emily seemed to be cheered by this thought. She hummed over a +favorite air, and repaired to the performance of her evening duties. + +Emily Brandon was a lovely creature, and of this Edward Dayton was +well aware. He had spent his early days with her. His most happy +hours had been passed in her company. Together they had frolicked +over the green fields, and wandered by their clear streams. Hours +passed as minutes when in each other's company; and, when separated, +each minute seemed an hour. + +Now, for the first time, they were separated; and ever and anon, as +she passed about at her work, she cast a fitful glance from the +window, as if it were possible he might return. + +How she wished she could have gone with him, to gently chide when +sinners should entice, and lead him from error's path, should gay +temptation lure him therein! She was young in years, yet old in +discretion; and had a heart that yearned for the good of all. + +"Well, aunt," said she, "I hope good luck will betide him, but sad +thoughts will come when I think of what he will have to bear up +under." + +"O, hush!" said the old lady; "simple girls have simple stories." + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +It was a late hour in the evening that the coach entered the +metropolis. Railroads were not then in vogue, and large +baggage-waggons, lumbering teams and clumsy coaches, were drawn by +two or more horses, over deep-rutted roads, and almost endless +turnpikes. + +The bells had-rang their nine o'clock peal; most of the stores were +closed; the busy trader and industrious mechanic had gone to their +respective homes, and left their property to faithful watchers, +whose muffled forms moved slowly through the streets of the great +city. + +Not all had left their work; for, by the green and crimson light +that streamed from his window, and served to partially dissipate the +darkness, it was seen that he of pestle and mortar labored on, or, +wearied with his labor, had fallen asleep, but to be awakened by the +call of some customer, requesting an antidote for one of the many +"ills which flesh is heir to." + +Other open places there were, whose appearance indicated that they +were bar-rooms, for at their windows stood decanters filled with +various-colored liquids. Near each of these stood a wine-glass in an +inverted position, with a lemon upon it; yet, were not any of these +unmistakable signs to be seen, you would know the character of the +place by a rumseller's reeling sign, that made its exit, and, +passing a few steps, fell into the gutter. + +In addition to these other signs, were seen scattered about the +windows of these places, in characters so large that he who ran +might read, "Bar-room," "Egg-pop," "N. E. Rum," etc. + +Those were the days of bar-room simplicities. "Saloons" were not +then known. The refined names which men of the present day have +attached to rum, gin and brandy, were not then in use. There were no +"Wormwood-floaters" to embitter man's life, and Jewett had not had +his "fancy." + +The coach rolled on, and in a short time Edward was safely ensconced +in a neatly-furnished room in a hotel known as "The Bull's Horn." It +was indeed a great disadvantage to him that he came to a city in +which he was a total stranger. He had no acquaintance to greet him +with a friendly welcome; and the next day, as he was jostled by the +crowd, and pushed aside by the hurried pedestrian, he realized what +it was to be a stranger in a strange land, and an indescribable +sensation came upon him, known only to those who have been placed in +similar circumstances. + +He looked around,--strange forms met his view. No one greeted him, no +hand of friendship was held forth to welcome him. All the world +seemed rushing on for something, he knew not what; and, disheartened +at the apparent selfishness that pervaded society, he returned to +his room, and wished for the quietness of his own sweet village, the +companionship of his own dear Emi'. + +The landlord of the tavern at which our hero had housed himself was +a stout, burly man, and quite communicative. From him Edward learned +much of importance. Mr. Blinge was his name. He was an inveterate +smoker, and his pet was a little black pipe, dingy and old, and by +not a few deemed a nuisance to "The Bull's Horn." This he held +between his teeth, and, seating himself behind his bar, puffed away +on the high-pressure principle. + +Edward had not been many minutes in his room before Mr. Blinge +entered with his pet in his mouth, hoped he did n't intrude, +apologized, and wished him to walk below, saying that by so doing he +might become acquainted with some "rare souls." + +By "below" was meant a large, square room, on the ground floor, of +dimensions ample enough to hold a caucus in. By some it was called a +"bar-room," by others the "sitting-room," and others the +"gentlemen's parlor." + +Entering, Edward encountered the gaze of about twenty individuals. +Old gentlemen with specs looked beneath them, and young gentlemen +with papers looked above them. A young man in white jacket and green +apron was endeavoring to satisfy the craving appetites of two +teamsters, who were loudly praising the landlord's brandy, and +cursing the bad state of the roads in a manner worthy of "our army +in Flanders." + +One young man, in particular, attracted the attention of our hero. +He was genteelly dressed, and possessed an air of dignity and +self-command, that would obtain for him at once the good will of +any. Edward was half inclined to believe his circumstances to be +somewhat similar to his own. He was reading an evening paper, but, +on seeing our hero enter, and judging from his manner that he was a +stranger, laid it aside, and, politely addressing himself to him, +inquired after his health. + +The introduction over, they engaged in conversation. The young man +seemed pleased in making his acquaintance, and expressed a hope that +a friendship so suddenly formed might prove lasting and beneficial +to each. + +"I also am from the country," said he, after Edward had informed him +of his history, "and, like you, am in search of employment. Looking +over the evening paper, I noticed an advertisement of a concern for +sale, which I thought, as I read, would be a capital chance to make +a fortune, if I could find some one to invest in it with me. I will +read it to you. + +For SALE.-The stock and stand of a Confectioner, with a good +business, well established. One or two young men will find this a +rare opportunity to invest their money advantageously. For other +particulars inquire at No. 7 Cresto-st. + +"Now, I tell you what," said the young man, before Edward had an +opportunity to utter a word, "it is a fine chance. Why, Lagrange +makes enough on his wines and fancy cordials to clothe and feed a +regiment. Just pass there, some evening, and you will see a perfect +rush. Soda-water, ice creams, and French wines, are all the rage, +and Lagrange is the only man in this city that can suit the bon +ton!" + +"You half induce me to go there," said Edward. "How far is it from +this place?" + +"Not far, but it is too late; to-morrow morning we will go there. +Here, take my card-Othro Treves is my name; you must have known my +father; a member of Congress for ten years, when he died;--rather +abused his health-attended parties at the capital-drank wine to +excess,--took a severe cold-fell ill one day, worse the next, sick +the next, and died soon after. Wine is bad when excessively indulged +in; so is every good thing." + +Edward smiled at this running account of his new-formed +acquaintance, and, bidding him "good-night," betook himself to his +chamber, intending to accompany Othro to the confectioner's in the +morning. + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +The next morning the sun shone bright and clear in a cloudless sky, +and all were made joyous by its gladsome rays. + +Edward was awakened at an early hour by the departure or +preparations to depart, of the two teamsters, who, having patronized +rather freely the young man in white jacket and green apron, were in +a delightful mood to enjoy a joke, and were making themselves quite +merry as they harnessed up their sturdy horses. + +It was near nine when Othro and Edward found themselves on the way +to the confectioner's. Edward was glad on account of finding one +whom he thought he could trust as a friend, and congratulated +himself on his good luck. + +Near the head of Cresto-street might have been seen, not many years +since, over the door of a large and fashionable store, a sign-board +bearing this inscription: "M. Lagrange, Confectioner and Dealer in +Wines and Cordials." We say it was "large and fashionable;" and +those of our readers who recollect the place of which we speak will +testify to the truth of our assertion. + +Its large windows, filled with jars of confectionary and preserves, +and with richly-ornamented bottles of wine, with the richest pies +and cake strewed around, presented a showy and inviting appearance, +and a temptation to indulge, too powerful to resist, by children of +a larger growth than lisping infants and primary-school boys. Those +who daily passed this store looked at the windows most wistfully; +and this was not all, for, at their weekly reckonings, they found +that several silver "bits" had disappeared very mysteriously during +the previous seven days. + +To this place our hero and his newly-formed acquaintance were now +hastening. As they drew near, quite a bevy of ladies made their exit +therefrom, engaged in loud conversation. + +"Lor!" said one, "it is strange Lagrange advertised to sell out." + +"Why, if I was his wife," said another, "I'd whip him into my +traces, I would; an' he shouldn't sell out unless I was willin',--no, +he shouldn't! Only think, Miss Fitzgabble, how handy those wines +would be when one has a social soul step in!" + +"O yes," replied Miss Fitzgabble, "and those jars of lozenges! How +enchantingly easy to elevate the lid upon a Sabbath morn, slip in +one's hand, and subtract a few! How I should smell of sassafras, if +I was Mrs. Lagrange!" + +The ladies passed on, and were soon out of hearing. Edward and his +companion entered the store, where about a dozen ladies and +gentlemen were seated, discussing the fashions, forging scandal, and +sipping wine. + +Mr. Lagrange was actively engaged when the two entered; but, seeing +them, and supposing them to have called on the business for which +they actually had called, he called to one of the attendants to fill +his place, and entered into conversation with Messrs. Dayton and +Treves, which in due time was terminated, they agreeing to call +again the next day. + +First impressions are generally the most lasting. Those Edward and +Othro received during their visit and subsequent conversation were +favorable to the purchase. + +On their return they consulted together for a long time, and finally +concluded to go that day, instead of waiting till the next, and make +Mr. Lagrange an offer of which they had no doubt he would accept. + +Mr. Lagrange's chief object in selling out was that he might +disengage himself from business. He had been a long time in it; he +was getting somewhat advanced in life, and had accumulated +sufficient to insure him against want, and he deemed it best to step +out, and give room to the young-an example worthy of general +imitation. + +That the business was profitable there could be no doubt. As Othro +had said, the profit on the wines was indeed immense. + +On pleasant evenings the store was crowded; and, as it was filled +with the young, gay, and fashionable of wealthy rank, not much +difficulty was experienced in obtaining these large profits. + +The return of the young men was not altogether unexpected by Mr. +Lagrange. He was ready to receive them. He set before them his best +wines. They drank freely, praised the wine, and extolled the store, +for they thought it admirably calculated to make a fortune in. + +Mr. Lagrange imparted to them all the information they desired. They +made him an offer, which he accepted, after some thought; and +arrangements were entered into by which Messrs. Dayton and Treves +were to take possession on the morning of the following Monday. + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + +No one commences business without the prospect of success. Assure a +man he will not succeed, and he will be cautious of the steps he +takes, if, indeed, he takes any. + +If he does not expect to gain a princely fortune; he expects to earn +a comfortable subsistence, and, at the same time, accumulate enough +to shelter him in a rainy day, and be enabled to walk life's busy +stage in comfort and respectability, and, as occasion may demand, +relieve the wants of his less fortunate brethren. + +For this all hope, yet the experience of thousands shows that few, +very few, ever realize it. On the contrary, disappointment, in its +thousand malignant forms, starts up on every hand; yet they struggle +on, and in imagination see more prosperous days in the future. Thus +they hope against hope, till the green sod covers their bodies, and +they leave their places to others, whilst the tale is told in these +few words: "They lived and died." + +The next Monday the citizens were notified, by the removal of his +old sign, that Mr. Lagrange had retired from business. During the +day, many of Mr. Lagrange's customers came in, that they might +become acquainted with the successors of their old friend. To these +Messrs. Dayton and Treves were introduced, and from them received +promise of support. + +A colored man, who had been for a long time in the employ of Mr. +Lagrange, was retained in the employ of the store. Ralph Orton was +his name. He having been for a long time in the store, and during +that time having had free access to the wines, had formed an +appetite for them, in consequence of which he was often intoxicated. + +His inebriation was periodical, and not of that kind whose subjects +are held in continual thraldom; yet, to use his own words, "when he +was drunk, he was drunk, and no mistake." He obeyed the old +injunction of "what is worth doing is worth doing well," and as long +as he got drunk he got well drunk. + +He had ofttimes been reasoned with in his days of soberness, and had +often promised to reform; but so many around him drank that he could +not resist the temptation to drink also, and therefore broke his +promise. This habit had so fastened itself upon him, that, like one +in the coil of the serpent, the more he strove to escape the closer +it held him. + +If there is any one habit to which if a man becomes attached he will +find more difficulty to escape from than another, it is that of +intemperance; yet all habits are so one with our nature that the +care taken to guard against the adoption of evil ones cannot be too +great. + +Behold that man! He was tempted,--he yielded. He has surrendered a +noble estate, and squandered a large fortune. Once he had riches and +friends; his eye sparkled with the fire of ambition; hope and joy +beamed in each feature of his manly countenance, and all bespoke for +him a long life and happy death. Look at him now! without a penny in +his pocket, a wretched outcast, almost dead with starvation. Habit +worked the change-an evil habit. + +Perchance some one in pity may bestow a small sum upon him. Utterly +regardless of the fact that his wife and children are at home +shivering over a few expiring embers that give no warmth, without a +crumb to appease their hunger, and although he himself a moment +before believed that if aid did not come speedily he must perish, he +hastens to the nearest groggery, and, laying down his money, calls +for that which has brought upon him and his such woe. + +If there is any scene upon earth over which demons joy, it must be +when that rumseller takes that money. + +This propensity of Ralph's was a serious objection to him as a +servant; yet, in every other respect, he was all that could be +desired. He was honest, faithful and obliging, and, knowing as they +did that he was well acquainted with the trade of the city, and +could go directly to the houses of Mr. Lagrange's customers, Messrs. +Dayton and Treves were induced to have him remain. + +At the end of a month, Edward found himself in prosperous +circumstances, and wrote to his old village friends of the fact. +They, as a matter in course, were overjoyed in the reception of such +intelligence, and no one more so than Emily Lawton. + +Edward had entered into a business in which temptations of a +peculiar nature gathered about him. Like nearly every one in those +days, he had no scruples against the use of wine. He thought no +danger was associated with its use; and, as an objection against +that would clash with the interests of his own pecuniary affairs, he +would be the last to raise it. In dealing forth to others, how +strong came the temptation to deal it to himself! Othro drank, and +pronounced a certain kind of wine a great luxury. Edward could not +(or, at least, so he thought) do otherwise; and so he drank, and +pronounced the same judgment upon it. + +"What say you for an evening at the theatre?" said Othro, one +evening, as they were passing from their place of business, having +left it in care of their servants. "At the Gladiate the play is +'Hamlet,' and Mr. Figaro, from the old Drury, appears." + +Edward had been educated in strict puritanic style, and had been +taught to consider the theatre as a den of iniquity. It is not our +purpose to defend or oppose this opinion. It was his, and he freely +expressed it. In fact, his partner knew it to be such before making +the request. + +"I suppose," said Mr. Treves, "you oppose the theatre on account of +the intoxicating drinks sold there. Now, I am for a social drop +occasionally. Edward, a glass of pure 'Cogniac,' a nice cigar, and a +seat in front of a grate of blazing coal, and I'll be joyful." + +"You may be joyful, then," replied Mr. Dayton; "but your joy might +be changed to grief, and your buoyancy of spirit be turned to +sadness of heart." + +"Indeed, Edward! Quite a lecture, I declare! Been studying theology, +eh?" + +"Not so; you are mistaken, Othro," said he. "There," he continued, +pointing to a reeling sot that passed them, "ask that man where he +first went for joy, and he may tell you of the theatre, or of social +glasses of brandy, cigars, and such like." + +They had now arrived in front of the "Gladiate," a massive stone +structure, most brilliantly illuminated. Long rows of carriages +stood in front, and crowds of the gay and fashionable were flocking +in. + +All was activity. Hackmen snapped their whips. Boys, ragged and +dirty, were waiting for the time when "checks" would circulate, and, +in fact, were in much need of checks, but those of a different +nature from those they so eagerly looked for. + +Anon, the crowd gathered closer; and the prospect of a fight put the +boys in hysterics of delight, and their rags into great commotion. +To their sorrow, it was but the shadow of a "row"; and they kicked +and cuffed each other, in order to express their grief. + +A large poster announced in flaming characters that that night was +the last but two of Mr. Figaro's appearance, and that other +engagements would prevent him from prolonging his stay, however much +the public might desire him to do so; whilst, if the, truth had been +told, the public would have known that a printer was that moment +"working off" other posters, announcing a re‰ngagement of Mr. Figaro +for two weeks. + +"Will you enter?" inquired Othro. Edward desired to be excused, and +they parted; one entering the theatre, the other repairing to his +home. + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + + +The "tavern" at which our hero boarded was of the country, or, +rather, the colony order of architecture,--for piece had been added +to piece, until what was once a small shed was now quite an +extensive edifice. + +As was the case with all taverns in those days, so also with +this,--the bar-room was its most prominent feature. Mr. Blinge, the +landlord, not only smoked, but was an inveterate lover of raw +whiskey, which often caused him to perform strange antics. The fact +that he loved whiskey was not strange, for in those days all drank. +The aged drank his morning, noon and evening potations, because he +had always done so; the young, because his father did; and the +lisping one reached forth its hands, and in childish accents called +for the "thugar," and the mother, unwilling to deny it that which +she believed could not harm it, gave. + +Those were the days when seed was being sown, and now the harvesting +is in progress. Vain were it for us to attempt its description; you +will see it in ruined families, where are gathered blasted hopes, +withered expectations, and pangs, deep pangs of untold sorrow. + +The child indulged has become a man, yet scarce worthy of the name; +for a habit has been formed that has sunken him below the brute, and +he lives not a help, but a burden, not a blessing, but a curse, to +his fellow-men. + +Although Edward was opposed to the use of intoxicating drinks, his +business led him to associate with those who held opposite opinions. + +Among the boarders was one, a bold, drinking, independent sort of a +man, who went against all innovations upon old customs with a fury +worthy of a subject of hydrophobia. + +His name was "Pump." Barrel, or bottle, would have been more in +accordance with his character; but, as the old Pump had not +foresight enough to see into the future, he did not know that he was +inappropriately naming his son. + +Every Pump must have its handle, on the same principle that "every +dog must have his day." The handle to the Pump in question was a +long one; 't was "Onendago." + +"Onendago Pump" was written with red ink on the blank leaf of a +"Universal Songster" he carried in his pocket. + +Dago, as he was called, lived on appearances; that is, he acted the +gentleman outwardly, but the beggar inwardly. He robbed his stomach +to clothe his back: howbeit, his good outside appearance often got +for him a good dinner. + +By the aid of the tailor and the barber, he wore nice cloth and +curled hair; and, being blessed with a smooth, oily voice, was +enabled, by being invited to dinner here and to supper there, to +live quite easy. + +Edward had just seated himself, when a loud rap on the door was +heard, and in a moment Mr. Onendago Pump, with two bottles, entered. +With a low bow, he inquired as to our hero's health, and proposed +spending an evening in his company. + +"Ever hear me relate an incident of the last war?" said he, as he +seated himself, and placed his two bottles upon the side-table. + +"Never," replied Edward. + +"Well, Butler was our captain, and a regular man he; right up and +down good fellow,--better man never held sword or gave an order. +Well, we were quartered at-I don't remember where-history tells. We +led a lazy life; no red coats to fire at. One of the men came home, +one night, three sheets in the wind, and the fourth bound round his +head; awful patriotic was he, and made a noise, and swore he'd shoot +every man for the good of his country. Well, Captain Butler heard of +it, and the next day all hands were called. We formed a ring; Simon +Twigg, he who was drunk the day before, stood within it, and then +and there Captain Butler, who belonged to the Humane Society, and +never ordered a man to be flogged, lectured him half an hour. Well, +that lecture did Mr. Dago Pump immense good, and ever since I have +n't drank anything stronger than brandy. + +"Never a man died of brandy!" said Mr. Pump, with much emphasis. +"Brandy's the word!" and, without saying more, he produced a +cork-screw, and with it opened a bottle. + +A couple of glasses soon made their appearance. "Now, you will take +a glass with me," said Dago; "it is the pure Cogniac, quality one, +letter A." + +"Drink, now," said he, pushing a glass towards him. "Wine is used by +the temperance society. They'll use brandy soon. Ah, they can't do +without their wine, and we can't do without our brandy! They want to +bind us in a free country, what my father bled and almost died for,-- +bind us to drink cold water!" said Mr. Pump, sneeringly. "Let 'em +try it! I go for freedom of the press,--universal, everlasting, +unbounded freedom!" + +When this patriotic bubble had exploded and the mist cleared away, +he sang a bacchanalian song, which he wished every free man in the +world would commit to memory. "What is the difference," said he, +"between this and wine? Neither will hurt a man; it is your +rum-drinking, gin-guzzling topers that are harmed;--anything will +harm them. Who ever heard of a genteel wine or brandy drinker +becoming a pest to society? Who ever heard of such an one rolling in +the mire? No; such men are able to take care of themselves. Away +with the pledge!" + +"Perhaps you are right," replied Edward; "yet we should be careful. +Although all around me drink, I have until this moment abstained +from the use of brandy; but now, at your request, I partake of it. +Remember, if I, by this act, am led into habits of intemperance, if +I meet a drunkard's grave, the blame will rest upon you." + +"Ha, ha, ha! Well done! So be it! I'll shoulder the blame, if a +respectable man like you falls by brandy." + +Edward drank the contents of a glass, and, placing it upon the +table, said "We must be careful!" + +"True!" said Mr. Pump, as he again filled the glass; "we cannot be +too much so. We must avoid rum and gin as we would a viper! How I +abhor the very name of rum! O, Mr. Dayton, think of the misery it +has brought upon man! I had a sister once, a beautiful, kind-hearted +creature. She was married to an industrious man; all was fair, +prospects bright. By degrees he got into bad company; he forgot his +home, loved rum more than that, became dissipated, died, and filled +a drunkard's grave! She, poor creature, went into a fever, became +delirious, raved day after day, and, heaping curses upon him who +sold her husband rum, died. Since then, I have looked upon rum as a +curse; but brandy,--it is a gentle stimulant, a healthy beverage, a +fine drink, and it can do no harm." + +Onendago swallowed the contents of his glass, and Edward, who, +having taken the first, found it very easy to take the second, did +the same. Yet his conscience smote him; he felt that he was doing +wrong. + +Like the innocent, unthinking bird, who, charmed by the serpent's +glistening eyes, falls an easy prey to its crushing embrace, was he +at that moment. He the bird, unconscious of the danger behind the +charm. + +This is no fictitious tale. Would to Heaven it contained less of +truth! The world has seen many men like "Mr. Pump," and many have +through their instrumentality fallen; many not to rise till ages +shall have obliterated all memory of the past, with all its +unnatural loves! Whilst others, having struggled on for years, have +at length seen a feeble ray of light penetrating the dark clouds +that overshadowed their path, which light continued to increase, +till, in all its beauty, the star of temperance shone forth, by +which they strove ever after to be guided. + +It was near midnight when Mr. Pump left. The two had become quite +sociable, and Mr. Pump saw the effect of his brandy in the unusual +gayety of Edward. + +The latter was not lost to reflection; and now that he was alone, +thoughts of home, his business, and many other matters, came +confusedly into his mind. + +Letters he had received of warning and advice. He took them in his +hands, looked over their contents, and with feelings of sadness, and +somewhat of remorse, thought of his ways. + +A bundle of old letters! A circle of loved friends! How alike! There +is that's pleasant, yet sad, in these. How vividly they present to +our view the past! The writers, some, perhaps, are dead; others are +far away. Yet, dead or alive, near or far distant, we seem to be +with them as we read their thoughts traced out on the sheet before +us. + +As Edward read here and there a letter, it did seem as though his +friends stood beside him, and spoke words of advice which conscience +whispered should be heeded. Love was the theme of not a few, yet all +warned him to flee from evil. He returned the parcel, and, as he did +so, he pledged himself that if he drank any it should be with +moderation: and that, as soon as he felt its ruinous effects, to +abstain altogether. + +The next morning Othro was late at the store; yet, when he arrived, +he was full of praise of the play. + +"Figaro acted Hamlet to a charm," said he; "and Fanny Lightfoot +danced like a fairy. But two nights more! Now, Edward, if you do not +wish to offend me, and that exceedingly, say you will go with me +to-morrow night." + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + + + +Three years had elapsed since the events of the last chapter. Edward +had often visited his native village, and, as the results of these +visits, Emily Lawton became Mrs. Dayton; and she, with Mrs. Brandon, +was removed to an elegantly furnished house in the city. Yet, with +all its elegance, Mrs. Brandon, who had been accustomed to rural +simplicity, did not feel happy except when in her own room, which +Edward had ordered to be furnished in a style answering her own +wishes. + +Messrs. Dayton and Treves had been highly successful in their +business operations; and, enjoying as they did the patronage of the +‚lite of the city, they, with but little stretch of their +imaginative powers, could see a fortune at no great distance. + +Becoming acquainted with a large number of persons of wealth, they +were present at very many of the winter entertainments; and, being +invited to drink, they had not courage to refuse, and did not wish +to act so ungenteel and uncivil. Others drank; and some loved their +rum, and would have it. Edward had taken many steps since the events +of our last chapter; yet, thought he, "I drink moderately." + +There was to be a great party. A musical prodigy, in the shape of a +child of ten years, had arrived, and the leaders of fashion had +agreed upon having a grand entertainment on the occasion. + +Great was the activity and bustle displayed, and in no place more +than at the store of Dayton and Treves. As ill-luck would have it, +Ralph had been absent a week on one of his drunken sprees, and his +employers were obliged to procure another to fill his place. + +The event was to take place at the house of a distinguished city +officer; and, as Messrs. Dayton and Treves were to provide +refreshment, their time was fully occupied. + +The papers were filled with predictions concerning it; and the +editors, happy fellows, were in ecstasies of joy on account of +having been invited to attend. Nor were Messrs. Dayton and Treves +forgotten; but lengthy eulogies upon their abilities to perform the +duty assigned them occupied prominent places, and "steamboat +disasters," "horrid murders," and "dreadful accidents," were obliged +to make room for these. + +In the course of human events the evening came. Hacks were in +demand, and the rattling of wheels and the falling of carriage-steps +were heard till near midnight. + +The chief object of attraction was a small boy, who had attained +considerable proficiency in musical knowledge, not of any particular +instrument, but anything and everything; consequently a large +assortment of instruments had been collected, upon which he played. +As music had called them together, it was the employment of the +evening, and the hour of midnight had passed when they were summoned +to the tables. + +Those gentlemen who desired had an apartment to themselves, where +wine and cigars circulated freely. Some, in a short time, became +excited; whilst others, upon whom the same cause had a different +effect, became stupid. One poor fellow, whose bloated countenance +told a sad tale, lay almost senseless; another sat dreamingly over +his half-filled glass, whilst another excited the risibilities of +not a few by his ineffectual attempts to light his cigar. + +Our hero, like his companions, was a little overcome by too frequent +potations from the bottle. It was a sad sight to a reflective mind. +The majority were young men, whose eyes had been blinded to the +danger they were in, by adhering to a foolish and injurious custom. + +As hour passed hour, they became more excited, until a high state of +enthusiasm existed. + +All the ladies had retired, except one, and she strove hard to +conceal her rising sorrow by forced smiles; yet she could not +restrain her feelings,--her heart seemed bursting with grief. In vain +did officious servants seek to know the cause. To the inquiries of +the lady of the house she made no reply. She dare not reveal the +secret which pierced her very soul; but, burying her face in her +hands, seemed resolved upon not being comforted. Finally, yielding +to the persuasive influence of Mrs. Venet, she expressed her fears +that Edward had tarried too long at the bowl. + +Mrs. Venet tried to comfort her by saying that, if what she so much +feared was true, yet it was nothing uncommon; and mentioned several +men, and not a few ladies, who had been carried away in a senseless +condition. + +These words did not comfort her; on the contrary, they increased her +fears, and led her to believe that there was more danger at such +parties than there was generally thought to be; and the fact that +Edward had often attended such parties increased her sorrow, for she +knew not but that he had been among that number of whom Mrs. Venet +spoke. + +Imagination brought to her view troubles and trials as her future +lot; and last, not least, the thought of Edward's temperament, and +of how easily he might be led astray, rested heavily upon her heart. +Mrs. Venet at length left her, and repaired to the gentleman's +apartment, in order to learn the cause of his delay. + +"Who in the devil's there, with that thundering racket?" inquired a +loud voice. + +"It is Mrs. Venet," replied the lady. + +"O, it is, is it? Well, madam, Dayton the confectioner, and a dozen +jovial souls, are having a rare time here. Put that down in your +memorandum-book, and leave us to our meditations." + +"Yes, and these to profit and loss," said another, and the breaking +of glasses was heard. + +"If Mr. Dayton is within, tell him his lady is waiting for him," +said Mrs. Venet. + +"Ed, your wife's waiting,"' said one of the party. + +"Then, friends, I-I-I must go," said the inebriated man, who, though +badly intoxicated, had not wholly forgotten her. + +His companions endeavored to have him remain, but in vain. He +unbolted the door, and, leaving, closed it upon them. + +Mrs. Venet, who was standing without, laid hold of his coat, and, +knowing the excited state of Mrs. Dayton, and fearing that the +appearance of her husband would be too much for her to bear, +endeavored to induce him not to enter the room, or, at least, to +wait until he had recovered from the effects of his drinking. + +He appeared rational for a while, but, suddenly breaking away, +shouted, "Emily, where are you?" + +The sound of his voice resounded through the building, and his +drunken companions, hearing it, made the building echo with their +boisterous laughter. + +He ran through the entries gazing wildly around, and loudly calling +for his wife. + +The servants, hearing the tumult, hastened to the spot; but neither +they nor Mrs. Venet could induce him to become quiet. + +The latter, finding she could have no influence upon him, repaired +to the room in which she left Mrs. Dayton, and found her senseless +upon the floor, and to all appearances dead. She had heard his wild +cries, and what she had so much feared she then knew to be true. + +Mrs. Venet rang for the servants, and ordered some restoratives. +These were soon obtained, and by their free use she had nearly +recovered, when her husband rushed into the room. + +Upon seeing his wife, the raging lion became as docile as a lamb. A +sudden change came over him; he seemed to realize the truth, and it +sent an arrow to his soul. + +Again the injured wife fainted, and again the restoratives were +faithfully applied; but it was evident that if Mr. Dayton remained +in her presence it would be difficult to restore her, and the man +who before would not be approached was led quietly away. In a short +time Mrs. Dayton became sensible, and her first words were to +inquire after Edward. Being told, she was induced to lie down, and, +if possible, enjoy a little sleep; but sleep she could not. Her mind +became almost delirious, and fears were entertained by her +attendants that she would lose her reason. + +The effects of Edward's carousal were entirely dissipated by the +sudden realization of the truth. + +To Mrs. Dayton this was an hour of the deepest sorrow. She looked +back upon the past, and saw happiness; in the future nothing but +misery seemed to await her. Yet a change came over her; she thanked +God for his past mercies, and wisely trusted him for their +continuance. She implored pardon for past ingratitude, and prayed +that she might be more grateful in future, and that, having tasted +of the cup of sorrow, she might not drink the bitter draught. + + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + + + +The next morning Edward repented of his crime, and in his inmost +soul felt it to be such,--a crime of deepest dye. + +Emily wept as she bent over him. + +"Cease thy tears," said he, "and forgive; it is but that word, +spoken by thee, that can send peace to my soul. Yet what peace can I +expect? I have wronged thee!"-and the wretched man wept like a +child. + +New thoughts continually sprang into existence,--the days of his +youth, the bliss of home, and his present situation. He felt +disgraced;--how should he redeem his character? + +"O, that the grave would hide me," continued Edward, "and that in +death I might forget this crime! But no! I cannot forget it; it will +cling to me through life, and the future--" + +He would have said more, but the strong emotions of his soul choked +his utterance. + +He arose and paced the room in agony of feeling which pen cannot +describe. Suddenly halting, he gazed steadfastly upon the face of +his wife. It was deadly pale, and a tear dimmed the usual lustre of +her eye. + +"Comfort thyself," said he; "no further evil shall come upon thee. +It shall never be said you are a drunkard's wife,--no, no, no, +never!" + +"Let us, then, forget the past," said Mrs. Dayton. + +"What! forget those days when I had not tasted? O, misery indeed, if +I cannot retain their remembrance!" said Edward. + +"Not so, Edward; we would remember those, but forget the evil that +has befallen us,--all will be well." + +"Do you-can you forgive?" + +"God will forgive; and shall not I?" + +"Then let this be a pledge of the future;" and, taking her hand in +his, he said; "I resolve to walk in the path of right, and never +more to wander, God being my witness and my strength." + +"'T is well thou hast pledged thyself," said she; "but know thou the +tempter is on every side. Should the wine-cup touch thy lips, dash +it aside, and proclaim yourself a pledged man." + +"I will!" was the response, and, taking a pen, he boldly placed his +name to the following pledge: + +"PLEDGE.-We pledge ourselves to abstain from the use of all +intoxicating drinks, except the moderate use of wine, beer and +cider." + +Such was the pledge to which he affixed his name, and such the +pledge by which men of those days endeavored to stay the tide of +intemperance. Did not every man who signed that pledge himself to +become a moderate drinker; and is not every moderate drinker pledged +to become a drunkard? What a pledge! Yet we should not blame the men +of former years for pursuing a course which they conscientiously +thought to be right. That was the first step. It was well as far as +it led; but it paused at the threshold of the ark of safety, and +there its disciples fell. They had not seen, as have men of late +years, the ruinous tendency of such a course; and knew not, as we +now do, that total abstinence is the only sure course. + +The pledge Edward had signed was no preventive in his case. He had +tasted; in fact, he had become a lover of strong drink; and the +temptation of having it constantly beside him, and daily dealing it +out to others, was too strong for him to resist. When he drank, he +did think, as Emily had bade him, that he was a pledged man; but +that pledge permitted him to drink wine. The remedy such a pledge +applied was of no avail. It failed to reach the fountain-head, and +strove to stop the stream by placing slight resistances in its way. + +A long time must elapse before a man can know the heart of his +fellow-man, if, indeed, it can ever be known; and it was not until +Edward had become addicted to habits of intemperance that he +discovered the professed friendship of Mr. Treves to be insincere. +Words of warning seldom came from his lips. What cared he if Edward +did fall? Such being the case, the business would come into his own +hands; and such "a consummation devoutly to be wished" it was very +evident that if Edward did not soon reform was not far distant. + +Now Emily Dayton began to experience anxious days and sleepless +nights, and Mrs. Brandon begged of Edward to reform. Often he would +do so. He would sign that pledge; but it was like an attempt to stay +a torrent with a straw. That pledge! 'twas nothing! yea, worse than +nothing! + +Six months of sorrowing passed, and what a change we behold! +Experience has shown to Edward that the use of brandy is dangerous, +and good dame Brandon has been led to believe that there are +temptations in the city which she little thought of. + +Edward, driven from his business, revels in bar-rooms, and riots at +midnight; whilst the patient, uncomplaining, enduring Emily, forced +by creditors from her former home, finds shelter from the storm in a +small tenement; where, by the aid of her needle, she is enabled to +support herself and aged aunt, whilst a prattling infant plays at +her side, and, laughing in its childish sports, thinks not of the +sorrows it was born to encounter, and knows not the sad feelings of +its mother's wounded heart. + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + + + +In a low, damp, dark cellar, behold a man washing the glasses of a +groggery. His ragged dress and uncombed hair, his shabby and dirty +appearance, do not prevent us from seeing indications of his once +having been in better circumstances, and that nature never designed +that he should be where he now is. + +Having rinsed a few cracked tumblers, he sat down beside a red-hot +cylinder stove, and, bending over till his head rested upon his +hands, he, in a half-audible voice, talked to himself. + +"Here 't is, eighteen forty-some years since I saw that Dayton cove; +eh, gone by the board? The daily papers say he was up for a common +drunkard; but, being first time, was lectured and sent home. Plaguy +poor home his, I reckon! Wonder if the lecture did him as much good +as Old Batter's did me. Ah! he liked that brandy, and said I should +bear the blame if he was ruined; but he an't that yet. Here I am, +ten times worse off than he is, and I an't ruined. No! Mr. Dago Pump +is a man yet. Well, well! what shall I say?-business awful dull, and +it's damp and dark here; I feel cold 'side of this red-faced stove." + +Mr. Onendago Pump poked the fire, and continued to do so till a +ragged little boy, without shoes, stockings or cap, came down the +slippery steps, and asked for "two cents' worth of rum, and one +cent's worth of crackers." + +The proprietor of this subterraneous establishment threw aside an +old wire that served as a poker, and demanded payment in advance. +The child handed him the three cents, received his rum and crackers, +and left. + +Mr. Pump, who for a long time had lived on appearances, could do so +no longer; for, persisting in his opinion that brandy could not hurt +him, he drank so much that bad soon supplanted good appearances, and +his company was soon discarded. + +Mr. Blinge would not have him about his premises, although the one +drank as much as the other, and a great similarity existed between +them. + +He was turned out of the tavern, and, having purchased four +shillings' worth of brandy, commenced business in the cellar we have +alluded to, replenishing his stock by daily applying to a +neighboring pump; and, for every gill of brandy he drew from the +tap, poured a gill of water in at the bung, and thus kept up a stock +in trade. + +In a short time, a collection of drinking loafers met daily at his +place, and Dago Pump could see no difference between his +respectability as proprietor of a bar-room, and his who, being owner +of thousands, fitted up "oyster saloons," which places had suddenly +sprung up in all large cities. + +Edward had fallen; he had become what was termed a "common +drunkard." His wife wept tears of anguish; she entreated; she begged +him to reform. She prayed to Heaven for its aid; yet week passed +week, month followed month, on Time's unending course, and she was a +drunkard's wife still. All friends had forsaken her. Friends! shall +we call them such? No; they did not deserve the name. Their +friendship only had an existence when fortune smiled; when a frown +mantled its countenance, or a cloud intervened, they fled. Yet God +was raising up friends for her, and from a class of society from +whom she little expected aid. God was working, in his mysterious +way, a deliverance. He had heard the prayers that for many long +years had gone up to his throne from thousands of wretched families; +and, moved to pity, he was to show them that he was a God of mercy. + +Othro Treves-where is he? Not in that elegant store; it long since +passed into other hands. Has he made his fortune, and retired? Such +we might suppose to be the case, did we not know that he trusted to +moderate drinking. Man might as well trust a leaky vessel to bear +him across the ocean, as to trust that. + +The clock struck twelve. + +"'T is midnight," said a female voice, "and he has not come. God +send repentance to his heart! Hope has almost failed me; yet I will +hope on." + +"Another glass of brandy for me," said a man, addressing Mr. Dago +Pump. + +"And rum for me," said another. + +"Gin with a hot poker in it for me," said the third; and Mr. Pump +poured out the poisons. + +Half a dozen men stood in front of some rough boards that served as +a "bar." + +One of these-a tall, well-formed man-gazed fixedly upon the glasses, +seemingly in deep thought. + +"Stop!" he suddenly exclaimed. Mr. Pump nearly dropped the bottle. +It was as an electric shock to him: an ashy paleness came over his +face. "Stop!" he again exclaimed. All eyes were fixed upon him. Some +tried to laugh, but could not. Dago set down the bottle, and the +glasses, half filled, stood upon the bench before him. + +"I have been thinking," said he who had caused this strange effect, +"is it right for us to drink that? It does us no good; it brings +upon us much evil; that's what I've been a-thinking while 'twas +being poured out." + +"So have I," exclaimed another. + +"And I," said a third. "I would have been worth fifty thousand +dollars, this day, had I never touched stuff like that. I tell you +what, coveys, let's come out." + +"Hurra!" shouted yet another; "I've spent a good fortune in +rum-shops. That's what I say; let's come out." + +"Yes," said the first speaker, "let us come out. We have been in +long enough;--in the gutter, in the grog-shop, in misery, in +disgrace, in poverty, in jail, and in ruin. I say, let us come out, +out of all these." + +"Amen!" responded all. + +"Let us come out," he continued; "but what can temperance folks do? +I have signed the pledge, and signed, and signed, but I cannot keep +it. I had no friends; temperance folks never came to me. I have +often thought that, if a friend would reach forth his hand, and help +me from the gutter when I have lain there, I would do anything for +such a friend. But when I am drunk they laugh at and jeer me. Boys +stone and cuff me, and men stand by and laugh at their hellish +sport. Yes, those calling themselves 'friends of temperance' would +laugh at me, and say, 'Miserable fool, nothing can save him! When +such are dead, we can train up a generation of temperate people.' I +am kicked and cuffed about like a dog, and not a hand is extended to +relieve me. When I first tasted, I told him who gave it me the blame +should rest on him if I fell. Where he is now, I know not; but, +wherever he is, I know his is a miserable existence. Years have +passed since then, and here I am, a miserable drunkard. My +wife-where is she? and my good old aunt-where is she? At home in +that comfortless room, weeping over my fall, and praying for my +reform. Brothers, let us arise; let us determine to be men-free +men!" + +"It is done," said one and all; and the keeper of the cellar dashed +bottle after bottle against the wall. + +"Yes, let us renounce these habits; they are hard to renounce; +temptation is hard to resist." + +"The present pledge is not safe for us," said the keeper of the +cellar, as he took a demijohn of liquor up the steps, and emptied it +in the gutter. + +"Then let us have one of our own," said the first speaker. "Let it +be called 'The Hope of the Fallen;' for we are indeed fallen, and +this, our last refuge from more fearful evils, is our only hope. May +it not disappoint us! May we cling to it as the drowning man grasps +the rope thrown out for his rescue! And not for us alone shall this +hope exist. Let us go to every unfortunate in our land, and speak +kindly to him. Al, my friends, we know the value of a kind word. Let +us lift him from the gutter, place him upon his feet, and say, +'Stand up! I myself also am a man.'" + +Having said this, he sent out for pen, ink and paper, and a pledge +was carefully drawn up, of which the following is a copy: + +"We, whose names are hereunto affixed, knowing by sad experience +that the use of wine, beer, cider, rum, brandy, gin, and all kinds +of intoxicating drinks, is hurtful to man, beast and reptile, do +hereby pledge ourselves most solemnly to abstain now, henceforth, +and forever, from the use of them in whatever shape they may be +presented; to neither eat, drink, touch, taste, nor handle them; and +in every place, and on every occasion, to use our influence in +inducing others to do the same." + +The speaker was the first to place his name to this document; and +the keeper of the cellar started when he read the name of "Edward +Dayton." + +"Is it possible!" said he, and, grasping his hand, he shook it most +heartily. + +Edward was as much astonished as he. Such a change had taken place +that they could not at first recognize each other. + +"Yes," said Edward, "you tempted me to drink. I forgive. I now tempt +you to sign this pledge." + +No words were required to induce all present to sign. + +They all spake of their past lives, related the sorrows they had +felt, the misery they had endured; and such was the interest +manifested by each in listening to these plain, unvarnished tales, +that they resolved upon meeting in that same place the next night. + +The next day, the report spread like wild-fire about the city that +drunkards themselves were reforming. Many doubted, and would not +believe such to be the case. + +"They are past reforming," said public opinion; "let them die; let +us take care of the young." + + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + + + +They met in the same place the next night, but the next they did +not. Their numbers had so increased that the cellar would not +contain them; and they engaged a large hall, and gave public notice +that a meeting would be held at which reformed drunkards would +speak. Those who before doubted did so no more; yet from many the +sneering, cold-hearted remark was heard, "They will not hold on." + +At the hour appointed, hundreds thronged to the place, and hundreds +departed, being unable to gain admittance. That night, nearly five +hundred signed the new pledge, and new additions were made daily. + +It had a power which no previous pledge had possessed; a power, with +God's, aid, to bring man from the lowest depths of woe, place him on +his feet, and tell him, "Sin no more." + +The new society increased in numbers. In other cities the same +feeling arose, and societies of the same kind were formed. The +papers were filled with accounts of their meetings, and the cause +spread, to the astonishment and grateful admiration of all. + +Days of prosperity gladdened the heart of Edward. Joy took the place +of sorrow in his family. He, like his thousands of brethren, had +been snatched as a brand from the burning, and stood forth a living +monument to the truth that there was a hope for the fallen. + +Twelve years have passed since that ever-memorable night. Millions +have become better men, and yet the pledge remains to exert its +influence, and who can doubt that God directs its course? + +'T is sending joy to the mourning, and many a wounded heart it +heals. Is there a power that can exceed this? Is there another +pledge that has effected as much good? + +Let us, then, push on the car. Let our influence be such as will +advance, and not retard, its progress. Let us do this, and ere long +we may rejoice together, and earth hold a grand jubilee, and all men +shall testify that the Pledge is the "hope of the fallen." + + + + + + +THOUGHTS THAT COME FROM LONG AGO. + + + + + + THERE are moments in our life + When are hushed its sounds of strife; + When, from busy toil set free, + Mind goes back the past to see: + Memory, with its mighty powers, + Brings to view our childhood hours; + Once again we romp and play, + As we did in youth's bright day; + And, with never-ceasing flow, + Come the hours of Long Ago. + Oft, when passions round us throng, + And our steps incline to wrong, + Memory brings a friend to view, + In each line and feature true; + Though he long hath left us here, + Then his presence seemeth near, + And with sweet, persuasive voice, + Leads us from an evil choice;-- + Thus, when we astray would go, + Come restraints from Long Ago. + Oft, when troubled and perplexed, + Worn in heart and sorely vexed; + Almost sinking 'neath our load, + Famishing on life's high road,-- + Darkness, doubt, and dark despair + Leading us we know not where,-- + How hath sweet remembrance caught + From the past some happy thought! + And, refreshed, we on would go, + Cheered with hopes from Long Ago. + What a store-house, filled with gems + Of more worth than diadems, + Each hath 'neath his own control, + From which to refresh his soul! + Let us, then, each action weigh, + Some good deed perform each day, + That in future we may find + Happy thoughts to bring to mind; + For, with ever ceaseless flow, + Thoughts will come from Long Ago. + + + + + + +DETERMINED TO BE RICH. + + + + + + RISE up early, sit up late, + Be thou unto Avarice sold; + Watch thou well at Mammon's gate, + Just to gain a little gold. + Crush thy brother neath thy feet, + Till each manly thought is flown; + Hear not, though he loud entreat, + Be thou deaf to every moan. + Wield the lash, and hush the cry, + Let thy conscience now be seared; + Pile thy glittering gems on high, + Till thy golden god is reared. + Then before its sparkling shrine + Bend the neck and bow the knee; + Victor thou, all wealth is thine, + Yet, what doth it profit thee? + + + + + + +THE HEAVEN SENT, HEAVEN RETURNED. + + + + + + PURE as an infant's heart that sin ne'er touched, + That guilt had ne'er polluted; and she seemed + Most like an angel that had missed its way + On some kind mission Heaven had bade it go. + Her eye beamed bright with beauty; and innocence, + Its dulcet notes breathed forth in every word, + Was seen in every motion that she made. + Her form was faultless, and her golden hair + In long luxuriant tresses floated o'er + Her shoulders, that as alabaster shone. + Her very look seemed to impart a sense + Of matchless purity to all it met. + I saw her in the crowd, yet none were there + That seemed so pure as she; and every eye + That met her eye's mild glance shrank back abashed, + It spake such innocence. + One day she slept,-- + How calm and motionless! I watched her sleep + Till evening; then, until the sun arose; + And then, would have awakened her,--but friends + Whispered in my ear she would not wake + Within that body more, for it was dead, + And she, now clothed in immortality, + Would know no more of change, nor know a care. + And when I felt that truth, methought I saw + A bright angelic throng, in robes of white, + Bear forth her spirit to the throne of God; + And I heard music, such as comes to us + Oft in our dreams, as from some unseen life, + And holy voices chanting heavenly songs, + And harps and voices blending in one hymn, + Eternal hymn of highest praise to God + For all the good the Heaven-sent one had done + Since first it left the heavenly fold of souls, + To live on earth, and show to lower man + How pure and holy, joyous and serene, + They may and shall assuredly become + When all the laws that God through Nature speaks + Are kept unbroken! * * * + * * * She had now returned, + And heaven resounded with angelic songs. + Before me lay the cold, unmoving form; + Above me lived the joyous, happy one! + And who should sorrow? Sure, not I; not she; + Not any one! For death,--there was no death,-- + But that which men called death was life more real + Than heart had o'er conceived or words expressed! + + + + + + +FLOWERS, BRIGHT FLOWERS! + + + + + + FLOWERS from the wild-wood, + Flowers, bright flowers! + Springing in desert spot, + Where man dwelleth not,-- + Flowers, bright flowers, + Cheering the traveller's lot. + Given to one and all, + Flowers, bright flowers! + When man neglecteth thee, + When he rejecteth thee, + Flowers, bright flowers, + God's hand protecteth thee! + Remnants of paradise, + Flowers, bright flowers! + Tinged with a heavenly hue, + Reflecting its azure blue, + Flowers, bright flowers, + Brightest earth ever knew! + Cheering the desolate, + Flowers, bright flowers! + Coming with fragrance fraught, + From Heaven's own breezes caught, + Flowers, bright flowers, + Teachers of holy thought! + Borne to the curtained room, + Flowers, bright flowers! + Where the sick longs for light, + Then, for the shades of night, + Flowers, bright flowers, + Gladdening the wearied sight! + High on the mountain-top, + Flowers, bright flowers! + Low in sequestered vale, + On cliff, mid rock, in dale, + Flowers, bright flowers, + Ye do prevail! + + + + + + +FORGET ME NOT. + + + + + + FORGET me not when other lips + Shall whisper love to thee; + Forget me not when others twine + Their chaplets for thy brow; + Forget me not, for I am thine, + Forever onward true as now, + As long as time shall be. + There may be words thou mayest doubt, + But when I tell thee "I am thine," + Believe the heart's assurance true, + In sorrow and in mirth + Forever it doth turn to you, + Confiding, trusting in thy worth. + Thou wilt, I know, be mine. + + + + + + +WHAT IS TRUTH? + + + + + +LONG, long ago, one whose life had been one of goodness-whose every +act had been that of charity and good will-was persecuted, hated and +maligned! He came with new hopes. He held up a light, whose rays +penetrated far into the future, and disclosed a full and glorious +immortality to the long doubting, troubled soul of man. + +He professed to commune with angels! He had healed the sick; he had +given sight to the blind; caused the lame to walk; opened +prison-doors, and had preached the Gospel to the poor. Those he +chose for his companions were from humble rank. Their minds had not +become enslaved to any creed; not wedded to any of the fashionable +and popular forms of the day, nor immovably fixed to any of the +dogmas of the schools. He chose such because their minds were free +and natural; "and they forsook all and followed him." + +Among the rulers, the wealthy and the powerful, but few believed in +him, or in the works he performed. To them he was an impostor. In +speaking of his labors some cant phrase fell from their wise lips, +synonymous with the "it is all a humbug" of our day. His healing of +the sick was denied; or, if admitted, was said to be some lucky +circumstance of fate. His opening of the eyes of the blind was to +them a mere illusion; the supposed cure, only an operation of the +imagination. + +All his good deeds were underrated; and those who, having seen with +their own eyes, and heard with their own ears, were honest enough to +believe and openly declare their belief; were looked upon by the +influential and those in high places as most egregiously deceived +and imposed upon. + +But, notwithstanding the opposition, men did believe; and in one day +three thousand acknowledged their belief in the sincerity of the +teacher, and in the doctrines which he taught. + +Impressed deeply with the reality and divinity of his +mission,--looking to God as his father, and to all mankind as his +brethren,--Jesus continued his way. To the scoffs and jeers of the +rabble, he replied in meekness and love; and amid the proud and +lofty he walked humbly, ever conscious of the presence of an angelic +power, which would silence the loudest, and render powerless the +might of human strength. + +He spoke as one having authority. He condemned the formalism of +their worship; declared a faith that went deeper than exterior rites +and ceremonies; and spoke with an independence and fearlessness such +deep and soul-searching truths, that the people took up stones to +stone him, and the priests and the rulers held council together +against him. + +At length the excited populace, beholding their cherished faith +undermined, and the new teacher day by day inculcating doctrines +opposed to those of Moses and the prophets, determined to take his +life, and thus terminate his labors and put a stop to his heresies. + +They watched his every movement. They stood by and caught the words +as they fell from his lips, hoping thus to get something by which to +form an accusation against him. In this they failed. Though what he +said was contrary to their time-worn dogmas, yet nothing came from +his lips but sentiments of the purest love, the injunctions of +reason and justice, and the language of humanity. Failing in this +plan to ensnare him, justice was set abide, and force called in to +their aid. + +See him now before a great tribunal, and Pilate, troubled in soul, +compelled to say, "I find no fault in this man." + +Urged to action by the mad crowd around him, balancing his decision +between justice, the prisoner's release, and injustice, the call to +crucify him, he knows not what to do. In an agony of thought, which +pen cannot describe or human words portray, he delays his +irrevocable doom. + +In the mean time, the persecutors grow impatient; and louder than +ever, from the chief priests and the supporters of royalty, goes up +the infamous shout, "Crucify him, crucify him!" At this moment, the +undecided, fearful Pilate casts a searching glance about him. As he +beholds the passionate people, eager for the blood of one man, and +he innocent, and sees, standing in their midst, the meek and lowly +Jesus, calm as an evening zephyr over Judea's plains, from whose eye +flows the gentle love of an infinite divinity,--his face beaming in +sympathy with every attribute of goodness, faith and humanity,--all +this, too, before his mad, unjust accusers, from whose eyes flash in +mingled rays the venom of scorn and hate,--his mind grows strong with +a sense of right. His feelings will not longer be restrained, and, +unconscious of his position, forgetting for the moment the dignity +of his office, he exclaims, with the most emphatic earnestness, +"WHAT IS TRUTH?" + +Eighteen hundred years have intervened between that day and this; +and now the same inquiry is heard, and often with the same +earnestness as then. Men ask, and often ask in vain, "what is +truth?" and yet the great problem to millions remains unsolved. + +Generations pass on, and leave to others the great question for them +to ask, and they, in turn, to leave unanswered. The child, ere it +can speak in words, looks from its wistful eye, "What is truth?" +Youth comes, and all the emotions of the soul are awakened. It +arises from the playfulness of childhood, forgets its little games, +and, finding itself an actor in the drama of life, looks over the +long programme of parts from which it is to choose its own, and +anxiously inquires "What is truth?" Manhood feels the importance of +the question; and Age, though conscious of its near approach to the +world of revealed truth, repeats it. + +The present is an era of thought. Men begin to assume a spirit of +independence, and to look less upon human authority, and more upon +that light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world. And +it is well that it is so. It is well that we begin to look upon +liberty in another light than a mere absence of iron bonds upon our +hands and feet; that we begin to discern that "He is a freeman whom +the truth makes free, And all are slaves beside." We are pressing on +to know the truth. We have grown weary of darkness, and are seeking +the light. We should remember, in our researches, that, to find out +truth, we must not be pledged to any form, any opinion, or any +creed, however old or dearly cherished such limitations may have +been with ourselves or others. We must come to the task like little +children, ready to learn. We must leave our beliefs behind us. We +must not bring them, and attempt to adapt our discoveries in the +realms of eternal truth to them; but we must build up the structure +with the material we find in the universe of God; and then, when +reared, if we find that in doing so we have a stone from our old +temple nicely adjusted in the new, very well;--let it remain, and +thank God for it. + +Men have trusted too much in the views of past ages, and taken for +truth many an error, because some one back in by-gone ages +introduced it as such, and it has been believed in and held most +sacred. + +Let our course be our own course, and not that of others. Let us +seek for truth as truth. Let us be honest and press on, trusting in +God the rewarder of all, who will bless all our efforts to ascertain +his truths, and our duty to him, to our fellow-men, and to +ourselves. + + + + + + +THE HOMESTEAD VISIT. + + + + + +He had wandered far and long, and when, on his return to the scenes +of his early life, he came in full view of the old house, in which +and around which those scenes were clustered, he throw down his +oaken staff, raised his hands, and clapped them like a child. Then a +tear would roll down his face; then a smile illumine it; then he +would dance with joy. As he approached the building, he observed +that the door was open; and the large, hospitable-looking room was +so inviting, and there being no one present, he entered, and +indulged in thoughts like these: + + I STAND where I have stood before: + The same roof is above me, + But they who were are here no more, + For me to love, or love me. + I listen, and I seem to hear + A favorite voice to greet me; + But yet I know that none are near, + Save stranger forms, to meet me. + I'll sit me down,--for I have not + Sat here since first I started + To run life's race,--and on this spot + Will muse of the departed. + Then I was young, and on my brow + The rays of hope were shining; + But Time hath there his imprint now, + That tells of life's declining. + How great the change!-though I can see + Full many a thing I cherished- + Yet, since beneath yon old oak tree + I stood, how much hath perished. + Here is the same old oaken floor, + And there the same rough ceiling + Each telling of the scenes of yore, + Each former joys revealing. + But, friends of youth-they all have fled; + Some yet on earth do love us; + While others, passed beyond the dead, + Live guardian ones above us. + Yet, o'er us all one powerful hand + Is raised to guard forever, + And all, ere long, one happy band + Be joined, no more to sever. + I've trimmed my sail on every sea + Where crested waves are swelling; + Yet oft my heart turned back to thee, + My childhood's humble dwelling. + I've not forgot my youthful days, + The home that was my mother's, + When listening to the words of praise + That were bestowed on others. + See, yonder, through the window-pane, + The rock on which I rested; + And on that green how oft I've lain- + What memories there are vested! + The place where once a sister's hand + I held-none loved I fonder; + But she's now with an angel band, + Whilst I a pilgrim wander. + There was a pretty, blue-eyed girl, + A good old farmer's daughter; + We used the little stones to hurl, + And watch them skip the water. + We'd range among the forest trees, + To gather woodland flowers; + And then each other's fancy please + In building floral bowers. + Within this room, how many a time + I've listened to a story, + And heard grandfather sing his rhyme + 'Bout Continental glory! + And oft I'd shoulder his old staff, + And march as proud as any, + Till the old gentleman would laugh, + And bless me with a penny. + Hark! 't is a footstep that I hear; + A stranger is approaching; + I must away-were I found here + I should be thought encroaching. + One last, last look-my old, old home! + One memory more of childhood! + I'll not forget, where'er I roam, + This homestead and the wild-wood. + + + + + + +THE MARINER'S SONG. + + + + + + O THE sea, the sea! I love the sea! + For nothing on earth seems half as free + As its crested waves; they mount on high, + And seem to sport with the star-gemmed sky. + Talk as you will of the land and shore; + Give me the sea, and I ask no more. + I love to float on the ocean deep, + To be by its motion rocked to sleep; + Or to sit for hours and watch the spray, + Marking the course of our outward way, + While upward far in a cloudless sky + With a shriek the wild bird passeth by. + And when above are the threatening clouds, + And the wild wind whistles 'mid the shrouds, + Our masts bend low till they kiss the wave, + As beckoning one from its ocean cave, + Then hurra for the sea! I love its foam, + And over it like a bird would roam. + There is that's dear in a mountain home, + With dog and gun 'mid the woods to roam; + And city life hath a thousand joys, + That quiver amid its ceaseless noise; + Yet nothing on land can give to me + Such joy as that of the pathless sea. + When morning comes, and the sun's first rays + All around our gallant topmast plays, + My heart bounds forth with rapturous glee, + O, then, 't is then that I love the sea! + Talk as you will of the land and shore; + Give me the sea, and I ask no more! + + + + + + +LOVE'S LAST WORDS. + + + + + + THEY knew that she was going + To holier, better spheres, + Yet they could not stay the flowing + Of their tears; + And they bent above in sorrow, + Like mourners o'er a tomb, + For they knew that on the morrow + There'd be gloom. + There was one among the number + Who had watched the dying's breath, + With an eye that would not slumber + Until death. + There, as he bent above her, + He whispered in her ear + How fondly he did love her, + Her most dear. + "One word, 't will comfort send me, + When early spring appears, + And o'er thy grave I bend me + In my tears. + A single word now spoken + Shall be kept in Memory's shrine, + Where the dearest treasured token + Shall be thine." + She pressed his hand-she knew him- + With the fervor of a child; + And, looking fondly to him, + Sweetly smiled. + And, smiling thus, she started + For her glorious home above, + And her last breath, as it parted, + Whispered "Love." + + + + + + +LIGHT IN DARKNESS. + + + + + + SOMETIMES my heart complaineth + And moans in bitter sighs; + And dreams no hope remaineth, + No more its sun will rise. + But yet I know God liveth, + And will do all things well; + And that to me he giveth + More good than tongue can tell. + And though above me linger + At times dark Sorrow's shroud, + I see Faith's upraised finger + Point far beyond the cloud. + + + + + + +MT. VERNON, AND THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON. + + + + + +THE heat of noon had passed, and the trees began to cast their +evening shadows, when, in company with a friend, I seated myself in +a carriage, and drove off in the direction of Mount Vernon. We +crossed the long bridge, and found ourselves in the old State of +Virginia. + +It was a delightful afternoon; one just suited to the purpose to +which we had devoted it. The trees were clad in fresh, green +foliage, and the farms and gardens were blooming into early life. To +myself, no season appears so beautiful as that of spring. All +seasons to me are bright and glorious, but there is a charm about +spring that captivates the soul. Then Nature weaves her drapery, and +bends over the placid lake to jewel herself, as the maiden bends +before her mirror to deck her pure white brow with diamonds and +rubies. All is life, all animation, all clothed with hope; all +tending upward, onward to the bright future. "The trees are full of +crimson buds, the woods are full of birds, And the waters flow to +music, like a tune with pleasant words." + +In about one hour we reached the city of Alexandria. Between this +place and Washington a steamboat plies, going and returning four +times a day. The road from Washington to Alexandria is about decent; +but the road from thence to Mount Vernon is in the worst possible +condition,--so bad, in fact, that we dismounted and walked a +considerable distance, it being far less tiresome to walk than to +ride. The road winds in a very circuitous route through a dense +forest, the lofty trees of which, rising upon either hand, cast +their deep shadows upon us. The place, that would otherwise have +been gloomy, was enlivened by the variable songs of the +mocking-birds, and the notes of their more beautiful-plumed though +less melodious companions. + +Occasionally we passed the hut of a negro, and met a loaded team +from some Virginian farm, drawn by three or four ill-looking, yet +strong and serviceable horses. These teams were managed by +negroes,--never less than two, and in some cases by three or four, +or, as in one instance, by an entire family, man, wife and children, +seated on their loads, whistling and singing, where also sat a large +black-and-white mastiff. Long after we passed and they had receded +from our view, we could distinctly hear their melodious voices +singing their simple yet expressive songs, occasionally interrupted +by a "gee, yawh, shau," as they urged on their dilatory steeds. + +The homes of the negroes were in some cases built of stone; mostly, +however, of boards, put loosely together, and in some instances of +large logs, the crevices being filled with mud, which, the sun and +wind having hardened, were white-washed, presenting a very strong +though not very beautiful appearance, the architecture of which was +neither Grecian nor Roman, but evidently from "original designs" by +a not very fastidious or accomplished artist. + +Groups of women and children were about these houses; some seated on +the grass, in the shade of the tall trees; others standing in the +doors, all unemployed and apparently having nothing to do but to +talk, and this they appeared to engage in with a hearty good will. + +We continued our way over stones, up steep, deep-rutted hills, +covered partly with branches and brambles, and down as steep +declivities, through ponds and brooks, now and then cheered by the +pleasing prospect of a long road, evidently designed to illustrate +the "ups and downs of life." + +After a tiresome journey, partly walked, partly ridden, which was +somewhat relieved of its tediousness by the romantic and beautiful +scenery through which we passed, we came in view of Mount Vernon. + +An old, infirm, yet good, sociable negro met us at the gate, and +told us that there was another road to the Mount, but that it was +not as good as the one we came over, and also that there was a +private road, which was not as good as either of the others! We +smiled, threw out a hint about a‰rial navigation. He smiled also, +and, thinking we doubted his word, said, "Indeed, it is not as good; +I would n't tell you a lie about it." Mercy on pilgrims to Mount +Vernon! If you ever go there, reader, do provide yourself with a +conscience that can't be shaken out of you. + +Having been kindly furnished with a letter from Mr. Seaton, the +editor of the Intelligencer, and Mayor of Washington city, to the +proprietor of the estate, we inquired whether he was at home, and +with pleasure learned that he was. + +We passed into what we deemed an almost sacred enclosure, so linked +is it with the history of our country, and the glorious days that +gave birth to a nation's freedom. It seemed as though we had entered +an aviary, so many and so various the birds that floated in the air +around us, and filled it with the rich melody of their songs. + +At a short distance stood a beautiful deer, as if transfixed to the +spot, his large, black, lustrous eyes turned towards us, his ears +erect, till, suddenly starting, he darted away, and leaped down the +steep hill-side to the water's brink. + +The house I need not describe, as most persons are acquainted with +its appearance, from seeing the numerous engraved representations of +it. It shows many evidences of age and decay. Time is having his own +way with, it, as the hand that would defend it from his ravages, and +improve its looks, is kept back, that it may remain as nearly as +possible in the same condition as when occupied by our first +president. We entered and passed through several rooms, endeavoring +to allay our curiosity by asking more questions than our attendant +could conveniently answer and retain his senses. + +We saw the massive key of that old French prison-house, the Bastile, +presented to General Washington by that friend of freedom and +humanity, General Lafayette, soon after the destruction of that +monument of terror. We noticed that depredations had been committed +by visitors upon the costly marble fire-frame, which was a gift to +Washington. + +Mr. Washington being called to the farm, we availed ourselves of the +services of the old negro before mentioned, who led us around the +estate. On our way to the tomb, we passed through what we judged to +be a kitchen. The floor was brick, and a fireplace occupied nearly +all of one side of the room; one of those old-fashioned contrivances +which were in vogue in those days when people went more for comfort +than appearance. Half a score of negroes were in the room, who gazed +at us as we entered, covered with dust and dirt, the real free soil +of Virginia. They seemed to think our intentions more of a warlike +than a peaceable nature. We soon inclined them to the latter belief, +however, by gently patting a curly-headed urchin upon the head, and +distributing a few pennies among the crowd. + +Five minutes' walk, and we were at the tomb. + +"There is the old General," said the aged negro, as he touched +lightly the sarcophagus with his cane; "that, yonder, is his wife," +pointing to a similar one at the left. + +Silently I stood and gazed at the marble coffin that held the mortal +remains of him whom, when he lived, all people loved, and the memory +of whom, now that he has passed from our material vision, all people +revere. A few branches of cypress lay upon it, and at its base a few +withered flowers. + +The sarcophagus that holds the dust of Washington is placed upon a +low pedestal, formed of brick. A brick wall is at the sides, and an +iron slat fence or gateway in front. Over this gateway a white stone +is set in the brick-work, and bears this inscription: + +WITHIN THIS ENCLOSURE ARE + +THE REMAINS + +OF + +GENERAL GEORGE WASHINGTON. + +Short, indeed, but how full of food for thought! + +"General George Washington!" He needs no long and fulsome epitaph +carved in marble to tell his worth. Did his memory depend upon that +alone, the marble would crumble into dust, mingle with his, and his +name pass away with the stone that man vainly thought would preserve +it. No; his monument is a world made free, and his memory as lasting +as immortal mind. Wherever the light of freedom shall penetrate, it +will bear on its every glistening ray his cherished name; and +whenever and wherever men shall struggle with oppression, it shall +inspire them with vigor, and cheer them on to victory. + +Marble will perish, and monuments of adamant will crumble to dust; +but the memory of Washington will live as long as there is a heart +to love, or a mind to cherish a recollection of goodness. + +"He was a good old man," said the negro, "and he has gone to his +rest." + +"We are all going," he continued, after a pause. I thought a tear +stole down his wrinkled face; but he turned his back to me, and left +me to my own reflections. + +Deep silence was about us. We heard not even the notes of a bird. +Not a zephyr moved the air, not a rustling leaf was there. In front, +far below, lay the Potomac. Not a breath of wind moved the surface +of its waters, but calmly, peacefully, undisturbed, the river moved +on, as though conscious of the spot it was passing. On its glassy +surface were reflected the branches that bent over and kissed it as +it flowed, and the last rays of a declining sun tinted with their +golden light the hills on the opposite shore. + +I stood at the tomb of Washington: on my right stood a distinguished +Indian chief; on my left, "Uncle Josh," the old African, of +three-score years and ten. We represented three races of the human +family, and we each were there with the same feelings of love, +honor, and respect to departed worth. + +Night was hastening on. I clambered up the embankment, and plucked a +few green leaves from a branch that hung over the tomb; gazed once +more, and yet again, within the enclosure; then turned away, and +hastened to overtake my companions, who were far in advance. + +If our country is ever called to pass through another struggle, may +God, in his wisdom, raise up for it another Washington! + +The sun had passed the horizon, and the cool evening air, laden with +the fragrance of shrubbery and flowers, gathered about us. A lively +squirrel sprang across our path; a belated bird flew by; and, amid +the pleasant, quiet scenes of rural life, we wended our way +homeward. + + + + + + +FREEDOM'S GATHERING. + + + + + + I SEEMED to live beyond the present time; + + Methought it was when all the world was free, + And myriad numbers, from each distant clime, + + Came up to hold their annual jubilee. + From distant China, Afric's sunburnt shore, + + From Greenland's icebergs, Russia's broad domain, + They came as men whom fetters bound no more, + + And trod New England's valley, hill, and plain. + They met to hold a jubilee, for all + Were free from error's chain, and from the oppressor's thrall. + Word had gone forth that slavery's power was done; + + The cry like wild-fire through the nations ran; + Russia's tame serf, and Afric's sable son, + + Threw off their chains-each felt himself a man. + Thrones that had stood for ages were no more; + + Man ceased to suffer; tyrants ceased to reign; + And all throughout the world, from shore to shore, + + Were loosed from slavery's fetter and its chain; + And those who once were slaves came up as free, + Unto New England's soil, to keep their jubilee. + New England! 't was a fitting place, for it + + Had sent its rays upon them, as a star + Beams from the glorious heaven on slaves who sit + + In chains, to lure them where free seraphs are; + The light it had shed on them made them start + + From their deep lethargy, then look and see + That they of Freedom's boon might have a part, + + Their nation glorious as New England be. + And then like men they struggled till they won, + And Freedom's high-born light shone as a noonday sun. + Men gathered there who were men; nobly they + + Had long and faithful fought 'gainst error's night, + And now they saw the sunlight of that day + + They long had hoped to see, when truth and right + Should triumph o'er the world, and all should hold + + This truth self-evident, that fellow-men, + In God's own image made, should not be sold + + Nor stalled as cattle in a market-pen. + Praises they sang, and thanks they gave to God, + That he had loosed the chain, and broke the oppressor's rod. + They gazed o'er all the past; their vision's eye + + Beheld how men in former years had groaned, + When Hope's own flame burned dim, and no light nigh + + Shone to disperse the darkness; when enthroned + Sat boasting Ignorance, and 'neath its sway + + Grim Superstition held its lurid lamp, + That only darkened the obstructed way + + In which man groped and wandered, till the damp, + Cold, cheerless gateway of an opening tomb + Met his extended hand, and sealed his final doom. + Perchance one mind, illumined from above, + + Did strive to burst the heavy bonds it wore, + Pierce through the clouds of error, and, in love + + With its new mission, upward seek to soar. + Upon it shone truth's faintest, feeblest ray; + + It would be free; but tyrants saw and crushed + Man's first attempt to cast his chains away, + + The first aspirings of his nature hushed. + Thus back from men was Freedom's genius driven, + And Slavery's chains in ten-fold strength were riven. + In gazing o'er the past, 't was this they saw- + + How Evil long had triumphed; but to-day + Man bowed to nothing but God's righteous law, + + And Truth maintained its undisputed sway. + Right conquered might; and of this they were proud, + + As they beheld all nations drawing near,-- + Men from all lands, a vast, unnumbered crowd, + + While in their eyes full many a sparkling tear + Trembled a while, then from its cell did start, + Witness to the deep joys of an o'erflowing heart. + There came up those who'd crouched beneath the lash, + + Had bowed beneath the chains they scarce could bear, + Till Freedom's lightning on their minds did flash, + + And roused them as a lion in his lair + Is roused when foes invade it, then, with strength + + Near superhuman, one bold effort made + To break their cruel bondage, till at length + + Beneath their feet they saw their fetters laid. + 'T was then they lifted their freed hands on high, + And peans loud and long resounded through the sky. + Up, up they came, and still the bannered host + + Far in the distance met my wondering eye; + On hill and dale, on all New England's coast, + + White banners waved beneath a cloudless sky. + The aged sire leaned on his oaken staff, + + Manhood stood up in all its strength and pride, + And youth came dancing with a joyous laugh, + + With woman, lovely woman, at their side; + Bright eyes, glad hearts, and joyous souls, were there, + Free as the light that shone, unfettered as the air. + The mind, that spark of Deity within + + That hath its nurture from a higher world, + No longer bound by tyranny and sin, + + Beheld its highest, noblest powers unfurled. + No more did Error bind it to its creed, + + Or Superstition strive to blind its sight; + It followed only where God's truth did lead, + + And trusted him to guide its course aright. + The inner as the outer man was free, + And both united held this glorious jubilee. + --'T was all a vision, and it passed away, + + As dreams depart; yet it did leave behind + Its deep impressions, thoughts that fain would stay + + And hold communion with the tireless mind. + I wished that it were real; alas! I heard + + The clank of Slavery's fetters rend the air; + And feelings of my heart were deeply stirred, + + When I beheld my brethren, who dare + Proclaim all "equal," yet in chains of steel + Bind men, who, like themselves, can pain and pleasure feel. + God in his wisdom meant all should be free, + + All equal: each a brother unto man. + Presumptuous mortal! who His great decree + + Durst strive to change to suit thy selfish plan! + Know thou that his fixed purpose will be done, + + Though thou arrayest all thy puny strength + In war against it! All who feel the sun + + Shall own his goodness, and be free at length. + God cares for mortals, though he reigns on high; + Freedom is His own cause, and it shall never die! + My country! if my heart one wish doth hold, + + For thee and for thy good, it is that thou + No more permit thy children to be sold! + + Forbid that they as slaves to man shall bow! + For them our fathers nobly fought and bled; + + For them they poured their life-blood forth as rain; + Shall it in foreign lands of us be said, + + We bind our brothers with a galling chain? + While the Old World is struggling to be free, + America! shall this foul charge be laid to thee? + We all may err; may oft be led astray; + + Let him who'd free the slave be careful he + Is not a slave himself to some fond way + + He would adopt to set his brother free! + All seek one end; for all one good would gain; + + Then, on as brothers, hand in hand proceed! + Paths that seem intricate will all be plain, + + If we but follow where God's truth would lead. + + Trust Him for strength in darkness and in light; + His word will cheer us on,--His presence give us might. + + + + + + +SONG OF THE BIRD. + + + + + + ON the topmost branch of the highest tree + I sit and sing, I am free! I am free! + When the lightnings flash, when the thunders roar, + I plume my wings and away I soar! + But soon on the branch of a lofty tree + Gayly I sing, I am free! I am free! + A huntsman he came by my nest one day, + And thought that with gun my song he would stay; + But I left my nest when he thought me there, + And I roamed about in my native air. + Then, when he was gone, on the highest tree + Gayly I sung, I am free! I am free! + It is I, 't is I, that at dawn of day + Go to meet the sun at its earliest ray. + I love its heat; so I cheer it along + With chirping notes and melodious song; + And all the day on the highest tree + Gayly I sing, I am free! I am free! + When the dusky shades of the night appear, + In my nest on high I have naught to fear; + Sweetly I slumber till dawning of day, + Then to the East, for the sun, I'm away, + Till, borne on its rays to the highest tree, + Gayly I sing, I am free! I am free! + O, I love my nest, and my nest loves me! + It rocks like a bark on the dancing sea; + Gently it bows when I wish to retire; + When in, it rises higher and higher. + O, I love my nest, and I love the tree, + Home and the haunt of the bird that is free! + + + + + + +I CHANGE BUT IN DYING. + + + + + + I CHANGE but in dying,--I am faithful till death! + I will guard thee with care from pollution's foul breath; + I promise that ne'er in neglect thou shalt pine; + I change but in dying,--say, wilt thou be mine? + I come not with riches; good fortune ne'er blest me; + Yet one of less worth hath often carest me; + The light of true love o'er thy pathway shall shine; + I change but in dying,--say, wilt thou be mine? + I change but in dying,--no holier vow + From lips mortal e'er came than I breathe to thee now; + It comes from a heart with love for thee sighing; + Believe me, 't is true,--I change but in dying! + + + + + + +HE IS THY BROTHER. + + + + + + GO, break the chains that bind the slave; + Go, set the captive free; + For Slavery's banners ne'er should wave, + And slaves should never be. + Yet not in anger. Hasty words + Should not to thee belong, + They will not loose a single link, + But bind them yet more strong. + O, while ye think to him in chains + A brother's rights are due, + Remember him who binds those chains! + He is thy brother, too! + + + + + + +THE WINE-DEALER'S CLERK. + +CHAPTER I. + + + + + +"WILL you sign the pledge?" asked one young man of another. + +"No!" was the ready response; and, after a moment's pause, "You are +wrong, and I am right. You wish to deprive me of a social glass, +free companionship with those I love, life's best enjoyments, and to +live bound down to the contracted limits of a temperance-pledge.-Me +sign! No! Go ask leave of the soaring eagle to clip his wings; of +the oriole to tarnish his bright plumage; of the bounding deer to +fetter his free limbs,--but do not ask me to sign a pledge!" + +The young men parted. Each went his way; one to his counting-room, +the other to his home. + +The proprietors of the store with which the former was connected had +been for a number of years busily engaged in the importation, +adulteration and sale of wines and brandies. From the cellar to the +attic of their large warehouse, pipes, puncheons, and barrels of the +slow poison were deposited, with innumerable bottles of wine, +reputed to be old as a century, if not older. A box or two of +Flemish pipes relieved the sameness of the scene,--barrels on +barrels. + +From the counting-room of the establishment a large number of young +men had gone forth to become either wholesale or retail dealers in +the death-drugged merchandise. The ill-success which attended these, +and the lamentable end to which they arrived, would have been +singular and mysterious, had it followed in the wake of any other +business. But, as it was, effect followed cause, and such is the law +of nature. + +One, a young man of promise in days gone-by, recently became the +inmate of an alms-house in a distant city; another, urged to madness +by frequent potations, died as the fool dieth; and a third, who had +been the centre light of a social circle, as he felt the chill of +death come upon him, called all his friends near, and said to them, +"Deal not, deal not in the arrows of death, lest those arrows pierce +thine own heart at last!" + +All these facts were known to the public; yet they countenanced the +traffic in which Messrs. Laneville & Co. were engaged. They were +merchants, they were wealthy; for these reasons, it would seem, the +many-headed public looked up to them with a feeling bordering on +reverence, somewhat awed by their presence, as though wealth had +made them worthy, while many a less rich but ten-fold more honest +man walked in the shadow of the mighty Magog, unseen,--uncared for, +if seen. Messrs. Laneville & Co. knew that the law was against their +business; they knew, also, that public opinion, if not actually in +favor of it, willingly countenanced it. + +Perchance the cry of some unfortunate widow might at times reach +their ears; but it was speedily hushed by the charmed music of the +falling dollar, as it was exchanged for their foul poison. +Forgetting they were men, they acted as demons, and continued to +deal forth their liquid death, and to supply the thousand streams of +the city with the cause of the crime it was obliged to punish, and +the pauperism it was obliged to support. + +The "Vincennes" had just arrived at the wharf as James entered the +store. It had been the custom of the owners, on the annual arrival +of this vessel, to have a party on board. On this occasion, they +made the usual arrangements for the festivity. Cards of invitation +were speedily written, and distributed among members of the city +government, editors, clergymen, and other influential persons. James +was free to invite such of his friends as he chose, and in doing so +the question arose whether he should ask George Alverton to be +present. It was known to him that George was a teetotaller, and had +that morning invited him to sign the pledge. He knew that at the +entertainment wine would circulate. He knew that some would indulge +rather freely, and that the maintenance of a perfect equilibrium by +such would be very difficult. Suppose he, himself,--that is, +James,--should be among these last mentioned, and that, too, before +his friend George; would it not demolish his favorite argument, +which he had a thousand times advanced, that he knew right from +wrong,--when to drink and when to stop drinking? yet, thought he, I +may not indulge too freely. Yes; I will maintain my position, and +show by practice what I teach by preaching. Besides, it would be +very impolite, as well as uncourteous, in me, not to invite one +whose character I value so highly as his,--one whose friendship I so +much esteem. I will invite him. He shall be present, and shall see +that I can keep sober without being pledged to do so. + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +George Alverton was the son of a nobleman. Start not, republican +reader, for we mean not a stiff-starched branch of English nobility, +but one of America's noblemen,--and hers are nature's! He was a +hard-working mechanic; one of God's noblest works,--an honest man! +Americans know not, as yet, the titled honors of the Old World; and +none, save a few, whose birth-place nature must have mistook, would +introduce into a republican country the passwords of a monarchical +one. + +"An invite for you," said the laughing Josephine, as George entered +at dusk. "And ten to one it's from that black-eyed Kate, who is +bewitching all the young men within a twenty-mile circuit with her +loving glances-eh? A match, ten to one!" + +"Always gay," said George, as he turned half aside to avoid the +mischievous look of his sister; "but, by the way, Jos, to be +serious, an invite did you say? How do you know that?" + +"O, by the way 'tis folded; we girls have a way of knowing a +love-letter from bills of exchange, and an invitation from bills of +lading. Just look at it; see how pretty 'tis enveloped, how +handsomely directed,--George Alverton, Esq., Present. It's no use, +George; you needn't look so serious. You are a captured one, and +when a bird's in a net he may as well lie still as flutter!" + +Josephine handed the note to her brother, slyly winking as she did +so, as much as to say, "The marriage-bells are ringing, love." + +George, observing the superscription, was convinced that it was from +James Clifton, and remarked, + +"Don't be too hasty; it is from James; the direction must be wrong; +it was doubtless intended for you. Look out, Jos; you may be the +captured one, after all!" + +Josephine was not to be thus thrown from her ground; so, turning to +her brother with a laugh, she said, + +"For me! Well, if so 't is so; but I judge from what I see. +Notwithstanding your insinuation that James writes to no one but +myself, I'll venture a bright gold dollar that this is for yourself, +even though it be from James. Open the budget, and prove the truth +of what I say." + +George untied the white ribbon that bound it, and, opening the +envelope, found an invitation to a gentleman's party to be held that +evening on board the "Vincennes." Josephine laughed merrily over +what she deemed her brother's defeat, and George as heartily over +what he deemed his victory. He was advised to go; not, however, +without an accompanying hint of its being a dry affair, as ladies +were to be excluded. Josephine was puzzled to know the reason of +their exclusiveness, and what festivity was to be engaged in of +which they could not partake. + +"I scarcely know what to do," said George, "as wines will be +circulated, and I shall be asked, a dozen times or more, to drink of +them." + +"Go, by all means," said his sister; "stand your own ground, be +firm, be resolute, refuse if asked to partake; but do so in a manner +that, while it shows a determination to resist temptation, will not +offend, but rather induce him you respect to think whether it will +not he best for him also to refuse." + +"I will. I am aware of the situation in which James is placed. He +has a generous, a noble heart, that needs but to know the right to +do it. I will go; and if by example, persuasion or otherwise, I can +prevail upon him to sign the pledge, I will do so, and thank God for +it. I will speak to him kindly, and in reason. Others will drink, if +he does not; others will fall, if he escapes; and such examples are +the most convincing arguments that can be used to prove that an +unpledged man, in these days of temptation, is unsafe, and unmindful +of his best and dearest interests." + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +Notwithstanding the short interval between the reception of the +cards and the hour of festivity, the time appointed saw a goodly +number assembled in the well-furnished, richly-decorated cabins of +the ship. + +It was evident that some individuals had been busy as bees, for all +was clean and in the best of order. Wreaths of evergreen and +national flags decorated the vessel, and bouquets of bright and +fragrant flowers, conspicuously arranged, loaded the air with their +sweet perfumes. There were card-tables and cards, scores of +well-filled decanters, and glasses almost without number. At one end +of the cabin stood a table filled with fruits of the most costly +kind. There were oranges fresh from the land that gave them growth, +and other products of sunny Italy and the islands beyond the seas. +The captain was as lively as a lark, and as talkative as wit and +wine could make him. He spoke of his quick voyage, praised his ship +till praise seemed too poor to do its duty, boasted of its good +qualities, said there was not a better craft afloat, and finished +his eulogy by wishing success to all on board, and washing it down +with a glass of Madeira, which, he said, was the stuff, for he made +it himself from grapes on the island. + +Messrs. Laneville & Co. were in high glee. They drank and played +cards with men worth millions; spoke of the inclemency of the +season, and expressed great surprise that so much poverty and +wretchedness existed, with one breath, and with the next extolled +the wines and administered justice to the eatables. Editors were +there who had that morning written long "leaders" about the +oppression of the poor by the rich, and longer ones about the +inconsistencies of their contemporaries, who ate and drank, and +dreamt not of inconsistency in themselves, though they guided the +press with temperance reins, and harnessed themselves with those who +tarried long at the wine. + +James drank quite often, and George as often admonished him of his +danger. But the admonitions of a young man had but little if any +influence, counteracted as they were by the example of the rich and +the great about him. There was Alderman Zemp, who was a temperance +man in the world, but a wine-drinker in a ship's cabin. He had +voted for stringent laws against the sale of liquors, and had had +his name emblazoned on the pages of every professedly temperance +paper as a philanthropist and a righteous man; and on the pages of +every anti-temperance publication, as a foe to freedom, and an enemy +to the rights of humanity. But he drank; yes, he had asked James to +take a glass of the water of Italy, as he called it. Clergymen, so +called, disgraced themselves, and gave the scoffers food for +merriment. Judges who that day might have sentenced some unfortunate +to imprisonment for drinking, drank with a gusto equalled only by +lawyers who would talk an hour in court to prove a man discreditable +evidence because he was known to visit bar-rooms! It was the +influence of these, and such like, that made James drink, and caused +the labor of George to prove all unavailing. It is the example of +the rich that impedes the progress of temperance,--they who loll on +damask sofas, sip their iced champagnes and brandies, and never get +"drunk," though they are sometimes "indisposed." + +The clock struck twelve, then one, and the morning hours advanced, +light-foot messengers of the coming day. The gay and the jocund +laugh was hushed, and the notes that told of festive mirth were +silenced. Nature, either fatigued by exertion or stupefied by wine, +had sank to repose; and those who had lingered too long and indulged +too freely were lying on the cabin-floor helpless. George retired +at a seasonable hour. James remained, and fell, as others, before +the enchanting wine-cup's power! + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + +The next morning George called at the store of Laneville & Co. No +one was in save a small lad, who, to his inquiry, replied that all +were sick. The youth was a short, porpoise-shaped lad, who appeared +quite independent for his age and station, and told George that he +had better call the next day, as the folks would n't be down. In an +instant George suspected the cause of their absence. Though he knew +James would be mortified to be seen, yet he determined upon visiting +him, thinking it a favorable opportunity to submit to him the +expediency of taking that step which he had urged upon him on the +morning previous. + +Conscious of being engaged in an act of duty, he ascended the steps +that led to the door of the house. He rang; a servant-girl answered +his call. + +"Holloa!" shouted a voice at the head of the stairs. "Who's +there?-what cow's got into my pasture now? Another glass, +friends,--once more! Now drink, 'Death to the temperance cause, and +ill-luck to fanatics!' Holloa! down below,--come aloft!" + +"Hush! be quiet," said a female voice, in a whisper. "James, do +respect yourself." + +"Hush! who says hush? My soul's in arms; come on, John Duff! bring +liquor here, and cursed be he who says, I've had enough!" + +The closing of a door put an end to this extemporaneous address. +George stood like a statue; he knew not which course to +take,--whether to go up to his friend's room, or go down to the +street. He soon determined, and sent word that he wished to speak to +James. In a moment the latter was again to be heard declaiming +disconnected sentences on all manner of subjects, until, learning +the wish of George, he shouted, + +"Yes, tell him to come up and revel in the groves of Madeira, or +dance with peasant-girls at the grape-gatherings in Sicily! Yes, +George, up here, and see how a man can live a temperance life +without signing the pledge, and be as independent as he pleases!" + +As George entered, James grasped his hand,--swung him round rather +familiarly, and pushed him towards a chair. + +The furniture and all that was in the room was in the greatest +confusion, not excepting James Clifton himself. There was a +boot-jack and a vase of flowers side by side on the mantel; a pair +of boots on the centre-table, with two or three annuals on them, as +though to keep them from being blown away; a nice hat stood on the +hearth filled with coal-ashes, while an inkstand upside down on a +pile of linen bosoms had left an impression not easily effaced; the +paintings that were in the room were turned face towards the +wall,--some freak of James', as though ashamed to have them see the +performances. + +"Now, George," said Mr. Clifton, "you can be convinced of the truth +of my doctrine. I did n't sign the pledge, and I'm as sober, sober +as a brandy-smasher! You recollect what a great poet says,--Drink +till the moon goes down. I can improve that; I say,--Drink till +yourselves go down. What an age this is, when temperance fanatics +dance through the world to smash decanters, and make one pledge +himself to be a fool! Independence is my motto! I go for +independence now, independence forever, and as much longer as +possible. Who says I am not right? Deluded mortals, who wink at sin, +and kick at brandies! Magnificent monstrosities, making manliness +moonshine; metaphysical Moors murdering Munchausen-" + +"But hold, James," said George, interrupting him in his remarks; +"keep within bounds,--let us reason." It was not with much hope of +success that George asked his friend to "reason," for his condition +was one not in the least degree favorable to such a performance. + +"Reason?" exclaimed James. "I'm not a reasonable,--reasoning, I +mean,--I'm not a reasoning being! Go ask the pigs to reason!" + +Notwithstanding all this, George seemed inclined to argument, for he +immediately said, + +"Don't you see the ill effects of last night's indulgence in the +confusion around you, and feel them in your own mind and body?" + +"Now you talk like a man. Let us send the 'James-town' to Ireland +with bread and butter. 'T is a vote! passed unanimously by both +houses of Congress. We'll fire a full broadside of gingerbread at +the old Green Isle, and teach the people to eat for a living." + +This rambling from the inquiry George had made induced him to +relinquish all hope of influencing him at that time. He saw how he +had fallen; and he needed no prophet's ken to behold his future +course, unless he turned from the path he was now so +enthusiastically following. + +Seeing that no good could be effected by his remaining, George arose +to depart, when James caught his arm, and told him not to be in such +haste. + +"I want you to take a glass of wine;" and, ringing the bell, a +servant was at the door before Mr. Alverton had an opportunity to +say or do anything. + +"You know I don't drink wines," said George; "why do you ask me?" + +"Don't drink?" + +"You look surprised, but you know I do not." + +"Everybody drinks." + +"Not all, if I am one of that extensive number." + +"Well, my employer sells liquors, my minister drinks his wine, and +my friends all drink, except you; and you are a sort of nondescript, +a sort of back-action member of human society, a perfect ginger-cake +without any ginger in it. Say, got a pledge in your pocket? I have; +here it is:" and he pulled forth a slip of paper, on which he had +written some half-legible lines. + +"See how you like it;--it is what is called the Independent Pledge. +I'll read it. + +"'We the undersigned, believing the use of wines and other liquors +beneficial to ourselves in general, and the dealers in particular, +pledge ourselves to act as we please in all matters of politics and +phrenology.'" + +The servant, who yet stood at the door waiting orders, burst forth +into a loud laugh, as the reading of this was finished, while +George, though inwardly sorrowing over the situation of his friend, +could not refrain from smiling at his ridiculous appearance and +doings. There was a good humor running through the method of his +madness, that made him far from being disagreeable. + +Mr. Alverton passed to the door, and, motioning the servant aside, +entreated her not to bring him wine. + +"Well, sir, that be's just as he says," said she, in a loud voice, +and in a manner that convinced Mr. Alverton that she cared not as to +what might follow. + +"Good!" shouted James. "Why, she's my confidential; she's as true to +me as a book. Sal, bring up two decanters of that best." + +The girl laughed, and bounded out of the room to do as he requested. + +The wine came; a long talk ensued, as unmeaning and useless as that +we have above related, and George left with a heavy heart, promising +to call on the morrow. + +As he entered the street, and the cool, fresh air of an autumn +morning greeted him, he felt somewhat revived, and, quickening his +step, he soon reached his home. He dare not mention his adventure to +Josephine, though he wanted to. She was the betrothed of James. In +one month they were to be married! Dark and frowning were the clouds +that gathered in their blackness over the mind of George, as he +mused on what had been and what was to be. Should he tell her all? +It was his duty. Should he shrink from the performance of his duty? +No. + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + + +"Never!" exclaimed the young lady, as she wiped her eyes, and a +smile of joy and hope burst through her tears. "George, I know he +will not go too far,--O, no! As an eagle may touch the earth, yet, +soaring again, float in its own element in the light of the sun, so +may he, though he has this once fallen, soar upward, and higher than +ever, planning not another descent so low." + +"I hope it may be so," said George. + +"And why not hope? You know each has an opinion of his own, but that +opinion may be changed. Though he now opposes the pledge, and the +cause of which it is the representative, yet he may think +differently, and may, through your influence, become one of its most +zealous advocates. Don't mention to him that I know of his act," +exclaimed Josephine, springing to catch the arm of her brother, as +he opened the door to leave. + +She was answered in the negative, and in the examination of a few +articles that were being prepared for her bridal-day she gradually +forgot all unpleasant misgivings, and nothing but happiness could +she see before her. + +It was not until the next day that George had an opportunity of +seeing his friend. He then met him at the store, and James laughed +over the doings of the day previous as a "good joke," as he called +them. On that occasion, as on several subsequent ones, he urged him +to sign and become a total-abstinent; but, with such influences as +those which surrounded him, it was not strange that these efforts +proved ineffectual. + +Weeks passed, and the hour of marriage drew nigh. The festivity was +to be one of unusual splendor and gayety. For a long time had +preparations been in progress. + +It was painful for George to refer to a matter which he would not +have spoken of had it not so much concerned the welfare of a sister +whom he loved as his own self. When he mentioned the circumstances +attending the party on board the "Vincennes," she, in the fulness of +her love, excused James, and brought up a host of arguments to prove +the impossibility of a reoccurrence of any similar event. + +Love is stronger than death; and, mastering all things, overlooks or +decreases the evil and enlarges the goodness of its object. It was +so in this case. Josephine's attachment to James led her to +sacrifice all other feelings and opinions to her deep affection for +him, and made her willing to stand by him or fall with him, as the +vine to the tree, bright and fresh, though the once sturdy oak lies +fallen and blighted. + +The evening came, and with it many a bright and joyous heart to the +home of George Alverton. A more beautiful bride never pronounced the +bridal-vow than she who there, encircled with bright eyes and +smiling faces, gave all to James Clifton. And when it was over, when +they joined the bright galaxy that were about them and mingled with +others in the festive mirth of the hour, a life of joy and social +comfort was predicted for the hearts which that night were made +one! Music was there with its charms, Terpsichore with her graceful +motions, and everything from commencement to close was conducted in +so happy and agreeable a manner, that not a few young folks, as they +rode home, agreed to go through the same performance at their +earliest convenience. + +After the usual "calls" had been attended and a few weeks had +elapsed, James and his young wife located themselves in a +dwelling-house, which was furnished in an elegant though not in an +extravagant manner. He was to continue with Messrs. Laneville & Co. +They reposed the utmost confidence in him, and considered him the +best judge of liquors in the city. On the day of his marriage they +increased his salary one third, so that his income was by no means +to be complained of. It was such as to enable him to live well, and +to lay aside quite a large amount quarterly. His prospects were +good, and no young man ever had better hopes of success. + +We cannot close this chapter without referring again to the fact +that he dealt in that which made widows of wives, orphans of +children, and sent down the stream of life a rivulet of death. This +fact was like a cloud hanging over his path; and, though it was but +as a speck far up in sky, who could tell what it might become? + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + + + +For a year the young couple were most happy. The moments flew too +quickly by; so laden were they with joy, they would have them endure +forever. "Little Jim" was a smart one, if he was n't as old as his +father, and the handsomest piece of furniture in the house! Nobody +doubted that; at least, it would n't have been well for them to have +expressed their doubts in a very audible manner, if they held any. + +Tasting, trying and judging of liquors, led to a loving, sipping and +drinking of them. We may hate temperance; but it is certain we +cannot hate a good without loving a bad thing. In offering for sale +an article of food or beverage, the influence of our using it +ourselves, or not using it, goes a great ways towards our disposing +of it, or our not disposing of it. James knew this, and acted +accordingly. He always had the best of liquors in his house, as it +was often the case that, after selling a man a large amount, he +invited him home to dine. They, in turn, invited him out in the +evening, and it was often a late hour when he returned. At home the +presence of his wife prevented him from indulging too freely; but +away from home, and surrounded by gay companions, he went as full +lengths as any. + +Such indulgences could not continue long without showing their +effects. George saw these, and remonstrated with him; but Josephine +could not or did not observe them. If he did not arrive home at the +customary hour, she ever had an excuse for his delay. + +The arrival of another cargo of wines, etc., for Messrs. Laneville & +Co., was duly acknowledged by another carousal in the cabins of the +vessel, which ended in results far more destructive to the +reputation of James, and to the happiness of himself and friends, +than the former. + +At a late hour Josephine sat waiting and watching, when the ring of +the door-bell, the movement of the servant, the mingling of several +suppressed voices, and the shuffle of footsteps on the entry-floor, +aroused her from that listless inaction which fatigue had brought +upon her. She sprang to the door of her room, and, opening it, was +about to descend, when her brother met her and requested her not to +do so. + +"Why?" she inquired. + +He gave no definite answer to her inquiry, but requested her to +retire for the night, saying that James would probably be home in +the morning, bright and early as the dawn. + +"And not before?" she inquired, in a tone of voice that startled her +attentive brother. Then, as a stray thought of the former ship's +party and its unfortunate results came into her mind, she exclaimed, +"I must see him now! Let me know the worst. Nothing can keep me from +him. James, my James!" and, bursting from her brother's embrace, she +ran down stairs, and, notwithstanding the remonstrance of her +friends, opened the door where half a dozen men and her husband had +gathered. + +James lay upon a sofa, nearly unconscious of what was transpiring +around him. Josephine caught the hand that hung loosely at his side, +threw herself on the floor beside him, smoothed back his dishevelled +hair, and kissed his flushed cheek. + +"James, James!" exclaimed she. He opened his eyes, gazed for a +moment listlessly upon her, then closed them again. "O, James! don't +you know me? James! say,--wake thee, dearest!" + +She pressed his hand in her own, and, as the tears fell freely from +her eyes, so unused to weep, she continued her calls upon him who +lay insensate before her. She whispered in his ear the breathings of +her heart, or in louder tones gave vent to the grief that wounded +it. + +Vainly did friends beseech her to retire; vainly did they tell her +she could not hasten his restoration to reason. She declared her +determination to remain with him till morning. + +Day dawned. There, at the side of her husband, sat the faithful +wife, as neglective of her own wants as she was attentive to his. +James began to realize his condition, but not fully. He had vague +ideas of being in his own house, but his mind was at times +wandering, and his words betrayed its condition. + +"Here I am," said he, "in a paradise, with an angel at my side, and +beauty and rich fragrance all around me. See you how that diamond +sparkles at the bottom of this brook flowing at my feet! Watch that +dove as it comes down from the sky! See, it nestles in my angel's +bosom. See how it folds its wings! See how she smooths down its +ruffled plumage, and, hark ye, listen to its plaintive cooing! My +angel, my sweet one, come near me, let me whisper in thine ear. Go, +bring me that bunch of luscious grapes which is suspended on that +sapphire cloud, and make me wine of them that gods might envy! Ah, +see, she goes,--she wings her flight,--she grasps the rich fruit,--she +comes! She presses the grapes, and here is wine,--from where? From +paradise! Droop not, droop not, droop not, spirit of light! Do not +weep! What are you weeping for? Here, let me wipe those tears away. +Ah, they are pearls, they are not tears! I thought they were +tears.-Going so soon?-Gone?" + +He sank into a quiet sleep. Josephine had wept as she caught his +words partly uttered in a whisper so low as to be scarcely +distinguishable. Now, as he slept, she watched his breathings, and +hoped that when he awoke he would be of a sane mind, and that a +realization of what had occurred might influence his future career +for the better. + + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + + + +"News!" exclaimed Capt. Thorndyke, as he shook the hand of his +friend Basyl. "Have you not heard it? Why, it's common talk. Young +Clifton imbibes rather too freely. You know him,--Laneville & Co.'s +clerk,--best judge of liquors in the states; strange that he will +imbibe." + +"Strange indeed, very strange, if he is really a judge and knows +what they're made of," said Basyl; "and stranger yet that he will +sell. For my part, I consider a man that will sell liquor, in these +days of light and knowledge, as bad as a highwayman, and no better +than a pirate." + +"Rather plain spoken." + +"I know it, but, look ye, there's Follet, a fine man, a first-rate +man, once worth half a million, but now not worth a guinea-pig. The +man that sold him good wine in his better days sells him poor +whiskey now; and the confounded dealer in fancy poisons has taken +the houses of Mr. Follet, brick by brick, and piled them up in his +own yard, so to speak. Why, no longer ago than yesternight, he took +a fine black coat of Dick Pherson, and gave him in return a coarse, +brown one and a glass of sin-gin, I mean. Fudge! talk about +consistency! That rumseller is nominated for an alderman, and he'll +be elected. He's rich; and all your say-so temperance men will vote +for him, and when elected he'll go hand-in-hand with some lone star, +who deems it advisable that men should be licensed to corrupt the +morals of the community, in order to make it wise and virtuous!" + +The captain acknowledged that his friend had a right view of the +matter, and, as he bade him good-day, promised to take care of his +vote at the coming election. + +We doubt whether any man ever felt more deeply sensible of the wrong +committed than did James, as he, the next morning, awaking from his +long sleep, beheld his wife standing at his side, now weeping over +him, now joyous and smiling at his returned consciousness, and +closely attentive to his every want. He felt himself unworthy of +such kindness, and for the first time in his life saw the evil of +the doctrine he had all his lifetime advocated, namely, that a man +can drink enough and not too much; in other words, that he can guide +his evil passions as he will, and command them to stop in their +course, nor trespass on forbidden ground. + +But James even yet was opposed to the pledge, and, though George +presented it with strong arguments, he refused to sign it, and +laughed at the idea of his ever getting the worse for liquor again. + +The employer of James Clifton had his name on the same ticket with +that of the rumseller before mentioned, as a candidate for mayor. +Election-day came. The two political parties had their tickets in +the hands of scores of distributors. There was a third party, with +its ticket, the caption of which-"Temperance Men and Temperance +Measures"-was bandied about with gibes and sneers by the prominent +men of both other parties. + +Among the vote-distributors was a young man of exceedingly +prepossessing appearance, and who, by means of the winning manner he +possessed, disposed of a large number of tickets, even to men of the +opposing party. "Vote for Laneville! vote for Laneville!" was his +constant cry, save when he, in well-chosen words, proclaimed the +ability and worthiness of his candidate. Some said he was urged on +by selfish motives; that, as he was a clerk of Laneville's, the +election of that candidate would be much to his pecuniary benefit. +But James Clifton cared for none of these insinuations. + +"Well, deacon, my dear, dear deacon, who do you vote for?" inquired +a stanch teetotaller, as an old gentleman approached. The person +addressed, after a little hesitation, during which a few nervous +twinges of the mouth betrayed his nervousness of conscience, and the +debate going on in his heart between consistency and principles on +the one side, and party names and measures on the other, replied, +"Well, well,"-then a pause,--"well, I don't know; go for the best +man, I s'pose." + +"Here's the ticket, sir! the best man, sir, is Laneville! vote for +Laneville!" shouted James, as he thrust his ticket into the hands of +the old gentleman, and, laying hold of his arm, led him into the +room, and saw him deposit the vote of a temperance advocate for a +rumseller! James laughed well over his victory, while the +distributors of the temperance tickets felt somewhat ill at ease in +seeing him whom they thought their truest friend desert them in the +hour of need, and give his vote and influence for the other party. + +The day ended; the votes were counted, and Laneville was proclaimed +elected by a majority of one! + +The night was one of carousal. The betting on both sides had been +considerable, and the payment of these debts caused the small change +to circulate pretty freely among the dispensers of eatables and +drinkables. + +This night James yielded more easily than ever before to the +cravings of an appetite that began to master him. + +Poor fellow! Deluded man! A fond, a devoted, a trusting wife waiting +at home, watching the hands of the clock as they neared the mark of +twelve, and listening for thy footfall! Thou, trusting in thine own +strength, but to learn thy weakness, lying senseless among thy +drinking mates in the hall of dissolute festivity! + +Tom Moore may sing in praise of "wine and its sparkling tide;" but +the sighing of wronged women and their tears shall toll the requiem +of its praise. + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + + + +Notwithstanding the entreaties of George, added to those of +Josephine, James continued in the way he had begun to walk, and +which was leading him to ruin. The arguments of the one, and the +tears of the other, were equally unavailing. + +So far had he proceeded in a downward course that his employers +remonstrated; and the same arguments they had used upon their former +clerks were urged upon his consideration. Fearing the loss of +situation, he repented, but it was only to fall again before the +power of that appetite with which he had tampered as with a torpid +viper, which now felt the warmth of his embrace, and became a +living, craving creature within his bosom. + +His old companions perceived the change he was undergoing, and, like +butterflies that hovered about his path in sunshine, left him as +clouds overshadowed his way. But he had friends who would not leave +him. He had a wife who clung to him with all the affection of +woman's love, and a brother whose hand was ever extended to aid him. + +James saw the evil that threatened to overwhelm him; yet, strangely +infatuated, he would not come to a fixed determination to reform so +far as to sign the pledge. + +The sun never shone with a brighter effulgence than it did on the +morning of the 24th of July, 1849. The streets of Boston were filled +with busy crowds, and banners and flags streamed from balconies and +windows. Delegates of men from the suburbs poured into the city, and +the sound of music filled the air. Men, women, and children, the +rich and the poor, the merchant and the mechanic, the American and +the foreigner, joined in the movement; and a stranger could not long +remain ignorant of the fact that some great event was to transpire +that day in the capital of the Old Bay State. Crowds gathered at the +corners, and lined the principal thoroughfares. + +"He has blist his own country, an' now he will bliss ours," said a +well-dressed Irishman. + +"An' that he will," was the response; "an' God bliss Father Mathew!" + +"Amen," said half a dozen voices. + +"He's coming!" exclaimed another. The sound of distant music was +heard, and far up the street was seen approaching a dense mass of +people. White banners mingled with the stars and stripes. Nearer +they approached, and more distinct became, to the Irishman and his +friends, the peals of music and the hurras of the multitude. + +THEOBALD MATHEW, the friend of Ireland, was making his entry into +Boston! Never man was more gladly welcome. Never was man more +enthusiastically received. It seemed as though all men strove to do +him homage, for they looked upon one who was the instrument, under +God, of saving five millions of human beings from the greatest curse +sin brought into the world; lifting them, and bidding them stand up +as their Maker intended they should. + +The "apostle" was seated in an open barouche, with his head +uncovered, bowing to the crowds of stout men and fair women that +filled the windows on either side, often shaking hands with those +who pressed near him to do so. + +A young man stood upon the side-walk watching its approach; and when +the carriage in which he was seated came near where he stood, he +took off his hat, pressed through the assemblage, and, urging his +way towards it, grasped the hand that was extended to him. The +carriage stopped. Father Mathew arose, and, as his hand lay upon the +head of the young man, he repeated the words of a pledge, which the +latter, in a distinct tone, repeated after him. At its close, the +words "I do!" were heard far and near, and James Clifton had taken +the pledge! + +This was done from no sudden impulse. During the previous week he +had indulged rather freely, and when its effects were over he began +for the first time to give serious thought upon the question whether +it was not required of him to become a pledged man. He was becoming +convinced that he was unsafe. He knew how often he had fallen, how +liable he was to fall again, and that it might be never to rise. He +found his companions did not look upon him with as much respect as +formerly; and he determined to break down the pride of opinion, +rather than have it break him down. + +As he thought of his situation at Messrs. Laneville & Co.'s, he for +a moment drew back, yet it was but for a moment. He resolved to +leave it, and beg rather than continue to disgrace himself and bring +ruin upon his relatives and friends. He was cheered by the thought +that he had those around him who would furnish him with employment +suited to his mind, and in the steady pursuit of which he might live +well. This resolution was made a few days previous to the twenty- +fourth, but he communicated it to no one. + +James hurried from the crowd that gathered around him, and hastened +to his home. The glad news preceded him, and his wife, meeting him +at the door, caressed, blessed and welcomed him. George grasped his +hand, and James, with tears in his eyes, asked pardon for the past, +and promised much for the future. + +"Once," said he, "I refused to sign. I trusted to my own self, and +thought because I was young and strong I could resist temptation. I +said I would not make myself a slave to a pledge, and clung to my +promise till I found myself a slave to an appetite. I ask your +pardon, George, for the manner in which I treated your request." + +"I grant it." + +"Then I am happy, we are happy, and the future shall redeem the +past." + +The door opened, and a bright-eyed boy, bounding into the room, +sprang upon his father, and, with a smile, said, "Father, I'm a +Cadet of Temperance! We formed a little society this morning, 'cause +Father Mathew has come to Boston. We've got six names, and we are to +have more." + +James kissed his child, and encouraged him to go on in the cause he +had so early espoused. + +Messrs. Laneville & Co. engaged a new clerk,--a young man of +seventeen, hopeful, promising. He had heard of the fate of his +predecessors, of the narrow escape of him whose place he was being +trained to fill; but, like them and him, he thought himself stronger +than the tempter at his side. That firm is in the home-desolating +business to-day, though James has used much endeavor to induce them +to relinquish it. The young man is there to-day, open to temptations +which have conquered many strong men, have destroyed many mighty. +The pledge is with us to-day, open for those who have fallen, for +those who yet stand,--an instrument of God, in human hands, to rescue +the one and to preserve the other. + + + + + + +ANGELINA. + + + + + + BLUE-EYED child, with flaxen ringlets, + 'Neath my window played, one day; + And its tiny song of gladness, + Sounded like an angel's lay. + Roses bright in beauty blossomed + Round the path the cherub trod + Yet it seemed that child was fairest, + Freshest from the hand of God. + Watched I her till hour of sunset + Told me of the coming night, + And the sun o'er rock and mountain + Shed its flood of golden light. + Yet she gambolled, though the dew-drops + Fell upon her thick and fast; + Fearing ill, I went and told her,-- + Dearest child, the day hath past: + "Haste thee to thy home,--there waiting + Is thy parent, thee to bless." + Then she hasted from the play-ground, + To her mother's fond caress. + Stars shone forth in all their splendor, + And the moon with silver light + Rose in beauty, and presided + Queen o'er all the hosts of night. + Days had passed; I had not seen her, + Had not heard her merry laugh, + Nor those joyous tones that told me + Of the joy her spirit quaffed. + Vain I asked whence Angelina + Had departed,--none could tell; + Feared I then that sorrow gathered + O'er the child I loved so well. + Funeral train passed by my window,-- + Banished were all thoughts of mirth; + And I asked of one who lingered, + "Who hath passed to heaven from earth?" + In his eye a tear-drop glistened, + As he, turning, to me said, + "Heaven now holds another angel,-- + Little Angelina's dead!" + I could scarce believe the tidings, + Till I stood above her grave, + And beheld those flaxen ringlets, + That so late did buoyant wave, + Lie beside a face whose features + Still in death did sweetly smile + And methought angelic beauty + Lingered on her cheeks the while. + At the pensive hour of twilight, + Oft do angel-footsteps tread + Near her grave, and flowers in beauty + Blossom o'er the early dead; + And a simple marble tablet + Thence doth unassuming rise, + And these simple words are on it,-- + "Here our Angelina lies." + Oft at night, when others slumber, + One bends o'er that holy spot; + And the tear-drops fall unnumbered + O'er her sad yet happy lot. + Friends, though oft they mourn her absence, + Do in meek submission bow; + For a voice from heaven is whispering, + "Angelina's happy now." + + + + + + +FAREWELL, MY NATIVE LAND. + + + + + +Written for KAH-GE-GA-GAI-BOWH, a representative from the Northwest +Tribes of American Indians to the Peace Convention in Frankfort-on-the- +Maine, Germany; and recited by him on board the British steamship +Niagara, at the hour of sailing from Boston, July 10th, 1850. + + THE day is brightening which we long have sought; + I see its early light and hail its dawn; + The gentle voice of Peace my ear hath caught, + And from my forest-home I greet the morn. + Here, now, I meet you with a brother's hand- + Bid you farewell-then speed me on my way + To join the white men in a foreign land, + And from the dawn bring on the bright noon-day. + Noon-day of Peace! O, glorious jubilee, + When all mankind are one, from sea to sea. + Farewell, my native land, rock, hill, and plain! + River and lake, and forest-home, adieu! + Months shall depart ere I shall tread again + Amid your scenes, and be once more with you. + I leave thee now; but wheresoe'er I go, + Whatever scenes of grandeur meet my eyes, + My heart can but one native country know, + And that the fairest land beneath the skies. + America! farewell, thou art that gem, + Brightest and fairest in earth's diadem. + Land where my fathers chased the fleeting deer; + Land whence the smoke of council-fires arose; + Land whose own warriors never knew a fear; + Land where the mighty Mississippi flows; + Land whose broad surface spreads from sea to sea; + Land where Niagara thunders forth God's praise;-- + May Peace and Plenty henceforth dwell with thee, + And o'er thee War no more its banner raise! + Adieu, my native land,--hill, stream, and dell! + The hour hath come to part us,--fare thee well. + + + + + + +UNLEARNED TO LOVE. + + + + + + HE hath unlearned to love; for once he loved + A being whom his soul almost adored, + And she proved faithless; turned in scorn upon + His heart's affections; to another gave + The love she once did pledge as all his own. + And now he doth not love. Within his heart + Hate dwells in sullen silence. His soul broods + Over its wrongs, over deluded hopes. + Fancy no more builds airy castles. + Amid the crowd he passes on alone. + The branches wave no more to please his eye, + And the wind singeth no sweet songs to him. + The murmuring brook but murmurs discontent, + And all his life is death since Love hath fled. + O, who shall count his sorrows? who shall make + An estimate of his deep, burning woes, + And place them all in order, rank on rank? + Language is weak to tell the heart's deep, wrongs. + We think, and muse, and in our endless thought + We strive to grasp, with all the mind's vast strength, + The undefinable extent of spirit grief, + And fail to accomplish the herculean task. + + + + + + +WHAT WAS IT? + + + + + + IT was a low, black, miserable place; + Its roof was rotting; and above it hung + A cloud of murky vapor, sending down + Intolerable stench on all around. + The place was silent, save the creaking noise, + The steady motion of a dozen pumps, + That labored all the day, nor ceased at night. + Methought in it I heard a hundred groans; + Dropping of widows' tears, and cries of orphans; + Shrieks of some victim to the fiendish lust + Of men for gold; woe echoing woe, + And sighs, deep, long-drawn sighs of dark despair. + Around the place a dozen hovels stood, + Black with the smoke and steam that bathed them all; + Their windows had no glass, but rags and boards, + Torn hats and such-like, filled the paneless sash. + Beings, once men and women, in and out + Passed and repassed from darkness forth to light; + And children, ragged, dirty, and despised, + Clung to them. Children! heaven's early flowers, + In their spring-time of life, blighted and lost! + Children! those jewels of a parent's crown, + Crushed to the ground and crumbled to the dust. + Children! Heaven's representatives to man, + Made menial slaves to watch at Evil's gate, + And errand-boys to run at Sin's command. + I asked why thus it was; and one old man + Pushed up the visor of his cap, and said: + "That low, black building is the cause of all." + And would you know what 't was that wrought such ill, + And what the name of that low building was? + Go to thy neighbor, read to him these lines, + And if he does not tell thee right, at first, + Then come to me and you shall know its name. + + + + + + +LETTERS AND LETTER-WRITING. + + + + + +THERE is nothing from which more real enjoyment can be derived than +the art of letter-writing. All praise to the inventive genius that +gave to man a written language, and with it the implements with +which to talk across the world! Did you ever think, reader, what a +world this would be without pen, ink, and paper? Then, the absence +of friends were painful, and, as we grasped the friendly hand, bade +our acquaintances "good-by," and saw the last, far-distant wave of +the parting signal, we might turn aside to weep, as we thought we +should never hear from them till we met face to face-perhaps never. +But, as it is, when friends leave, we expect a message from their +hearts soon, to solace our own. How we watch, and how we hope! What +a welcome rap is the postman's! With what eagerness we loosen the +seal; with what pleasure we read, from date to signature, every +word! + +It may not be uninteresting, nor wholly uninstructive, to examine +the various modes of letter-writing, and to spend a brief half-hour +with those who have by their letters made grave or gay impressions +on the public mind. + +Some write letters with great ease; others, with great difficulty. +Miss Seward was an inveterate letter-writer. There have been +published six large volumes of letters written by her; besides +these, she left twelve quarto volumes of letters to a publisher of +London, and these, it is said, are but a twelfth part of her +correspondence. It seems as though she must have written nothing but +letters, so many and various were they; but her fame as an authoress +will convince any one that her industry overcame what might seem an +impossibility, and that her genius in this particular resembled that +of the steam-writing machine, Dumas, of the present time. + +Lord Peterborough had such a faculty for this kind of composition, +that, when ambassador to Turin, according to Pope, who says he was a +witness of the performance, he employed nine amanuenses, who were +seated in a room, around whom Lord Peterborough walked and dictated +to each what he should write. These nine wrote to as many different +persons, upon, perhaps, nine times as many subjects; yet the +ambassador retained in his mind the connection of each letter so +completely as to close each in a highly-finished and appropriate +manner. + +These facts show the ease and rapidity of some writers. In +contradistinction to these are the letters of many eminent Latin +writers, who actually bestowed several months of close attention +upon a single letter. Mr. Owen says: "Such is the defect of +education among the modern Roman ladies, that they are not troubled +to keep up any correspondence; because they cannot write. A princess +of great beauty, at Naples, caused an English lady to be informed +that she was learning to write; and hoped, in the course of time, to +acquire the art of correspondence." + +There are many persons with whom it is the most difficult task of +their existence to write a letter. They follow the old Latin +writers, and make a labor of what with others is a recreation. They +begin with the stereotyped words, "I take my pen in hand," as though +a letter could be written without doing so. Then follows, "to inform +you that I am well, and hope this will find you the same." There is +a period-a full stop; and there are instances of persons going no +further, but closing with, "This from your friend, JOHN SHORT." + +This "difficulty" arises not from an inability, but from an +excessive nicety-a desire to write a prize essay, instead of a good, +sociable, familiar letter. To make a letter interesting, the writer +must transfer his thoughts from his mind to his paper, as truly as +the rays of the sun place the likeness of an object in front of the +lens through which it acts upon the silvered plate. Seneca says, "I +would have my letters be like my discourses when we sit or walk +together, unstudied and easy." + +Willis' letters are of a kind always "free and easy." His "Letters +from Under a Bridge" are admirable specimens of letters as they +should be; and his "Pencillings by the Way" owe much of their +popularity to their easy, familiar, talkative style. The letters of +Cicero and Pliny, of ancient, and Swift, Pope, Arbuthnot, Madame de +S‚vign‚, and Lady Mary Wortley Montague, of modern times, are +generally received as some of the best specimens extant of +epistolary composition. The letters of Charles Lamb are a series of +brilliances, though of kaleidoscope variety; they have wit without +buffoonery, and seriousness without melancholy. He closes one of +them by subscribing himself his friend's "afflicted, headachey, +sorethroaty, humble servant, CHARLES LAMB." + +Some men, and women too, of eminence, have written curiosities in +the form of correspondence. The letter of the mother of Foote is a +good example of this kind of correspondence. Mrs. Foote became +embarrassed, and, being unable to meet a demand, was placed in +prison; whereupon she wrote to Mr. Foote as follows: + +"DEAR SAM: I am in prison for debt; come, and assist your loving +mother, E. FOOTE. + +It appears that "Sam" was equally entangled in the meshes of the +law, for he answered as follows: + +"DEAR MOTHER:-So am I; which prevents his duty being paid to his +loving mother by her affectionate son, + +"SAM FOOTE. + +"P. S.-I have sent my attorney to assist you; in the mean time, let +us hope for better days." + +These laconic epistles are well matched by that of a French lady, +who wrote to her husband this missive of intelligence, affection, +&c., &c.: + +"I write to you because I have nothing to do; I end my letter +because I have nothing to say." + +But these are left far in the rear by the correspondence of two +Quakers, the one living in Edinburgh, the other in London. The +former, wishing to know whether there was anything new in London, +wrote in the corner of a letter-sheet a small interrogation note, +and sent it to his friend. In due time he received an answer. He +opened the sheet and found, simply, O, signifying that there was +none. + +In the London Times of January 3d, 1820, is the following, +purporting to be a copy of a letter sent to a medical gentleman: + +"CER: Yole oblige me uf yole kum un ce me. I hev a Bad kowld, am +Hill in my Bow Hills, and hev lost my Happy Tight." + +William Cowper, the poet, being on very familiar terms with the Rev. +Mr. Newton, amused himself and his friend with a letter, of which +the following is a copy: + +"MY VERY DEAR FRIEND: I am going to send, what, when you have read, +you may scratch your head, and say, I suppose, there's nobody knows, +whether what I have got be verse or not; by the tune and the time, +it ought to be rhyme; but if it be, did you ever see, of late or of +yore, such a ditty before? + +"I have writ Charity, not for popularity, but as well as I could, in +hopes to do good; and if the reviewers should say, 'To be sure the +gentleman's muse wears methodist shoes, you may know by her pace, +and talk about grace, that she and her bard have little regard for +the taste and fashions, and ruling passions, and hoydening play, of +the modern day; and though she assume a borrowed plume, and now and +then wear a tittering air, 't is only her plan to catch, if she can, +the giddy and gay, as they go that way, by a production on a new +construction; she has baited her trap, in hopes to snap all that may +come, with a sugar-plum.' His opinion in this will not be amiss; 't +is what I intend my principal end; and if I succeed, and folks +should read, till a few are brought to a serious thought, I shall +think I am paid for all I have said, and all I have done, though I +have run, many a time, after rhyme, as far as from hence, to the end +of my sense, and, by hook or crook, write another book, if I live +and am here, another year. + +"I heard before of a room, with a floor laid upon springs, and such +like things, with so much art, in every part, that when you went in, +you was forced to begin a minuet pace, with an air and a grace, +swimming about, now in and now out, with a deal of state, in a +figure of eight, without pipe or string, or any such thing; and now +I have writ, in a rhyming fit, what will make you dance, and, as you +advance, will keep you still, though against your will, dancing +away, alert and gay, till you come to an end of what I have penned; +which that you may do ere madam and you are quite worn out with +jigging about, I take my leave; and here you receive a bow profound, +down to the ground, from your humble me, + +"W. C." + +At one of those famous coteries, so fashionable in the time of +George Selwyn, Selwyn declared that a lady never closed a letter +without a postscript. One of his fair auditors defended her sex by +saying that her next letter should prove he was wrong. Soon after, +Selwyn received a letter from the lady, in which, after the name, +was "P. S. Who is right now, you or I?" + +"We have met the enemy, and they are ours" is an example for naval +letters. Commodore Walton's letter, by which he gave information of +his capture of a number of Spanish vessels of war, was as follows: + +"We have taken or destroyed all the enemy's ships or vessels on the +coast, as per margin." + +General Taylor's letters are of the same class,--brief and to the +point. + +As a specimen of ultra-familiarity, see the Duke of Buckingham's +letter to King James the First, which he commences as follows: + +"DEAR DAD AND GOSSIP," + +and concludes thus:-- + +"Your Majesty's most humble slave and dog, + +"STINIE." + +Some letters have been distinguished for a play upon words. The +following is supposed to have been written by one Zebel Rock, a +stone-cutter, to a young lady for whom he cherished a love somewhat +more than Platonic: + +"DIVINE FLINT: Were you not harder than Porphyry or Agate, the +Chisel of my love, drove by the Mallet of my fidelity, would have +made some impression on thee. I, that have shaped as I pleased the +most untoward of substances, hoped by the Compass of reason, the +Plummet of discretion, the Saw of constancy, the soft File of +kindness, and the Polish of good words, to have modelled you into +one of the prettiest Statues in the world; but, alas! I find you are +a Flint, that strikes fire, and sets my soul in a blaze, though your +heart is as cold as marble. Pity my case, pray, madam, for I know +not what I say or do. If I go to make a Dragon, I strike out a +Cupid; instead of an Apothecary's Mortar, I make a Church Font for +Baptism; and, dear Pillar of my hopes, Pedestal of my comfort, and +Cornice of my joy, take compassion upon me, for upon your pity I +build all my hope, and will, if fortunate, erect Statues, Obelisks +and Pyramids, to your generosity." + +As a specimen of alliteration the following may be considered a fair +off-hand epistle of love: + +"ADORED AND ANGELIC AMELIA: Accept An Ardent And Artless Amorist's +Affections; Alleviate An Anguished Admirer's Alarms, And Answer An +Amorous Applicant's Avowed Ardor. Ah, Amelia! All Appears An Awful +Aspect; Ambition, Avarice, And Arrogance, Alas, Are Attractive +Allurements, And Abuse An Ardent Attachment. Appease An Aching And +Affectionate Adorer's Alarms, And Anon Acknowledge Affianced +Albert's Alliance As Agreeable And Acceptable. Anxiously Awaiting An +Affectionate And Affirmative Answer, Accept An Ardent Admirer's +Aching Adieu. ALBERT." + +The custom of espionage among some nations, which led the government +officials' to open all letters supposed to contain matters at +variance with the plans and purposes of their masters, induced the +inventive to contrive various means of correspondence. + +One of the most singular of these was that adopted by Histaus, the +Milesian, as related by Herodotus. Histaus was "kept by Darius at +Susa, under an honorable pretence, and, despairing of his return +home, unless he could find out some way that he might be sent to +sea, he purposed to send to Aristagoras, who was his substitute at +Miletum, to persuade his revolt from Darius; but, knowing that all +passages were stopped and studiously watched, he took this course: +he got a trusty servant of his, the hair of whose head he caused to +be shaved off, and then, upon his bald head, he wrote his mind to +Aristagoras; kept him privately about him, till his hair was +somewhat grown, and then bid him haste to Aristagoras, and bid him +cause him to be shaved again, and then upon his head he should find +what his lord had written to him." + +A volume might be written of the Curiosities of Letter-writing, and +it would be by no means an uninteresting production. Years ago, when +New England missionaries first taught the wild men of the South Sea +Islands, it so happened that one of the teachers wished to +communicate with a friend, and having no pen, ink and paper at hand, +he picked up a chip and wrote with a pencil his message. A native +conveyed it, and, receiving some article in return, he thought the +chip endowed with some miraculous power, and could he have obtained +it would doubtless have treasured it as a god, and worshipped it. +And so would seem to us this invaluable art of letter-writing, were +we in like ignorance. We forget to justly appreciate a blessing +while we have it in constant use; but let us be for a short time +deprived of it, and then we lament its loss and realize its worth. +Deprive mankind of pen, ink and paper, obliterate from the human +mind all knowledge of letter-writing,--then estimate, if you can, +thee loss that would accrue. + +The good resulting from a general intercommunication of thought +among the people has brought about a great reduction in the rates of +postage. We look forward to the time when the tens of millions now +expended in war, and invested in the ammunition of death, shall be +directed into other channels, and postage shall be free. What better +defence for our nation than education? It is better than forts and +vessels of war; better than murderous guns, powder and ball. Hail to +the day when there shall be no direct tax on the means of education! + + + + + + +A VISION OF REALITY. + + + + + + I HAD a dream: Methought one came + And bade me with him go; + I followed, till, above the world, + I wondering gazed below. + One moment, horror filled my breast; + Then, shrinking from the sight, + I turned aside, and sought for rest, + Half dying with affright. + My guide with zeal still urged me on; + "See, see!" said he, "what sin hath done; + How mad ambition fills each breast, + And mortals spurn their needed rest, + And all their lives and fortunes spend + To gain some darling, wished-for end; + And scarce they see the long-sought prize, + When each to grasp it fails and dies." + Once more I looked: in a lonely room, + On a pallet of straw, were lying + A mother and child; no friends were near, + Yet that mother and child were dying. + A sigh arose; she looked above, + And she breathed forth, "I forgive;" + She kissed her child, threw back her head, + And the mother ceased to live. + The child's blue eyes were raised to watch + Its mother's smile of love; + She was not there,--her child she saw + From her spirit-home above. + An hour passed by: that child had gone + From earth and all its harms; + Yet, as in sleep, it nestling lay + In its dead mother's arms. + I asked my guide, "What doth this mean?" + He spake not a word, but changed the scene. + I stood where the busy throng + Was hurrying by; all seemed intent, + As on some weighty mission sent; + And, as I asked what all this meant, + A drunkard pass‚d by. + He spake,--I listened; thus spake he: + "Rum, thou hast been a curse to me; + My wife is dead,--my darling child, + Who, when 't was born, so sweetly smiled, + And seemed to ask, in speechless prayer, + A father's love, a father's care,-- + He, he, too, now is gone! + How can I any longer live? + What joy to me can earth now give? + I've drank full deep from sorrow's cup,-- + When shall I drink its last dregs up? + When will the last, last pang be felt? + When the last blow on me be dealt? + Would I had ne'er been born!" + As thus he spake, a gilded coach + In splendor pass‚d by; + And from within a man looked forth,-- + The drunkard caught his eye. + Then, with a wild and frenzied look, + He, trembling, to it ran; + He stayed the rich man's carriage there, + And said, "Thou art the man! + "Yes, thou the man! You bade me come, + You took my gold, you gave me rum; + You bade me in the gutter lie, + My wife and child you caused to die; + You took their bread,--'t was justly theirs; + You, cunning, laid round me your snares, + Till I fell in them; then you crushed, + And robbed me, as my cries you hushed; + You've bound me close in misery's thrall; + Now, take a drunkard's curse and fall!" + A moment passed, and all was o'er,-- + He who'd sold rum would sell no more + And Justice seemed on earth to dwell, + When by his victim's hand he fell. + Yet, when the trial came, she fled, + And Law would have the avenger dead. + The gilded coach may rattle by, + Men too may drink, and drunkards die, + And widows' tears may daily fall, + And orphans' voices daily call,-- + Yet these are all in vain; + The dealer sells, and glass by glass + He tempts the man to ruin pass, + And piles on high his slain. + His fellows fall by scores,--what then? + He, being rich (though rich by fraud), + Is honored by his fellow-men, + Who bend the knee and call him "lord." + + Again I turned; + + Enough I'd learned + Of all the misery sin hath brought; + I strove to leave the fearful spot, + And wished the scene might be forgot, + 'T was so with terror fraught. + + I wished to go, + + No more to know. + I turned me, but no guide stood there; + Alone, I shrieked in wild dismay, + When, lo! the vision passed away,-- + I found me seated in my chair. + The morning sun was shining bright, + Fair children gambolled in my sight; + A rose-bush in my window stood, + And shed its fragrance all around; + My eye saw naught but fair and good, + My ear heard naught but joyous sound. + I asked me, can it be on earth + Such scenes of horror have their birth, + As those that in my vision past, + And on my mind their shadows cast? + Can it be true, that men do pour + Foul poison forth for sake of gold? + And men lie weltering in their gore, + Led on by that their brethren sold? + Doth man so bend the supple knee + To Mammon's shrine, he never hears + The voice of conscience, nor doth see + His ruin in the wealth he rears? + Such questions it were vain to ask, + For Reason whispers, "It is so;" + While some in fortune's sunshine bask, + Others lie crushed beneath their woe. + And men do sell, and men do pour, + And for their gold return men death; + Though wives and children them implore, + With tearful eyes and trembling breath, + And hearts with direst anguish riven, + No more to sell,--'t is all in vain; + They, urged to death, by avarice driven, + But laugh and turn to sell again. + + + + + + +JEWELS OF THE HEART. + + + + + + THERE are jewels brighter far + Than the sparkling diamonds are; + Jewels never wrought by art,-- + Nature forms them in the heart! + Would ye know the names they hold + Ah! they never can be told + In the language mortals speak! + Human words are far too weak + Yet, if you would really know + What these jewels are, then go + To some low, secluded cot, + Where the poor man bears his lot! + Or, to where the sick and dying + 'Neath the ills of life are sighing. + And if there some one ye see + Striving long and patiently + To alleviate the pain, + Bring the light of hope again! + One whose feet do lightly tread, + One whose hands do raise the head, + One who watches there alone, + Every motion, every tone; + Unaware an eye doth see + All these acts of charity. + Know that in that lonely cot, + Where the wealth of earth is not, + These bright jewels will be found, + Shedding love and light around! + Say, shall gems and rubies rare + With these heart-shrined gems compare? + Constancy, that will not perish, + But the thing it loveth cherish, + Clinging to it fondly ever, + Fainting, faltering, wavering, never! + Trust, that will not harbor doubt; + Putting fear and shame to rout, + Making known how, free from harm, + Love may rest upon its arm. + Hope, that makes the future bright, + Though there come a darksome night; + And, though dark despair seems nigh, + Bears the soul up manfully! + These are gems that brighter shine + Than they of Golconda's mine. + Born amid love's fond caresses, + Cradled in the heart's recesses, + They will live when earth is old, + Marble crumble, perish gold! + Live when ages shall have past, + While eternity shall last; + Be these gems the wealth you share, + Friends of mind, where'er you are! + + + + + + +LIGHT FROM A BETTER LAND. + + + + + + HERE at thy grave I stand, + But not in tears; + Light from a better land + Banishes fears. + Thou art beside me now, + Whispering peace; + Telling how happy thou + Found thy release! + Thou art not buried here; + Why should I mourn? + All that I cherished dear + Heavenward hath gone! + Oft from that world above + Come ye to this; + Breathing in strains of love + Unto me bliss! + + + + + + +POOR AND WEARY! + + + + + + IN a low and cheerless cot + Sat one mourning his sad lot; + All day long he'd sought for labor; + All day long his nearest neighbor + Lived in affluence and squandered + Wealth, while he an outcast wandered, + And the night with shadowy wing + Heard him this low moaning sing: + "Sad and weary, poor and weary, + Life to me is ever dreary!" + Morning came; there was no sound + Heard within. Men gathered round, + Peering through the window-pane; + They saw a form as if 't were lain + Out for burial. Stiff and gaunt + Lay the man who died in want. + And methought I heard that day + Angel voices whispering say, + "No more sad, poor and weary, + Life to me no more is dreary!" + + + + + + +THE BANDBOX MOVEMENT. + + + + + +"THERE! Mr. McKenzie, I declare! You are the most oncommon, oncivil +man I ever sot eyes on!" + +"Peace, my lady! I'll explain." + +"Then do so." + +"You must know, then, that I have a perfect hatred of bandboxes,--so +great, in fact, that if I see one on the walk, I involuntarily raise +my foot and kick it." + +"So it appears," chimed in Mrs: McKenzie, with a significant hunch +of the right shoulder. + +"Therefore,--" + +"Well, go on! what you waitin' for?" + +"Therefore, when I saw Arabella's bandbox in the entry, as I came +down, sitting, as it did, directly at the foot of the stairs, I +jumped on it, thinking I would come over it that time--" + +"An' crushed a new spring bonnet, that cost-let me see!" + +"No matter!" said Mr. McKenzie; "that will be in the bill." + +Mr. McKenzie, having said thus much, placed his hat on his head and +rushed from the house, fearful of another onslaught of "oncommon +oncivilities." + +A little shop at the North End,--seven men seated round said shop,--a +small dog growling at a large cat, a large cat making a noise +resembling that produced by root-beer confined in a stone bottle by +a cork bound down with a piece of twine. Reader, imagine you see and +hear all this! + +[Enter Mr. McKenzie.] "Gentlemen, something must be done to demolish +the idea held by the 'rest of mankind' that they, the women, cannot +exist without owning as personal property an indefinite number of +bandboxes. I therefore propose that we at once organize for the +purpose; that a committee be appointed to draft resolutions, and +report a name for the confederacy." + +Voted unanimously; whereupon, a committee being appointed, after a +short session, reported the following "whereas, etc." + +"Whereas, WE, in our perambulations up and down the earth, are +frequently, oftentimes, and most always, beset with annoyances of +various kinds; and, as the greatest, most perplexing, most +troublesome and iniquitous of these, generally assumes the shape of +a bandbox, in a bag or out of one; and, whereas, our wives, our +daughters, our sisters, and our female acquaintances generally and +particularly, manifest a determination to put said boxes in our way, +at all times, and under all circumstances, therefore + +"Resolved, That-we-wont-stand-it-any-longer!!! + +"Resolved, That we form ourselves into a society for the purpose of +annihilating this grievous evil, and all bandboxes, of every size +and nature. + +"Resolved, That this society be known by the name of 'The Bandbox +Extermination Association.'" + +The chairman of the committee made a few remarks, in which he stated +that, in the performance of the duties which would devolve upon the +members, they would, doubtless, meet with some opposition. "But, +never mind," said he; "it is a glorious cause, and if we get the +tongs at one time, and the hearth-brush another time, let 'em come!" +He defined the duties of members to be,--first and foremost, to pay +six and a quarter cents to defray expenses; to demolish a bandbox +wherever and whenever there should be one; (for instance, if a fat +woman was racing for the cars, with a bandbox in her arms, that box +should be forcibly taken and burned on the spot, or whittled into +such minute particles that it could no more be seen; if, in an +omnibus warranted to seat twelve, fifteen men are congregated, and +an individual attempts to enter with a bandbox, the box shall have +notice to quit.) + +"The manner of demolition," he said, further, "might be variously +defined. If the owner was a nervous lady, to kick the box would +wound her feelings, and it were best to apparently unintentionally +seat yourself on it; then beg a thousand pardons, and, as you, in +your efforts to make it better, only make it worse, give it up in +despair, and console the owner by a reference to spilt milk and the +uselessness of crying. As to the contents of the boxes, they must +look out for themselves. If they get injured, hint that they should +keep out of bad company." + +The chairman sat down, and, the question being put, it was more than +unanimously voted (inasmuch as one man voted with both hands +That was McKenzie. ) to adopt the resolutions, the name, and all the +remarks that had been made in connection with them. Members paid +their assessments, and with a hearty good will. + +Thus we see how "oaks from acorns grow." Mrs. McKenzie's fretfulness +on account of her husband's patriotism led to the formation of a +society that will make rapid strides towards the front rank of the +army now at work for the amelioration of the condition of mankind. + + + + + + +NEW ENGLAND HOMES. + + + + + + I've been through all the nations, have travelled o'er the earth, + O'er mountain-top and valley, far from my land of birth; + But whereso'er I wandered, wherever I did roam, + I saw no spot so pleasant as my own New England home. + I've seen Italia's daughters, beneath Italian skies + Seen beauty in their happy smiles, and love within their eyes; + But give to me the fairer ones that grace New England's shore, + In preference to the dwellers in the valley of Lanore. + I've watched the sun's departure behind the "Eternal Hills," + When with floods of golden light the vaulted heaven it fills; + But Italy can never boast, with its poetic power, + More varied beauties than those of New England's sunset hour. + I love my own New England; I love its rocks and hills; + I love its trees, its mossy banks, its fountains and its rills; + I love its homes, its cottages, its people round the hearth; + I love, O, how I love to hear New England shouts of mirth! + Tell me of the sunny South, its orange-groves and streams, + That they surpass in splendor man's most enraptured dreams; + But never can they be as fair, though blown by spicy gales, + As those sweet homes, those cottages, within New England vales. + O, when life's cares are ending, and time upon my brow + Shall leave a deeper impress than gathers on it now; + When age shall claim its sacrifice, and I no more shall roam, + Then let me pass my latter days in my New England home! + + + + + + +LOVE THAT WANES NOT. + + + + + + O, WHEN should Love's true beacons glow the brightest, + If not when darkness shrouds the path we tread? + When should its tokens, though they be the slightest, + Be given, if not when clouds are overhead? + When light is 'round us, and when joys are glowing, + Some hand may press our own, and vow to cherish + A love for us which ne'er shall cease its flowing,-- + And yet that love, when darkness comes, may perish. + But there is love which will outlive all sorrow, + And in the darkest hour be nigh to bless,-- + Which need not human art or language borrow, + Its deep affection fondly to express. + The mother o'er the child she loveth bending + Need not in words tell others of her love; + For, on the wings of earnest prayer ascending, + It rises, and is registered above. + O, such is love-all other is fictitious; + All other's vanquished by disease and pain; + But this, which lives when fate is unpropitious, + Shall rise to heaven, and there an entrance gain. + + + + + + +ONWARD COURAGEOUSLY. + + + + + + BEND thee to action-nerve thee to duty! + Whate'er it may be, never despair! + God reigns on high,--pray to him truly, + He will an answer give to thy prayer. + Shrinketh thyself from crosses before thee? + Art thou so made as to tremble and fear? + Confide in thy God; he will watch o'er thee; + Humbly and trustingly, brother, draw near! + Clouds may be gathering, light may depart, + Earth that thou treadest seem crumbling away; + New foes, new dangers, around thee may start, + And spectres of evil tempt thee astray. + Onward courageously! nerved for the task, + Do all thy duty, and strength shall be thine; + Whate'er you want in humility ask, + Aid shall be given from a source that's divine. + Do all thy duty faithful and truly; + Trust in thy Maker,--he's willing to save + Thee from all evil, and keep thee securely, + And make thee triumphant o'er death and the grave. + + + + + + +A FOREST PIC-NIC SONG. + + + + + + WITHIN these woods, beneath these trees, + We meet to-day a happy band; + All joy is ours,--we feel the breeze + Blow gently o'er our native land. + How brightly blooms each forest flower! + What cheerful notes the wild bird sings! + How nature charms our festive hour, + What beauty round our pathway springs! + The aged bear no weight of years; + The good old man, the matron too, + Forget their ills, forget their fears, + And range the dim old forests through + With youth and maiden on whose cheek + The ruddy bloom of health doth glow, + And in whose eyes the heart doth speak + Oft more than they would have us know. + How pleasant thus it is to dwell + Within the shadow of this wood, + Where rock and tree and flower do tell + To all that nature's God is good! + Here nature's temple open stands,-- + There's none so nobly grand as here,-- + The sky its roof; its floor, all lands, + While rocks and trees are worshippers. + There's not a leaf that rustles now, + A bird that chants its simple lays, + A breeze that passing fans our brow, + That speaks not of its Maker's praise. + O, then, let us who gather here + Praise Him who gave us this glad day, + And when the twilight shades appear + Pass with his blessing hence away! + + + + + + +THE WARRIOR'S BRIDE. + +CHAPTER I. + + + + + +ROME was enjoying the blessings of peace; and so little employment +attended the soldier's every-day life, that the words "as idle as a +soldier" became a proverb indicative of the most listless +inactivity. + +The people gave themselves up to joy and gladness. The sound of +music was heard from all parts of the city, and perfumed breezes +went up as an incense from the halls of beauty and mirth. + +It was, indeed, a blessed time for the city of the seven hills; and +its people rejoiced as they had not for many a long, long year-ay, +for a century. + +"Peace, sweet peace, a thousand blessings attend thy glad reign. See +you how quietly the peasant's flocks graze on our eternal hills? The +tinkling bell is a sweeter sound than the trumpet's blast; and the +curling smoke, arising from the hearth-stones of contented +villagers, is a truer index of a nation's power than the sulphurous +cloud from the field of battle. What say you, Alett,--is it not?" + +Thus spake a youth of noble mien, as he stood with one arm +encircling the waist of a lady, of whose beauty it were useless to +attempt a description. There are some phases of beauty which pen +cannot describe, nor pencil portray,--a beauty which seems to hover +around the form, words, and motions of those whose special +recipients it is; a sort of ethereal loveliness, concentrating the +tints of the rainbow, the sun's golden rays, and so acting upon the +mind's eye of the observer as almost to convince him that a visitant +from a sphere of perfection is in his presence. + +Such was that of Alett. She was the only daughter of a distinguished +general, whose name was the terror of all the foes, and the +confidence of all the friends, of Italy-his eldest daughter; and +with love approaching idolatry he cherished her. She was his +confidant. In the privacy of her faithful heart he treasured all his +plans and purposes. Of late, the peaceful security in which the +nation dwelt gave him the opportunity of remaining at home, where, +in the companionship of a wife he fondly loved, children he almost +idolized, and friends whose friendship was not fictitious, he found +that joy and comfort which the camp could never impart. + +Alett was ever in the presence of her father, or the young man whose +apostrophe to peace we have just given. + +Rubineau was not the descendant of a noble family, in the worldly +acceptation of the term. It was noble, indeed, but not in deeds of +war or martial prowess. Its nobleness consisted in the steady +perseverance in well-doing, and a strict attachment to what +conscience dictated as right opinions. The general loved him for the +inheritance he possessed in such traits of character, and the love +which existed between his daughter and the son of a plebeian was +countenanced under such considerations, with one proviso; which was, +that, being presented with a commission, he should accept it, and +hold himself in readiness to leave home and friends when duty should +call him to the field of battle. + +We have introduced the two standing on a beautiful eminence, in the +rear of the general's sumptuous mansion. + +The sun was about going down, and its long, golden rays streamed +over hill and dale, palace and cot, clothing all in a voluptuous +flow of rich light. + +They had stood for several moments in silence, gazing at the quiet +and beautiful scene before them, when the musical voice of Rubineau +broke forth in exclamations of delight at the blessings of peace. + +Alett was not long in answering. It was a theme on which she +delighted to dwell. Turning the gaze of her large, full eyes up +towards those of Rubineau, she said, + +"Even so it is. Holy Peace! It. is strange that men will love the +trumpet's blast, and the smoke and the heat of the conflict, better +than its gentle scenes. Peace, peace! blessings on thee, as thou +givest blessings!" + +Rubineau listened to the words of his Alett with a soul of +admiration. He gazed upon her with feelings he had never before +felt, and which it was bliss for him to experience. + +She, the daughter of an officer, brought up amid all the glare and +glitter, show and blazonry, of military life,--she, who had seen but +one side of the great panorama of martial life,--to speak thus in +praise of peace, and disparagingly of the profession of her +friends-it somewhat surprised the first speaker. + +"It is true," he replied; "but how uncertain is the continuance of +the blessings we now enjoy! To-morrow may sound the alarm which +shall call me from your side to the strife and tumult of war. +Instead of your gentle words, I may hear the shouts of the +infuriated soldiery, the cry of the wounded, and the sighs of the +dying." + +"Speak not so," exclaimed Alett; "it must not be." + +"Do you not love your country?" inquired the youth. + +"I do, but I love Rubineau more. There are warriors enough ready for +the battle. It need not be that you go. But why this alarm? We were +talking of peace, and, behold, now we have the battle-field before +us-war and all its panoply!" + +"Pardon me, my dearest Alett, for borrowing trouble; but at times, +when I am with you, and thinking of our present joy, the thought +will arise that it may be taken from us." No more words were needed +to bring to the mind of Alett all that filled that of Rubineau. They +embraced each the other more affectionately than ever, and silently +repaired to the house of the general. + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +"To remain will be dishonor; to go may be death! When a Roman falls, +the foe has one more arrow aimed at his heart; an arrow barbed with +revenge, and sent with unerring precision. Hark! that shout is music +to every soldier's ear. Hear you that tramp of horsemen? that +rumbling of chariot-wheels?" + +Twelve months had passed since the time of the last chapter, and, +after repeated threatening, war had actually begun. Instead of idle +hours, the soldiers had busy moments, and every preparation was made +to meet the opposing array in a determined manner, and with a +steadiness of purpose that should insure success. + +The general watched for some time the fluctuating appearance of +public affairs, and it was not until war was not only certain, but +actually in progress, that he called upon Rubineau to go forth. + +A week hence Rubineau and Alett were to be united in marriage; and +invitations had been extended far and near, in anticipation of the +event. It had been postponed from week to week, with the hope that +the various rumors that were circulated respecting impending danger +to the country might prove untrue, or at least to have a foundation +on some weak pretence, which reasonable argument might overthrow. + +Day by day these rumors increased, and the gathering together of the +soldiery betokened the certainty of an event which would fall as a +burning meteor in the midst of the betrothed and their friends. + +The call for Rubineau to depart was urgent, and its answer admitted +of no delay. + +"To remain," said the general, "will be dishonor; to go may be +death: which will you choose?" + +It was a hard question for the young man to answer. But it must be +met. The general loved him, and with equal unwillingness the +question was presented and received. + +"I go. If Rubineau falls--" + +"If he returns," exclaimed the general, interrupting him, "honor, +and wealth, and a bride who loves and is loved, shall be his-all +his." + +It was a night of unusual loveliness. The warm and sultry atmosphere +of the day had given place to cool and gentle breezes. The stars +were all out, shining as beacons at the gates of a paradise above; +and the moon began and ended her course without the attendance of +one cloud to veil her beauties from the observation of the dwellers +on earth. + +Rubineau and Alett were seated beneath a bower, cultivated by the +fair hand of the latter. + +The next morning Rubineau was to depart. All the happy scenes of the +coming week were to be delayed, and the thought that they might be +delayed long-ay, forever-came like a shadow of evil to brood in +melancholy above the place and the hour. + +We need not describe the meeting, the parting. + +"Whatever befalls me, I shall not forget you, Alett. Let us hope for +the best. Yet a strange presentiment I have that I shall not +return." + +"O that I could go with you!" said Alett. "Think you father would +object?" + +"That were impossible. Nothing but love, true and enduring, could +make such a proposal. It would be incurring a two-fold danger." + +"Death would be glorious with you,--life insupportable without you!" + +In such conversation the night passed, and when the early light of +morning came slowly up the eastern sky, the sound of a trumpet +called him away. + +The waving of a white flag was the last signal, and the general, all +unused to tears as he was, mingled his with those of his family as +the parting kiss was given, and Rubineau started on a warfare the +result of which was known only to Him who governs the destinies of +nations and of individuals. + +And now, in the heat of the conflict, the war raged furiously. +Rubineau threw himself in the front rank, and none was more brave +than he. It seemed to his fellow-officers that he was urged on by +some unseen agency, and guarded from injury by some spirit of good. + +To himself but one thought was in his mind; and, regardless of +danger, he pressed forward for a glorious victory, and honor to +himself and friends. + +Those whose leader he was were inspirited by his courageous action, +and followed like true men where he led the way. + +They had achieved several victories, and were making an onset upon +numbers four-fold as large as their own, when their leader received +a severe wound, and, falling from his noble horse, would have been +trampled to death by his followers, had not those who had seen him +fall formed a circle around as a protection for him. + +This serious disaster did not dampen the ardor of the soldiers; +they pressed on, carried the point, and saw the foe make a rapid +retreat. + +The shouts of victory that reached the ears of Rubineau came with a +blessing. He raised himself, and shouted, "On, brave men!" But the +effort was too much for him to sustain for any length of time, and +he fell back completely exhausted. + +He was removed to a tent, and had every attention bestowed upon him. +As night approached, and the cool air of evening fanned his brow, he +began to revive, but not in any great degree. + +The surgeon looked sad. There was evidently reason to fear the +worst; and, accustomed as he was to such scenes, he was now but +poorly prepared to meet it. + +"Rubineau is expiring," whispered a lad, as he proceeded quietly +among the ranks of soldiers surrounding the tent of the wounded. + +And it was so. His friends had gathered around his couch, and, +conscious of the approach of his dissolution, he bade them all +farewell, and kissed them. + +"Tell her I love, I die an honorable death; tell her that her +Rubineau fell where the arms of the warriors clashed the closest, +and that victory hovered above him as his arm grew powerless; and, +O, tell her that it was all for her sake,--love for her nerved his +arm, and love for her is borne upward on his last, his dying prayer. +Tell her to love as I--" + +"He is gone, sir," said the surgeon. + +"Gone!" exclaimed a dozen voices. + +"A brave man has fallen," remarked another, as he raised his arm, +and wiped the flowing tears from his cheek. + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +At the mansion of the old general every arrival of news from the war +sent a thrill of joy through the hearts of its inmates. Hitherto, +every despatch told of victory and honor; but now a sad chapter was +to be added to the history of the conflict. + +Alett trembled as she beheld the slow approach of the messenger, +who, at all previous times, had come with a quick step. In her soul +she felt the keen edge of the arrow that was just entering it, and +longed to know all, dreadful though it might be. + +Need we describe the scene of fearful disclosure? If the reader has +followed the mind of Alett, as from the first it has presumed, +conjectured, and fancied,--followed all its hopes of future bliss, +and seen it revel in the sunshine of honor and earthly fame,--he can +form some idea, very faint though it must be, of the effect which +followed the recital of all the facts in regard to the fallen. + +In her wild frenzy of grief, she gave utterance to the deep feelings +of her soul with words that told how deep was her sorrow, and how +unavailing every endeavor which friends exerted to allay its pangs. + +She would not believe him dead. She would imagine him at her side, +and would talk to him of peace, "sweet peace," and laugh in clear +and joyous tones as she pictured its blessings, and herself enjoying +with him its comforts. + +Thus, with enthroned reason, she would give vent to grief; and, with +her reason dethroned, be glad and rejoice. + +And so passed her lifetime. + +Often, all day long, attired in bridal raiment, the same in which +she had hoped to be united indissolubly to Rubineau, she remained +seated in a large oaken chair, while at her side stood the helmet +and spear he had carried forth on the morning when they parted. At +such times, she was as calm as an infant's slumberings, saying that +she was waiting for the sound of the marriage-bells; asked why they +did not ring, and sat for hours in all the beauty of loveliness-the +Warrior's Bride. + + + + + + +THE ADVENT OF HOPE. + + + + + + ONCE on a time, from scenes of light + An angel winged his airy flight; + Down to this earth in haste he came, + And wrote, in lines of living flame, + These words on everything he met,-- + "Cheer up, be not discouraged yet!" + Then back to heaven with speed he flew, + Attuned his golden harp anew; + Whilst the angelic throng came round + To catch the soul-inspiring sound; + And heaven was filled with new delight, + For HOPE had been to earth that night. + + + + + + +CHILD AND SIRE. + + + + + + "KNOW you what intemperance is?" + I asked a little child, + Who seemed too young to sorrow know, + So beautiful and mild. + It raised its tiny, blue-veined hand, + And to a church-yard near + It pointed, whilst from glistening eye + Came forth the silent tear. + + "Yes, for yonder, in that grave, + Is my father lying; + And these words he spake to me + While he yet was dying: + "'Mary, when the sod lies o'er me + And an orphan child thou art,-- + When companions ask thy story, + Say intemperance aimed the dart. + When the gay the wine-cup circle, + Praise the nectar that doth shine, + When they'd taste, then tell thy story, + And to earth they'll dash the wine.' + "And there my dear-loved mother lies,-- + What bitter tears I've shed + Over her grave!-I cannot think + That she is really dead. + And when the spring in beauty blooms, + At morning's earliest hour + I hasten there, and o'er her grave + I plant the little flower. + "And patiently I watch to see + It rise from out the earth, + To see it from its little grave + Spring to a fairer birth. + For mother said that thus would she, + And father, too, and I, + Arise from out our graves to meet + In mansions in the sky. + "O, what intemperance is, there's none + On earth can better tell. + Intemperance me an orphan made, + In this wide world to dwell; + Intemperance broke my mother's heart, + It took my father's life, + And makes the days of man below + With countless sorrows rife." + "Know you what intemperance is?" + I asked a trembling sire, + Whose lamp of life burned dim, and seemed + As though 'twould soon expire. + He raised his bow‚d head, and then + Methought a tear did start, + As though the question I had put + Had reached his very heart. + He raised his head, but 't was to bow + It down again and sigh; + Methought that old man's hour had come + In which he was to die. + Not so; he raised it up again, + And boldly said, "I can! + Intemperance is the foulest curse + That ever fell on man. + "I had a son, as fair, as bright + As ever mortal blest; + And day passed day, and year passed year, + Whilst I that son carest. + For all my hopes were bound in him; + I thought, from day to day, + That when old age should visit me + That son would be my stay. + "I knew temptations gathered near, + And bade him warning take,-- + Consent not, if enticed to sin, + E'en for his father's sake. + But in a fearful hour he drank + From out the poisonous bowl, + And then a pang of sorrow lodged + Within my inmost soul. + "A year had passed, and he whom I + Had strove in vain to save + Fell, crushed beneath intemperance, + Into a drunkard's grave. + O, brother, I can tell to thee + What vile intemperance is, + When one in whom I fondly hoped + Met such an end as his! + "This was not all; a daughter I + Was blest with, and she passed + Before me like an angel-form + Upon my pathway cast. + She loved one with a tender love, + She left her father's side, + And stood forth, in her robes of white, + A young mechanic's bride. + "She lived and loved, and loved and lived, + For many a happy year; + No sorrow clouded o'er her path, + But joy was ever near. + Ay, those were pleasant hours we spent, + Were joyful ones we passed; + Alas! too free from care were they + On earth to always last. + "Then he was tempted, tasted, drank, + And then to earth he fell; + And ever after misery + Within that home did dwell. + And soon he died, as drunkards die, + With scarce an earthly friend, + Yet one bent o'er him tenderly + Till life itself did end, + "And when life's chord was broken, when + His spirit went forth free, + In all her anguish then she came + To bless and comfort me. + Yet she, too, died, ere scarce twelve months + Had passed o'er her head, + And in yon much-loved church-yard now + She resteth with the dead. + That little child you spoke to is + The child she left behind; + I love her for her mother's sake, + And she is good and kind. + And every morning, early, to + Yon flowery grave she'll go; + And I thank my God she's with me + To bless me here below. + "I had a brother, but he died + The drunkard's fearful death; + He bade me raise a warning voice + Till Time should stay my breath. + And thousands whom in youth I loved + Have fallen 'neath the blast + Of ruin which intemperance + Hath o'er the wide world cast." + He spoke no more,--the gushing tears + His furrowed cheeks did leap; + The little child came quick to know + What made the old man weep. + He, trembling, grasped my hand and said + (The little child grasped his), + "May you ne'er know, as I have known, + What sad intemperance is!" + And since that hour, whene'er I look + Around me o'er the earth, + And see the wine-cup passing free + 'Mid scenes of festive mirth, + I think how oft it kindleth up + Within its raging fire, + And fain would tell to all the truths + I heard from "Child and Sire." + + + + + + +A BROTHER'S WELCOME. + + + + + + WELCOME, brother, welcome home! + Here's a father's hand to press thee; + Here's a mother's heart to bless thee; + Here's a brother's will to twine + Joys fraternal close with thine; + Here's a sister's earnest love, + Equalled but by that above; + Here are friends who once did meet thee, + Gathered once again to greet thee. + Welcome, brother, welcome home! + Thou hast wandered far away; + Many a night and many a day + We have thought where thou might'st be, + On the land or on the sea; + Whether health was on thy cheek, + Or that word we dare not speak + Hung its shadowy wing above thee, + Far away from those who love thee. + Welcome, brother, welcome home! + Here, where youthful days were spent + Ere life had its labor lent, + Where the hours went dancing by, + 'Neath a clear, unclouded sky. + And our thanks for blessings rendered + Unto God were daily tendered, + Here as ever pleasures reign, + Welcome to these scenes again! + + + + + + +THE IMMENSITY OF CREATION. + + + + + +IT is well for man to consider the heavens, the work of God's hands; +the moon and the stars, which he has created. To look forth upon the +universe, of which we form a part, fills us with high and ennobling +thoughts, and inspires us with an earnest desire to press onward in +the endless path, at every step of which new wonders and new joys +spring up to greet our vision, and to gladden our souls. + +Whichever way we look, above or below us, to the right or the left, +we find a boundless expanse teeming with life and its enjoyments. +This earth, large as it may appear to us, is less than a grain of +sand in size, when compared with the vastness around it. + +Take your soul away from earth, and send it on a mission of research +among other worlds. Let it soar far away to where the dog-star, +Sirius, holds its course; and then, though nineteen billion two +hundred million miles from earth, a distance so great, that light, +travelling, as it does, at the rate of six million six hundred and +twenty thousand miles a minute, would require three years to pass +it,--even then, when the journeying spirit had reached such a point, +it might pass on and on,--new worlds meeting its gaze at every +advance, and new wonders being seen as far beyond the point it had +attained as the inconceivable length of the path it had already +travelled multiplied a myriad of times. + +We can scarcely comprehend the vast distance of Sirius; yet, great +as this distance is, it is the nearest star to our system, and stars +have been seen whose distance from the earth is estimated to be a +thousand times as great! + +Can human mind mark that range? A thousand times nineteen billion +two hundred million! And were we to stand on the last of these +discovered stars, we might look yet far beyond, and see "infinity, +boundless infinity, stretching on, unfathomed, forever." + +To have an idea of the vastness of creation, we must possess the +mind of the Creator. What are we? We live and move and have our +being on a grain of creation, that is being whirled through +boundless space with inconceivable rapidity. And we affect to be +proud of our estate! We build houses and we destroy them; we wage +war, kill, brutify, enslave, ruin each other; or, we restore, +beautify, and bless. We are vain, sometimes. We think the world was +made for us; the stars shine for us, and all the hosts that gem the +drapery of night created for our special benefit. Astonishing +presumption!-born of ignorance and cradled in credulity! + +The mind grows dizzy as it attempts to conceive of constellation +beyond constellation, on and on, through endless space. + +Commencing with this earth, the mind given up to serious reflection +muses upon its broad extent of territory, its continents and its +oceans, and it appears very large indeed. Forgetting, for a moment, +its knowledge of other planets, it believes that this world is the +whole universe of God; that the sun, moon and stars, are but lights +in the firmament of heaven to give light upon the earth. But truth +steps in and change the mind's view. It shows that, large and +important as this earth may appear, the sun, which is spoken of as +inferior, is three hundred and fifty-four thousand nine hundred and +thirty six times larger; and the stars, that seem like diamond +points above us, are, many of them, larger than the sun, one being +one billion eight hundred million miles in diameter. Yet, such a +bulk, when compared to the universe, is less than a monad. + +A "monad" is an indivisible atom. It is as incomprehensible as the +mysteries of creation, or the duration of eternity. + +Tripoli, or rotten-stone, an article used in every family, and tons +of which are daily employed in manufactories, is composed entirely +of animalcul‘. In each cubic inch there are forty-one billion, that +is, forty-one million-million of these living, breathing creatures, +each of whom has organs of sight, hearing and digestion. Think, if +you can, of the internal organization of beings a million of whom +could rest on the point of a cambric needle! + +But there are more minute forms of creation than even those. Deposit +a grain, the four hundred and eightieth part of an ounce of musk, in +any place, and, for twenty years, it will throw off exhalations of +fragrance, without causing any perceptible decrease of weight. The +fragrance that for so many years goes forth from that minute portion +of matter is composed of particles of musk. How small must each of +those particles be, that follow each other in ceaseless succession +for twenty years, without lessening, to any perceptible degree, the +weight of the deposit! And yet we have not reached the monad. A +celebrated author + +Niewentyt. made a computation which led to the conclusion that six +billion as many atoms of light flow from a candle in one second as +there are grains of sand in the whole earth, supposing each cubic +inch to contain one million! + +Here we must stop. Further advances are impossible, yet our end is +not attained; we have not yet reached the monad, for the animalcul‘ +and the less sentient particles of matter, light, are not, for they +are divisible. + +The insect can be divided, because it has limbs with which to move; +and an intelligence higher than man can doubtless see emanations +from those particles of light. But a monad is indivisible! Think of +each cubic inch of this great earth containing a million grains of +sand, and those countless grains multiplied by one billion, or a +million-million, and that the product only shows the number of +particles of light that flow from a candle in one second of +time!-and not a monad yet! Minds higher than ours can separate each +of these particles, and yet perhaps they find not the indivisible, +but assign over to other minds the endless task. + +With such thoughts let us return to our first point, and remark that +the star tens of billions of miles distant, one billion eight +hundred million miles in diameter, is but a monad when compared with +the creations of the vast universe of God! + +Here the mind sinks within itself, and gladly relinquishes the +herculean task of endeavoring to comprehend, for a single moment, a +fractional part of the stupendous whole. + +Deep below us, high above us, far as the eye of the mind can see +around us, are the works of our Creator, marshalled in countless +hosts. All animated by his presence, all breathed upon by his life, +inspired by his divinity, fostered by his love, supported by his +power. + +And in all things there is beauty-sunbeams and rainbows; fragrant +flowers whose color no art can equal. In every leaf, every branch, +every fibre, every stone, there is a perfect symmetry, perfect +adaptation to the conditions that surround it. And thus it is, from +the minutest insect undiscernible by human eye, to the planet whose +size no figures can represent. Each and all the works of God order +governs, symmetry moulds, and beauty adorns. + +There are all grades of beings, from the monad to the highest +intelligences, and man occupies his position in the endless chain. +Could you hear and see, as seraphs listen and behold, you would hear +one continuous song of glad praise go up from all creation; you +would see all things radiant with smiles, reflecting the joys of +heaven. And why? Because they follow nature's leading, and, in doing +so, live and move in harmony. + +Who can scale the heights above us, or fathom the depths below us? +Who can comprehend the magnitude of countless worlds that roll in +space-the distance that separates the nearest orb from our earth, +the worlds of being in a drop of water, the mighty array of angel +forms that fill immensity? + +Well may we exclaim, "Great and marvellous are thy works, O Lord of +Hosts, and that my soul knoweth right well!" + + + + + + +A VISION OF HEAVEN. + + + + + + NIGHT had shed its darkness round me; + Wearied with the cares of day, + Rested I. Sleep's soft folds bound me, + And my spirit fled away. + As on eagle pinions soaring, + On I sped from star to star, + Till heaven's high and glistening portals + Met my vision from afar. + Myriad miles I hasted over; + Myriad stars I pass‚d by: + On and on my tireless spirit + Urged its ceaseless flight on high. + Planets burned with glorious radiance, + Lighting up my trackless way; + On I sped, till music coming + From the realms of endless day + Fell upon my ear,--as music + Chanted by celestial choirs + Only can,--and then my spirit + Longed to grasp their golden lyres + Stood I hear that portal wondering + Whether I could enter there: + I, of earth and sin the subject, + Child of sorrow and of care! + There I stood like one uncalled for, + Willing thus to hope and wait, + Till a voice said, "Why not enter? + Why thus linger at the gate? + "Know me not? Say whence thou comest + Here to join our angel band. + Know me not? Here, take thy welcome- + Take thine angel-sister's hand." + Then I gazed, and, gazing, wondered; + For 't was she who long since died,-- + She who in her youth departed, + Falling early at my side. + "Up," said she, "mid glorious temples! + Up, where all thy loved ones rest! + They with joy will sing thy welcome + To the mansions of the blest. + Mansions where no sin can enter, + Home where all do rest in peace; + Where the tried and faithful spirit + From its trials finds release; + "Golden courts, where watchful cherubs + Tune their harps to holy praise; + Temples in which countless myriads + Anthems of thanksgiving raise." + I those shining portals entered, + Guided by that white-robed one, + When a glorious light shone round me, + Brighter than the noonday sun! + Friends I met whom death had severed + From companionship below; + All were there-and in each feature + Immortality did glow. + I would touch their golden lyres, + When upon my ear there broke + Louder music--at that moment + I from my glad vision woke. + All was silent; scarce a zephyr + Moved the balmy air of night; + And the moon, in meekness shining, + Shed around its hallowed light. + + + + + + +THERE'S HOPE FOR THEE YET. + + + + + + WHAT though from life's bounties thou mayest have fallen? + What though thy sun in dark clouds may have set? + There is a bright star that illumes the horizon, + Telling thee truly, "There's hope for thee yet." + This earth may look dull, old friends may forsake thee; + Sorrows that never before thou hast met + May roll o'er thy head; yet that bright star before thee + Shines to remind thee "there's hope for thee yet." + 'T is but folly to mourn, though fortune disdain thee, + Though never so darkly thy sun may have set; + 'T is wisdom to gaze at the bright star before thee, + And shout, as you gaze, "There's hope for me yet." + + + + + + +SOLILOQUY OVER THE GRAVE OF A WIFE. + + + + + + IT cannot be that thou art dead; that now + I watch beside thy grave, and with my tears + Nourish the flowers that blossom over thee; + I cannot think that thou art dead and gone; + That naught remains to me of what thou wert, + Save that which lieth here,--dust unto dust. + When the bright sun arises, and its rays + Pass noiseless through my chamber, then methinks + That thou art with me still; that I can see + Thy flowing hair; and thy bright glancing eye + Beams on me with a look none other can. + And when at noon life's busy tumult makes + My senses reel, and I almost despair, + Thou comest to me and I'm cheered again; + Thine own bright smile illuminates my way, + And one by one the gathered clouds depart, + Till not a shadow lies upon my path. + Night, with its long and sombre shadows, treads + Upon the steps that morn and noon have trod; + And, as our children gather round my knee, + And lisp those evening prayers thy lips have taught, + I cannot but believe that thou art near. + But when they speak of "mother," when they say + "'T is a long time since she hath left our side," + And when they ask, in their soft infant tones, + When they again shall meet thee,--then I feel + A sudden sadness o'er my spirit come: + And when sleep holds them in its silken bands + I wander here, to this fair spot they call + Thy grave (as though this feeble earth could hold + Thee in its cold embrace), and weep and sigh; + Yet, trusting, look above to yon bright sphere, + And feel thou art not dead, but living there. + It is not thou that fills this spot of earth, + It is not thou o'er whom these branches wave, + These blooming roses only mark the spot + Where but remaineth that thou couldst not wear + Amid immortal scenes. + Thou livest yet! + Thy feet do tread the golden courts of heaven; + Thy hands have touched the harps that angels use; + Thy eyes have seen the glory of our Lord; + Thy ears have listened to that song of praise + Which angels utter, and which God accepts. + + + + + + +THE FUGITIVES. + + + + + + THEY had escaped the galling chain and fetters, + Had gained the freedom which they long had sought, + And lived like men-in righteous deeds abettors, + Loving the truth which God to them had taught + Some at the plough had labored late and early; + And some ascended Learning's glorious mount; + And some in Art had brought forth treasures pearly, + Which future history might with joy recount + As gems wrought out by hands which God made free, + But man had sworn should chained and fettered be. + They lived in peace, in quietness, and aided + In deeds of charity-in acts of love; + Nor cared though evil men their works upbraided, + While conscience whispered of rewards above. + And they had wives to love, children who waited + At eve to hear the father's homeward tread, + And clasped the hand,--or else, with joy elated, + Sounding his coming, to their mother sped. + Thus days and years passed by, and hope was bright, + Nor dreamed they of a dark and gloomy night. + Men came empowered, with handcuffs and with warrants, + And, entering homes, tore from their warm embrace + Husbands and fathers, and in copious torrents + Poured forth invective on our northern race, + And done all "lawfully;" because 't was voted + By certain men, who, when they had the might, + Fostered plans on which their passions doted, + Despite of reason and God's law of right; + And, bartering liberties, the truth dissembled, + While Freedom's votaries yielded as they trembled. + Shall we look on and bear the insult given? + O, worse than "insult" is it to be chained, + To have the fetters on thy free limbs riven, + When once the prize of Freedom has been gained. + No! by the granite pointing high above us, + By Concord, Lexington, and, Faneuil Hall, + By all these sacred spots, by those who love us, + We pledge to-day our hate of Slavery's thrall; + And give to man, whoever he may be, + The power we have to make and keep him free. + + + + + + +THE UNIVERSAL JUBILEE. + + + + + + WHAT shouts shall rise when earth shall hold + Its universal jubilee! + When man no more is bought and sold, + And one and all henceforth are free! + + Then songs they'll sing, + That loud shall ring + From rock to rock, from shore to shore. + "Hurra!" they'll shout, "we're free, we're free, + From land to land, from sea to sea, + And chains and fetters bind no more!" + Let every freeman strive to bring + The universal jubilee; + All hail the day when earth shall ring + With shouts of joy, and men are free! + + Then each glad voice + Shall loud rejoice, + And chains shall fall from every hand, + Whilst myriad tongues shall loudly tell + The grateful joy of hearts that swell, + Where Freedom reigns o'er sea and land. + +TAPVILLE was situated on the borders of one of the most beautiful +rivers that grace and refresh the soil of New England. It was once a +quiet place, once as perfect in its character as any of its +sisterhood. A moral atmosphere pervaded it, and the glorious and +divine principle of doing unto others as they would have others do +unto them governed its inhabitants; and, therefore, it was not +strange that its farmers and storekeepers kept good the proverbial +honesty and hospitality of their progenitors. Tradition said (but +written history was silent) that a few of those who landed at +Plymouth Rock separated from the main body, and took up their abode +further in the interior; and that, from these "few," a flourishing +company arose, and the place they inhabited was "Springvale." But +time and circumstances having much to do with the concerns of +earth's inhabitants, changed the character as well as the name of +this ancient town, and "Springvale" became "Tapville." + +One evening, in the year one thousand eight hundred and I don't +remember what, after a somewhat fatiguing ride on horseback all day, +my heart was cheered on coming in view of the town. I had never +visited Tapville, but, from accounts I had heard, judged it to be a +sort of Pandemonium-a juvenile Bedlam. As I entered, troops of +children greeted me with shouts, and my horse with stones. Despite +of my treatment, I could not but compare their appearance, to say +nothing of their conduct, with those I had last seen in another +town, thirty miles distant. These were attired in rags, those in +good clothing; these with unwashed faces, uncombed hair, and bearing +every mark of neglect,--those bright and smiling, happy themselves, +and making all around them so. + +I did not much fancy my reception, I assure you. My horse seemed +wondering at the cause of it, for he suddenly halted, then turned +slowly about, and began to canter away with a speed that I thought +quite impossible for a beast after a long day's work. I reined him +in, turned about, and entered the town by a small and not much +frequented pathway. + +There was a large building at my left, with a huge sign over its +principal door, from which I learned that "Good Entertainment for +Man and Beast" might be had within. Appearances, however, indicated +that a beast must be a very bad beast who would accept its +"entertainment." + +A fat man, wearing a green jacket on his back, an old torn and +tattered straw hat on his head, and both hands in his pockets, stood +lazily at the door; before which half a score of dirty children were +playing with marbles, and a short distance from which a couple of +children were fighting, upon whose pugilistic exercises a woman, +with a child in her arms and a pipe in her mouth, was gazing with +intense interest. + +The general appearance of the town was far from pleasing. At nearly +every window, hats, or shingles, or bundles of rags, took the place +of glass, and the doors, instead of being hung on hinges, were "set +up," liable to be set down by the first gust of wind. + +Near one miserable shantee, poor, very poor apology for a +dwelling-house, one man was endeavoring to get another into the +house; at least, so I thought; but both were so much intoxicated +that I could not tell, for my life, which the latter was. At one +moment, the man with the blue coat with the tails cut off seemed to +be helping the man without a coat; the next moment, I thought the +coatless man was trying to help the other. The fact was, both needed +help, which neither could give; so they remained "in a fix." + +Now and then, a bare-footed little child would run across my path, +and hurry out of sight, as if fearful of being seen where so much +that was neither of heaven nor of earth was discernible. + +In striking contrast with the want and desolation around, stood a +beautiful mansion. Around it was a garden of choice flowers, and the +vine, with its rich clusters of luscious grapes, shaded the path to +the entrance of the house. + +I continued on. Far up a shaded avenue I perceived a small, yet neat +cottage, so different in general appearance from those around it, +that I turned my way thither, in hopes of resting in quiet, and, if +possible, of learning something relative to the town. I alighted, +knocked, and soon an old lady requested me to enter, saying that +Tommy would see that my horse was cared for. It was a small room +that I entered; everything was as neat and clean as a New Year's +gift, and there was so much of New England about it, that I felt at +home. Near an open window, in an easy-chair, sat a young lady of +decidedly prepossessing appearance but evidently wasting beneath +that scourge of eastern towns and cities-consumption. There was a +hue upon her cheek that was in beautiful contrast with the pure +white of her high forehead, and the dark, penetrating eye that +flashed with the deep thoughts of her soul. + +The old lady was one of those good-natured, motherly women, whom you +will find at the firesides of New England homes, generous to a +fault; and whom you cannot but love, for the interest she takes in +you, and the solicitude she manifests for your welfare. + +A repast was soon at hand, and when it was over the lady said, + +"You are from Boston, then?" + +"Yes," I replied; "and, having heard considerable respecting this +place, have come hither to satisfy myself whether or not any good +would be likely to result from a temperance lecture here." + +"Temperance lecture!" she exclaimed, as she grasped my hand. "Do, +sir, for Heaven's sake, do something, do anything you possibly can, +to stay the ravages of the rum fiend in this place!" + +She would have said more, but she could not. The fountains of her +heart seemed breaking, and a flood of tears flowed from her eyes. +The daughter buried her face in her hands, and the sighs that arose +from both mother and child told me that something had been said that +deeply affected them. + +Tommy at this moment came in, happy and joyous; but, as soon as he +saw his mother and sister weeping, his whole appearance changed. He +approached his mother, and, looking up in her face, said, "Don't +cry, mother. Jenny will be better soon, and Tommy will work and make +you and her happy. Don't cry, mother!" + +The child's simple entreaty brought more copiously the tears to the +mourner's eyes, and some time elapsed before they became in the +least degree comforted. + +"You will excuse me, sir," said she, "I know you will, for my grief; +but, O, if temperance had been here ten years ago, we should have +been so happy!" + +"Yes," said the boy; "then father would not have died a drunkard!" + +The surmises I had entertained as to the cause of this sorrow were +now confirmed; and, at my request, she told me her story, with a +hope that it might prove a warning to others. + +"You must know, sir, that when we came here to live we were just +married. Alfred, my husband, was a good mechanic, industrious, +frugal and kind-hearted. He had by his labor and economy +accumulated a small amount, enough to purchase an estate consisting +of a house, shop and farm. He had many and good customers, and our +prospects were very fair. We attended church regularly, for we +thought that, after enjoying the bounties of a beneficent Ruler all +of six days, it was our duty, as well as privilege, to devote the +seventh to His praise. + +"Years passed by, when one morning Jenny, who was then about seven +years old, came running in, and told me that a new store had been +opened; that the man had nothing but two or three little kegs, and a +few bottles and tumblers. I went out, and found it as she had +stated. There was the man; there was his store; there were his kegs, +bottles and tumblers. + +"The next day some changes were made; a few signs were seen, and the +quiet villagers gazed in wonder, if not admiration, at the +inscriptions, 'Rum,' 'Gin,' 'Brandies,' 'Wines and Cigars.' Old men +shook their heads, and looked wise. Old women peered from beneath +their specs, and gave vent to many predictions. Children asked what +the words meant. + +"That night I talked with my husband about it. He thought that there +was no danger; that social enjoyment would harm no one; and seemed +astonished, to use his own words, 'that such a sensible woman as I +was should express any anxiety about the matter.' That night, to me, +was a long and sad one. I feared the result of the too much +dependence on self which he seemed to cherish. + +"The rumseller soon gathered a number of townsmen about him. His +establishment became a place of frequent resort by many, and soon we +had quarrelling neighbors, and disturbances at night. Boys became +dishonest, and thus the fruits of the iniquitous traffic became +visible. + +"I noticed that Alfred was not as punctual in his return as +formerly; and my fears that he visited this pest-house of the town +were soon confirmed. I hinted to him my suspicions. He was frank, +and freely admitted that he visited the bar-room; said he had become +acquainted with a few choice spirits, true friends, who had sworn +eternal friendship. 'Danger,' said he, 'there is none! If I thought +I endangered your happiness, I would not visit it again.' I +recollect the moment. He looked me steadily in the face, and, as he +did so, a tear escaped my eye. He, smiling, wiped it away, promised +that when he saw evil he would avoid it, and left me alone to my +reflections. + +"But I will be brief. I need not tell you how, step by step, he +descended that ladder whose end rested in the grave. I need not tell +you how I warned him of dander; how I entreated him to avoid it; +how I watched him in sickness, and bathed his fevered brow; how my +heart was gladdened when I saw his health returning, and heard his +solemn promise to reform. + +"Nor need I tell you how he was again led astray, and his hand +encircled that cup which he had once dashed aside. O, sir, he was a +good man; and, in his sober moments, he would weep like a child, as +he thought of his situation! He would come to me and pour out his +soul in gratitude for my kindness; and would beg my forgiveness, in +the tenderest manner, till his heart became too full for utterance, +and his repentance found vent in his tears. + +"What could I do but forgive him, as I did a hundred times! + +"Disheartened, I became sick. I was not expected to survive; and +Jenny, poor, child, watched by my side, and contracted an illness, +from which, I fear, she will not be freed till the God she loves +calls her home to himself. + +"When I recovered, Alfred remained for some time sober and happy. +But he fell! Yes, sir; but God knows he tried to stand, and would +have done so had not the owner of that groggery, by foul stratagem, +hurled him to the ground. I went, my daughter went, friends went, to +ask the destroyer of our happiness to desist; but he turned us away +with an oath and a laugh, saying, 'he would sell to all who wanted.' + +"Frequent exposure brought disease; disease brought death, and my +husband died. + +"All our property was sold to meet the demands of merciless +creditors, the principal one of whom was this very rumseller who +turned me from his doors. A friend furnished us with the cottage in +which we have since lived. Many kind-hearted friends have gathered +around us, and we have been happy, save when the recollections of +the past rise before us. Others, beside myself, have had cause to +mourn and our town, once inhabited by happy, quiet and contented +families, has become noted as a seat of iniquity. + +"He who has caused this change is now the wealthiest man in town. +You might have seen his stately palace as you rode up, environed +with fruits and flowers. He lives there; but, within the shade of +that mansion, are the wretched hovels of those upon whose ruin he +sits enthroned. He has roses and fruits at his door, but they have +been watered by widows' tears; and the winds that reach his home +amid rich vines and laden trees may bear to his ears the orphan's +cry, from whose mouth he has taken the daily bread." + +When the old lady had finished her narrative, she could restrain her +tears no longer, and they burst forth as freely as at first. + +I inquired whether there were any beside herself who would become +interested in a temperance movement. She replied that there were +many, but they wished some one to start it. + +I had left a gentleman at the town I last came from, who was an +eloquent advocate; and my first act, after listening to the widow's +narrative, was to write a note, and send it in all possible haste to +him. + +The next day he came; and, if you could have seen the joy of that +family as I told them that we had announced a meeting, you would +have some faint idea of the happiness which the temperance reform +has produced. + +From what I had learned, I expected that we should meet with some +opposition from the wealthy individual before alluded to, or from +his agents, who were so blinded to their own interests that they +could not be easily induced to move for their own good. + +The evening came, and the room we had engaged was well filled. My +friend arose, when a stone, hurled at him from without, missed its +aim, and struck a lamp at his side, dashing it into a hundred +fragments. Little disconcerted at this, he began his address; and, +in a short time, gained the attention of the audience in so perfect +a manner, that they heeded not the attempts of a noisy crowd without +to disturb them. + +He continued on. Men leaned forward to catch his words, and some +arose and stood as motionless as statues, with eyes fixed intently +on the speaker. Women wept; some in sorrow for the past, others in +joy for the future. A deep feeling pervaded all. The disturbance +without ceased, and one by one the disturbers came to the door; one +by one they entered, and began to feel the truths which the speakers +uttered. + +The only interruption was made by an aged man, who bowed his silvery +head, and, in trembling accents, moaned out, "My son, my son!" These +words, uttered at the expiration of every few minutes, increased the +solemnity of the occasion, and added power to the lecturer's +remarks, for all knew the story of his son, and all knew that he was +carried home dead from the groggery. + +When, at the end of the lecture, it was asked who would sign the +pledge, the whole assembly started to respond to the call, and each +one that night became pledged to total abstinence. + +The next day a great excitement existed relative to the groggeries +in town; a meeting was called, and a committee appointed to act in a +manner they thought best calculated to promote the interests of the +people at large. + +This committee determined to present the facts to the keepers of the +places in question, and request them to renounce the traffic. + +The facts were presented. They saw that their customers had all left +them, and why should they continue? It would be a losing business. + +The effect of the moral suasion had been powerful; it labored with +the very soul of the traffic, with those who put the pence in the +dealers' coffers. It was more powerful than all laws that could have +been enacted. Forbidding them to sell while customers crowded their +doors would have had no effect, unless to create riot; inducing +their customers to leave them soon induced them to leave the +business, for where there are none to buy there will be none to +sell. + +In view of all this, the rumsellers of Tapville gave up; and, +strange to say, joined with the people that night in their +rejoicing, and made a bonfire of their stock in trade. + +By the light of that fire my friend and I left the town; and when +far away we could see its glare, and hear the shouts of a +disenthralled people. + +After a few months' travel in the south and west, I revisited +Tapville, or rather the place where it once stood; but no Tapville +was there. The town had regained its former sobriety and quiet, and +became "Springvale." + +I called at the widow's cottage; Tommy ran out to meet me, and I +received a welcome I shall never forget. But Jenny was no more; with +her last breath she had blessed the temperance cause, and then her +pure spirit winged its way to that home where sorrows never come, +and where the troubles of earth are forgotten amid the joys of +heaven. + + + + + + +THE BATTLE OF THE RED MEN. + + + + + + 'T WAS cold, bleak winter, on a rock-bound coast, + When bands of exiles trod its frozen shore. + Who then stood forth to greet the coming host + And shelter freely give when storms did pour? + + Old Samoset-peace to his memory still!- + + He bade them welcome, welcome, with good will. + Then was the red man's nation broad and strong- + O'er field and forest he held firm control; + Then power was his to stay the coming throng, + And back the wave of usurpation roll. + + He might have crushed them on old Plymouth's rock, + + And freedom to this day have felt the shock. + Not so he willed it; he would have them sit + In peace and amity around his door; + The pipe of peace in friendship would have lit, + And, as its white cloud up towards heaven did soar, + + Learned that like it the spirits pure and white + + Ascend, to live in never-ceasing light. + But what return did they profusely give + Who were dependent on the red man's corn? + Not even to them the privilege to live, + But war and fire, torture, hate and scorn! + + Hunted like wild beasts through the forests' track; + + For food and welcome such they gave him back. + Then roused to madness was the Indian's soul, + Then grasped with firmness every one his bow; + No mortal power his purpose could control, + Till he had seen the traitors lying low. + + Revenge! revenge! was sounded far and wide, + + O'er every field and every river's tide. + The little child that scarce could lisp a word + Was taught to hate the white man; maidens fair + Were roused to fearful vengeance, as they heard + Their brothers' wrongs, and madly tore their hair; + + Old men urged on the young, and young men fled + + Swift to increase the armies of the dead. + And thus the war began,--the fearful war + That swept o'er happy homesteads like a flood; + The white and red man knew no other law + Than that which wrote its every act in blood. + + Daylight beheld the ball and arrow's flight, + + And blazing homes made terrible the night. + The rifle's sharp report, the arrow's whiz, + The shout, the yell, the fearful shriek of death; + Despair in him who saw the last of his, + And heard "good-by" from children's dying breath; + + The last sad look of prisoners borne away, + + And groan of torture, marked the night and day. + With arms more skilful-not with hearts more true, + Or souls more brave to battle for the right- + The white the unjust warfare did pursue, + Till, inch by inch, the red man took his flight + + From homes he loved, from altars he revered, + + And left, forever, scenes to him endeared. + O, what an hour for those brave people that! + Old men, whose homes were loved as homes can be; + Young men and maidens who had often sat + In love and peace beneath the forest tree; + + Parents who'd planted flowers; and with warm tears + + Watered the graves of dearest-gone for years! + From every tree a voice did seem to start, + And every shrub that could a shadow cast + Seemed to lament the fate that bade them part, + So closely twined was each one with the past. + + O, was it strange they fought with furious zeal? + + Say, men who think, and have warm hearts to feel. + And thus they went,--a concourse of wronged men,-- + Not with a speedy flight; each inch they gave, + Each blade of grass that passed beyond their ken, + Was sold for blood, and for a patriot's grave; + + And white men paid the price-and now they hold + + This broad, broad land for cost more dear than gold. + And yet 't is not enough; the cry for more + Hath vexed the Indian, till the Atlantic's wave + Now blends with it the thunder of its roar, + And soon shall sound the requiem o'er the grave + + Of the last Indian,--last of that brave band + + Who once held sway o'er all this fertile land. + Methinks to-day I see him stand alone, + Drawing his blanket close around his form; + He hath braved all, hath heard the dying moan + Rise from the fields of strife; and now the storm + + That hath swept all before it, age on age, + + On him, the last, seeks to pour forth its rage. + Raising his hand appealing to the sun, + He swears, by all he hath or now could crave, + That when his life is closed, his life-race run, + A white man ne'er shall stand above his grave. + + Shall he, the last of a once noble race, + + Consign himself to such a dire disgrace? + Never! let rock to rock the word resound; + Never! bear witness all ye gods to-day; + Never! ye streams and rivers, as ye bound, + Write "Never" on your waves, and bear away; + + Tell to the world that, hunted, wronged, abused, + + With such reproach he ne'er shall be accused, + The red man's brethren, tell him where are they; + The red man's homes and altars, what their fate? + Shall he who stands the last, the last to-day, + Forget with his last breath to whisper hate? + + Hate, deep and fathomless, and boundless too, + + Such as to fiendish cruelty is due. + He cannot bear the white man's presence now, + Or bear to hear his name or see his works; + He thinks that wrong is stamped upon his brow, + That in his good deeds selfish purpose lurks. + + Has he a cause for this?-review the past, + + And see those acts which prompt hate to the last. + Sons of the Pilgrims, who to-day do boast + Of Freedom's favors, ye whose wealth doth lie + From the Atlantic to the Pacific coast! + Let not the race you have supplanted die; + + Perish like forest-leaves from off their lands, + + Without a just requital at your hands. + O, give them homes which they can call their own, + Let Knowledge light its torch and lead the way; + And meek Religion, from the eternal throne, + Be there to usher in a better day; + + Then shall the past be blotted from life's scroll, + + And all the good ye may do crown the whole. + + + + + + +SUNLIGHT ON THE SOUL. + + + + + + O, THAT some spirit form would come, + From the fair realms of heaven above, + And take my outstretched hand in hers, + To bathe me in angelic love! + O that these longing, peering eyes, + Might pierce the shadowy curtain's fold, + And see in radiant robes arrayed, + The friends whose memory I do hold + Close, close within my soul's deep cell! + O, that were well! O, that were well! + I've often thought, at midnight's hour, + That round my couch I could discern + A shadowy being, from whose eye + I could not, ah! I would not turn. + It seemed so sisterly to me, + So radiant with looks of love, + That ever since I've strove to be + More like the angel hosts above. + The hopes, the joys were like a spell, + And it was well! Yes, it was well! + And every hour of day and night + I feel an influence o'er me steal, + So soothing, pure, so holy, bright, + I would each human heart could feel + A fraction of the mighty tide + Of living joy it sends along. + Then why should I complain, and ask + Why none of heaven's angelic throng + Come to this earth with me to dwell, + For all is well,--all, all is well! + + + + + + +A SONG FROM THE ABSENT. + +TO THE LOVED ONE AT HOME. + + + + + + AWAY from home, how slow the hours + Pass wearily along! + I feel alone, though many forms + Around my pathway throng. + There's none that look on me in love, + Wherever I do roam; + I'm longing for thy gentle smile, + My dearest one, at home. + I walk around; strange things I see, + Much that is fair to view; + Man's art and Nature's handiwork, + And all to me is new. + But, ah! I feel my joy were more, + If, while 'mid these I roam, + It could be shared with thee I love, + My dearest one, at home. + Blow, blow ye winds, and bear me on + My long and arduous way! + Move on, slow hours, more swiftly move, + And bring to life the day + When, journey done, and absence o'er, + No more I distant roam; + When I again shall be with thee, + My dearest one, at home. + + + + + + +TWILIGHT FOREST HYMN. + +THE HOUR OF PARTING. + + + + + + FRIENDS who here have met to-day, + Let us sing our parting lay, + Ere we hence do pass away, + Ere the sun doth set. + As we've trod this grassy earth, + Friendships new have had their birth, + And this day of festive mirth + We shall ne'er forget. + Rock, and hill, and shading tree, + Streamlet dancing to the sea, + Gladly though we'd stay with thee, + We must leave you all; + On the tree and on the flower + Comes the evening's twilight hour, + And upon each forest bower + Evening's shadows fall. + Part we now, but through our life, + Hush of peace or jar of strife, + Memory will still be rife + With glad thoughts of thee; + Wheresoe'er our feet may stray, + Memory will retain this day; + Fare thee well-we haste away, + Farewell rock and tree! + + + + + + +THE SUMMER SHOWER. + + + + + + UP from the lake a mist ascends, + And forms a sea of cloud above, + That hangs o'er earth as if in love + With its green vales; then quick it send + Its blessings down in cooling rain, + On hill and valley, rock and plain. + Nature, delighted with the shower, + Sends up the fragrance of each flower; + Birds carol forth their cheeriest lays, + The green leaves rustle forth their praise. + Soon, one by one, the clouds depart, + And a bright rainbow spans the sky, + That seems but the reflective part + Of all below, fixed there on high. + + + + + + +AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN AUTOMATON. + + + + + +EARLY one bright summer morning, as I was perambulating beneath +those noble trees that stand the body-guard of one of the most +beautiful places of which city life can boast,--Boston Common,--I +encountered a man who attracted my special attention by his apparent +carelessness of action, and humble bearing. He looked dejected +likewise, and I seated myself on the stone seat beside him. + +He took me by the sleeve of my coat, and whispered in my ear, "I'm +an Automaton, sir." A few more words passed between us, after which, +at my request, he gave me a sketch of his life, which I propose to +give you in language as nearly his own as possible. + +"I was born. I came into this world without any consent of my own, +sir, and as soon as I breathed the atmosphere of this mundane state +I was bandaged and pinned, and felt very much as a mummy might be +supposed to feel. I was then tossed from Matilda to Jerusha, and +from Jerusha to Jane, and from Jane to others and others. I tried to +laugh, but found I could n't; so I tried to cry, and succeeded most +admirably in my effort. + +"'He's sick,' said my aunt; and my aunt called a doctor, who, wise +man, called for a slip of paper and an errand-boy. + +"The next I knew, my head was being held by my aunt, and the doctor +was pouring down my throat, which he distended with the handle of a +spoon, a bitter potion; pouring it down without any consent of my +own, sir. + +"Whether I got better or worse I don't know; but I slept for a time, +and had a strange dream, of a strange existence, upon which I seemed +to have suddenly entered. + +"The subsequent year was one in which I figured not largely, but +considerably. I made a noise in the world, and was flattered so much +by my mother's acquaintances that my nose has been what is vulgarly +called 'a pug,' ever since. I did n't have my own way at all, except +when I screamed. In that I was not an Automaton. I was myself in +that particular; and the more restraint they put upon me, the more +freedom I had. I cried independently of all my aunts and cousins. +They could n't dictate me in that. + +"Years passed on, and I grew older, as a matter of course. I grew +without any consent of my own, sir, and found myself in jacket and +trousers ditto. I was sent to school, and was told to study Greek +and Latin, and Algebra, and Pneumatics, and Hydrostatics, and a +dozen or twenty other things, the very names of which I have +forgotten, but which I well remember bothered me considerably in +those days. I had much rather have studied the laws of my own being; +much rather have examined and become acquainted with the +architecture of my own bodily frame; much rather have studied +something more intimately connected with the realities of my own +existence; but they made me study what was repulsive to my own mind, +and speak big words which I did n't understand, and which my teacher +could n't explain without the aid of a dictionary. + +"My parents labored under the strange delusion that I was a +wonderful child. I don't know why, unless it was because I did n't +know anything of life, and I could repeat a little Latin, stumble +through a sentence of Greek, and, after having solved a problem +seventy-six thousand times to show my wonderful precociousness, +could do it again when called upon. Perhaps I'm extravagant. It was +n't more than half that number of times. At any rate, sir, I was +thought a prodigy--a most astonishing intellectual--I don't know +what,--call it mushroom,--because what I had done so many times I +could do again. + +"I recollect there was a little youngster of my acquaintance,--a +charming, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed boy,--who told me, one day, that +he did n't care for the dead languages, he had rather know the live +ones. I thought so too, and we talked a long time, down behind old +Turner's barn, about what should be and what should n't. But I had +to go home. I had to be pulled about, this arm with this wire, and +that foot with that wire. I had to do this and that, to study this +and study that, because-why, because I was an Automaton, sir. I was +born such. 'T was in my bones to be an Automaton. + +"My school-days passed, and the minister told my father that if he +was him he'd send me to college. He-my father-did n't sleep any, +that night. He and my mother kept awake till daylight +prognosticating my career, and fixing upon a day when I should go to +Cambridge. + +"That day came. I remember it was a cloudy day. There was a dull +shadow over everything. Yes, even over my heart. I didn't want to go +to college. I knew I hadn't been allowed to learn anything I wanted +to learn out of it; and I knew I should n't do any better shut up +within its old dingy, musty, brick walls. I knew I should n't learn +anything there. I had rather be out in the world. I had rather be +studying in Nature's great college. I had rather graduate with a +diploma from God, written on my heart, than to waste years of life +away from the great school of human life; to be told by another how +I should go, what I should believe, and how I should act, in the +great drama of life. But I had to go, sir,--go to college; for I was +an Automaton. + +"As I before said, the day was cloudy. Mother dressed me up. For a +week preparations had been making for my exit, and finally I went. I +was put in a stage where three men were smoking. I objected, and +intimated that it would be much better if those who smoked rode on +the outside; but my father said, 'hush,' and told me that smoking +was common at college, and I must get used to it. When the stage +stopped to change horses, the men got out, and swore, and drank +brandy; and I asked whether such things were common at college, and +whether I had got to get used to them too. But I could n't get any +answer. + +"The wind blew cold, but my coat was made so small that I could n't +button it together. I would have had it loose and easy, and warm and +comfortable; but 't was n't fashionable to have it so. Father +followed fashion, and I suffered from the cold. I had a nice, soft +cap, that I used to wear to church at home; but father thought that, +as I was going to the city, I must have a hat; so he had bought me +one, and the hard, stiff, ungainly thing was stuck on my head. I had +as lieves have had a piece of stove-pipe there. It made my head ache +awfully. + +"If I had n't been what I was, I should have worn a nice, easy pair +of shoes; but I was an Automaton. I was n't anybody; so I was made +to wear a pair of thin boots, that clung to my feet a great deal +closer than my skin did,--a great deal, sir. + +"Well, we reached Cambridge. It's a pretty place, you know; and I +rather liked it until I arrived at the college buildings. Then I did +n't like the looks of anything, except the green trees, and the +grass, and the shady walks. And I wondered where I could learn the +most useful knowledge, within or without the college. + +"I was ushered in, and my college life began. To narrate to you all +that made up that life, would be irksome to me and tedious to you. I +was taught much that I didn't believe then, and don't believe now, +and don't think I ever shall. I was made to subscribe to certain +forms, and with my lips to adopt certain views, which my heart all +the time rebelled against, and reason told me were false. But I said +I believed, and I did believe after the fashion of the times; for I +believe it's fashionable to believe what you don't know anything +about, and the more of this belief you have the better you are. So I +believed what my teachers told me, because-why, because I was an +Automaton. + +"When I returned home, I found myself, quite unexpectedly, a lion. +All the neighbors flocked in to see the young man who'd been to +college, and in the evening a dozen young ladies--marriageable young +ladies--called on me. I tried to have a pleasant time; and should +have had, if I had n't been pulled and pushed, and made a +puppet-show of; made to go through all my college exercises, to +please the pride of my immediate relatives, and minister to the +wonder-loving souls of their friends. But, though I did n't want to +do all this, though I had much preferred to have sat down and had a +quiet talk with one or two,--talked over all that had taken place +during my absence, our lives and loves,--yet I was obliged to, sir. I +was an Automaton. + +"One day,--it was but a week after I had returned,--my father took me +into his room, and said he had something to say to me. I knew very +well, before he said so, that something out of the usual course was +to take place; for, all the morning, he had been as serious and +reserved as a deacon at a funeral, and I had caught him holding sly +talks with my mother in out-of-the-way places.-I knew something was +to happen. + +"I sat down, and he did. And then he went on to say that I had +probably had some thoughts of marriage. I merely responded, 'Some.' + +"He then remarked that every young man should calculate to get a +wife and settle down; and that 'old folks' had had experience, and +knew a vast deal more about such things than young folks did; and +that the latter, when they followed the advice of the former, always +were well-to-do in the world, always were respected. + +"I began to see what he was driving at. I looked very serious at +him, and he a great deal more so at me. + +"He talked to me half an hour; it was the longest half-hour I had +known since I first measured time. He expatiated on the wisdom of +old people; told me I was inexperienced. I, who had been to college! +I, who had lived a city life! I was inexperienced! But I let him go +on-I could n't help it-you know what I was. + +"He then drew his chair closer mine, lowered the tone of his voice, +and said, + +"'I've picked out a wife for you. It's Squire Parsons' daughter, +Susan Jane Maria. She'll be an excellent wife to you, and mother to +your children.' + +"If I had been anything else than what I was, I should have sprang +up and declared my own ability to choose a wife for me and 'a mother +for my children;' but I did n't do any such thing. I nodded a calm +assent to all he said; for you know, sir; I was an Automaton. + +"I was to go with my father, that night, and see Susan,--she that was +to be my Susan,--O, no, not so; I was to be her Jacob. So, when tea +was over, and I had been 'fixed up,'-I was fixed, I tell you,--father +led the way over Higginses' rough pasture. I should have gone round, +in the road, where it was decent walking, if I had been anybody; but +I was n't any one; I was a--well, you know what. I got one of my +boots full of water, and father fell down and bruised his nose; but +I took off my boot and poured the water out, and he put a piece of +court-plaster on his nose,--a great black piece,--and we did n't look +as bad as we might, so he said; and so I said, 'of course.' + +"Susan was at home, seated in the middle of a great room, as if on +exhibition; and perhaps she was,--I thought so. I had seen Susan +before, and always disliked her. There was nothing in her personal +appearance, or her mind, that pleased me. I never met her without +marking her future life as that of an old maid. But she was to be my +wife; father said so, mother shouted amen; and I was to love her, +and so I said I did, 'of course.' + +"It seemed to me that she knew all about what I came for; for she +put out her little slim hand, that never made a loaf of bread nor +held a needle, but had only fingered the leaves of Greek and Latin +Lexicons, and volumes of Zoology and Ornithology, and thrummed +piano-keys,--all very well in their place (don't think I depreciate +them), but very bad when their place is so large that there's no +room for anything else,--very bad, sir. + +"As she took my hand she attempted to kiss me; but, being rather +shy, I dodged when I saw her lips a-coming, and they went plump on +to father's nose, and exploded on his piece of court-plaster. + +"It was all fixed that night, and I was to be married one week from +the ensuing Sunday. + +"We went home. I received a smile from those who were so considerate +as to hunt me up a wife. + +"If you'd seen the Greentown Gazette a fortnight after, and had +looked at the list of marriages, you might have read, 'Married: In +this town, by Rev. Ebenezer Pilgrade, Mr. Jacob Jenkins, Jr. +(recently from college), to Susan Jane Maria Parsons, estimable +daughter of Nehemiah Q. Parsons; all of this place.' + +"We lived at home. My wife soon found out what I was, found out that +I was an Automaton, and she pulled the wires and put me in motion, +in any way she wished. I opened an office, put out a sign, and for a +time practised law and physic, and when the minister was sick took +his place and preached. I preached just what they wanted me to. I +felt more like an Automaton than ever, stuck up in a high box, +talking just what had been talked a thousand times from the same +place. It would n't do, I was told, to have any ideas of my own; +and, if had them, I must n't speak them. So my parish and me got +along pretty well. + +"Of course I had joined the church. I was told that I must, and so I +did; but I won't tell you what my thoughts were in regard to what I +was told to believe, for that's delicate ground. I don't know what +your religion is, sir, and I might offend you, and I would n't do so +for the world. You see I am an Automaton yet. I'll do just as you +want me to. I hate to be so; but, somehow or other, I can't be +otherwise. It's my nature. + +"You think I'm prosy. I won't say much more, for I see you take out +your watch as though you wished I'd stop, that you might go; so I'll +close with 'finally,' as I do in preaching. + +"Well, then, finally, father died, mother died, Susan run off, and +I've become almost discouraged. I have three children to take care +of, but they are good children. They do just precisely as I tell +them, and won't do anything without asking me whether it's right; +and I ask somebody else. They have n't got any minds of their own, +any more than I have. They'll do just as I tell them. I've nobody in +particular now to tell me what I shall do; so I take everybody's +advice, and try to do as everybody wants me to do. I've come to +Boston on a visit, and shall go back to-night, if you think best. + +"Now I've given you my autobiography. You can do just what you want +to with it,--print it, if you like. People, perhaps, will laugh at me +when they read it; but perhaps there are other Automatons besides +me." + +He came to a full stop here; and, as it was getting late, I arose, +wished him well, bade him good-by, and left. I had proceeded but a +few steps, when I felt a touch on my shoulder, and, turning, found +it was the Automaton, who had come to ask me whether I thought he +had better go home that night. + + + + + + +TO THE UNKNOWN DONOR OF A BOUQUET. + + + + + + RICHEST flowers of every hue, + Lightly fringed with evening dew; + Sparkling as from Eden's bowers, + Brightly tinted-beauteous flowers! + Thee I've found, and thee I'll own, + Though from one to me unknown; + Knowing this, that one who'll send + Such a treasure is my friend. + Who hath sent thee?-Flora knows, + For with care she reared the rose. + Lo! here's a name!-it is the key + That will unlock the mystery; + This will tell from whom and why + Thou didst to my presence hie. + Wait-the hand's disguised!-it will + Remain to me a mystery still. + But I'm a "Yankee," and can "guess" + Who wove this flowery, fairy tress. + Yea, more than this, I almost know + Who tied this pretty silken bow, + Whose hand arranged them, and whose taste + Each in such graceful order placed. + Yet, if unknown thou 'dst rather be, + Let me wish this wish for thee: + May'st thou live in joy forever, + Naught from thee true pleasure sever; + From thy heart arise no sigh; + May no tear bedew thine eye. + Joys be many, cares be few, + Smooth the path thou shalt pursue; + And heaven's richest blessings shine + Ever on both thee and thine. + Round thy path may fairest flowers, + As in amaranthine bowers, + Bloom and blossom bright and fair, + Load with sweets the ambient air! + Be thy path with roses strewn, + All thy hours to care unknown; + Sorrow cloud thy pathway never, + Happiness be thine forever. + + + + + + +TO A SISTER IN HEAVEN. + + + + + + SISTER, in thy spirit home, + Knowest thou my path below? + Knowest thou the steps I roam, + And the devious road I go? + Many years have past since I + Bade thee here a sad farewell; + Many past since thou didst die, + Since I heard thy funeral knell. + Thou didst go when thou wast young; + Scarcely hadst thou oped thine eyes + To the world, and it had flung + Its bright sunshine from the skies, + Ere thy Maker called for thee, + Thou obeyed his high behest; + Then I mourned, yet knew thou 'dst be + Throned on high among the blest. + Gently thou didst fold thy wing, + Gently thou didst sink in sleep; + Birds their evening songs did sing, + And the evening shades did creep + Through the casement, one by one, + Telling of departing day; + Then, thou and the glorious sun + Didst together pass away. + Yet that sun hath rose since then, + And hath brought a joy to me; + Emblem 't is time will be when + Once again I shall see thee,-- + See thee in immortal bloom, + Numbered with the ransomed throng, + Where no sorrow sheds its gloom + O'er the heart, or chills the song. + Spirit sister, throned on high, + Now methinks I hear thee speak + From thy home within the sky, + In its accents low and meek. + Thou art saying, "Banish sadness; + God is love,--O, trust him over! + Heaven is filled with joy and gladness- + It shall be thy home forever." + This thou sayest, and thy voice, + Like to none of earth I've heard, + Bids my fainting soul rejoice; + Follow God's reveal‚d word, + Follow that, 't is faithful true; + 'Mid the trackless maze of this, + It will guide the pilgrim through + To a world of endless bliss. + Sister, in thy spirit home, + Thou dost know my path below, + Thou dost know the steps I roam, + And the road I fain would go. + If my steps would err from right, + If I'd listen to the wrong, + If I'd close my eyes to light, + Mingle with earth's careless throng: + Then wilt thou with power be nigh; + Power which angel spirits wield, + That temptation may pass by, + Be thou near my soul to shield! + As I close this simple lay, + As I over it do bow, + Sister, thou art round my way, + Thou art standing near me now. + + + + + + +I DREAMED OF THEE, LAST NIGHT, LOVE! + + + + + + I DREAMED of thee last night, love, + And I thought that one came down + From scenes of azure light, love, + The most beautiful to crown. + He wandered forth where diamonds + And jewels rich and rare + Shone brightly 'mid the glittering throng, + Yet crown‚d no one there. + He pass‚d by all others, + Till he came to where thou stood; + And chose thee as the beautiful, + Because thou wast so good. + And said, as there he crowned thee, + That Goodness did excel + The jewels all around thee + In which beauty seemed to dwell. + For Goodness is that beauty + Which will forever last; + Then, crowning thee most beautiful, + From earth to heaven he passed. + + + + + + +THEY TELL OF HAPPY BOWERS. + + + + + + THEY tell of happy bowers, + + Where rainbow-tinted flowers + Bloom bright with sweetest fragrance, and never, never die; + + Where friends are joined forever, + + Where parting hours come never, + And that that happier land is far beyond the sky;-- + + That when this life is ended + + The spirit there ascended + Shall meet in happy unison the spirits gone before; + + And all that here hath vexed us, + + With seeming ill perplexed us, + We shall see was for the best, and God of all adore. + + Then, brother, hope and cheer thee, + + For glorious hours are near thee, + If thou but livest holy, and hope, and trust, and wait; + + Soon, trials all departed, + + Thou, heavenward, homeward started, + Shalt find a glorious entrance at heaven's golden gate. + + + + + + +MAN CANNOT LIVE AND LOVE NOT. + + + + + + MAN cannot live and love not; + Around, beneath, above, + There is that's bright and beautiful, + And worthy of his love; + There is in every object + That works out nature's plan, + Howe'er so low and humble, + That's worth the love of man. + Each blade of grass that springeth + From earth to beauty fair; + Each tiny bird that wingeth + Its course through trackless air; + Each worm that crawls beneath thee, + Each creature, great and small, + Is worthy of thy loving; + For God hath made them all. + Should earthly friends forsake thee, + And earth to thee look drear; + Should morning's dark forebodings + But fill thy soul with fear, + Look up! and cheer thy spirit- + Up to thy God above; + He'll be thy friend forever- + Forever!-"God is Love!" + + + + + + +BETTER THAN GOLD. + + + + + + "Find we Lorenzo wiser for his wealth? + What if thy rental I inform, and draw + An inventory new to set thee right? + Where is thy treasure? Gold says, 'Not in me!' + And not in me, the diamond. Gold is poor, + Indies insolvent-. Seek it in thyself, + Seek in thy naked self, and find it there." + +GOLD is, in itself, harmless-brilliant, beautiful to look upon; but, +when man entertains an ungovernable, all-absorbing love of it, gold +is his curse and a mill-stone around his neck, drawing him down to +earth. How much sorrow that love has caused! O, there is love that +is angelic! But high and holy as love is when bestowed upon a worthy +object, in like proportion is it base and ignoble when fixed upon +that which is unworthy. + +It may well be questioned whether, taking a broad view of the +matter, gold has not produced more evil than good. Point out, if you +can, one crime, be it the most heinous and inhuman of which you can +possibly conceive, that has not been perpetrated for the sake of +gold, or has not its equal in the history of the battle for wealth. +We can conceive of no worse a thing than a human soul idolizing a +mass of shining metal, and counting out, with lean and tremulous +hands, the coined dollars. Late and early the devotee bows at the +shrine. No motive can induce him to remove his fixed gaze from the +god he worships. No act too base for him to execute if gold holds +out its glittering purse. No tears of widows, no orphan's cry, no +brother's famishing look, no parent's imploring gaze, no wife's +loving appeal, doth he heed; but on, and on, day by day, night by +night, he rakes together the scattered fragments, rears his altar, +and lays his soul upon it, a burnt sacrifice to his God. + +It was the first day of the trial, and the excitement was intense. +The court-house was filled at an early hour to its utmost capacity, +whilst the lanes leading to it were completely blocked up with +crowds of inquisitive inquirers. The professor left his study, the +trader his accounts, and the mechanic dismissed for a while the toil +of his avocation. + +The judges had arrived; the counsel of both parties were at their +respective desks; all were eager to get a full sight-if not this, a +passing glance-at the prisoner's face. They were looking for his +arrival, and if a close carriage drew near, they believed he was +within, until the carriage passing by withered all their hopes, and +blasted their fond expectations. Such was the state of feeling when +a rumor began to pass round that he, the prisoner, had been +privately conveyed into court. Some believed, and some disbelieved; +some went away, whilst others remained, not giving up all hope of +having their desire gratified.-But why all this? + +Pedro Castello, a young man, an Italian by birth, had been indicted, +and was soon to be tried, charged with two heinous crimes-murder and +robbery. The murdered was an aged person, one of a very quiet and +sedate character, whose every movement seemed to be by stealth, and +who seemed to care for none but himself, but who took particular +interest in what he did care for. This individual had, for quite a +number of years, been a resident in the town where the incidents we +now propose to relate transpired. + +Lorenzo Pedan had the reputation of being wealthy. Whether he was so +or not, no one could positively determine; at least, many thought +so, and here a farmer, there a mechanic, offered to bet all that +he was worth that "Renzo," as he was called, could show his fifty +thousand. It was well known that he was once in prosperous business; +that then, as the saying is, he moved on "swimmingly." But, two or +three years previous to the time we now speak of, he suddenly gave +up business, closed his store, hired a small and retired house, and +lived in as secluded a state as living in the world and not in a +forest would admit of. He was his own master, his own servant, cook +and all else. Visitors seldom if ever darkened his door; and, when +necessity obliged him to leave his house, it was with the utmost +precaution he made fast his door before starting. Proceeding a short +distance, he became possessed with the idea that all was not right, +and would return to his dwelling closely to scrutinize every part. +This and many other characteristics of Pedan induced a belief in the +minds of his townsmen that he had by degrees become possessed of an +avaricious disposition, and that his miserly views of the "whole +duty of man" had induced him to secrete huge boxes of silver, and +bags, of gold in crevices of his cellar, vacancies in his chimney, +and musty and dusty corners of his garret. + +Various were the tricks played upon Lorenzo by the boys of the town. +At times they would place logs of wood against his door, and arrange +them in such a position that when the door was opened they would +inevitably fall in; yet he did not care for this,--we mean he found +no fault with this trick, for he usually claimed the fuel for +damages occasioned by its coming in too close proximity with his +aged self. + +Sometimes these "villanous boys," as widow Todd, a notorious +disseminator of town scandal, called them, would fasten his door; +then, having hid behind some bushes, laugh heartily as they beheld +Mr. Pedan exhibit himself at the window, at which place he got out. +We will not attempt to relate one half or one quarter of these +tricks; we will say nothing of sundry cats, kittens, etc., that were +crowded into boxes and marked "Pedro-this side up with infinite +care;" nor about certain black, white, and yellow dogs, that were +tied to all his door-handles, and made night hideous in the exercise +of their vocal powers. We will not weary our readers with such +details. Suffice it to say that they were all perpetrated, and that +he, the aforesaid Lorenzo Pedan, received the indignities heaped +upon him with a degree of patience and fortitude rivalled only by +that of the martyrs of the dark ages. He was, in fact, a martyr to +his love of gold; and a recompense for all his outward troubles was +the satisfaction of knowing that he might be rich some time, if he +was prudent. + +Lorenzo was undoubtedly rich, yet he derived no enjoyment from his +abundance; on the contrary, it caused him much trouble, care, and +watchfulness; and not possessing any benevolent feelings, prompting +him to spend his gold and silver for his own good or the good of his +fellow-men, the poorest man, with all his poverty,--he who only by +his daily toil earned his daily bread,--was far more wealthy than he. + +He passed on in this way for some time, when, on a certain morning, +he not having made his appearance for some days previous, his door +was burst open, and the expectations of not a few realized upon +finding him murdered. All the furniture and even the wainscotings of +the house were thrown about in dread disorder; scarcely an article +seemed to be in its right place. The robber or robbers were +undoubtedly on the alert for money, and they left no spot untouched +where possibly they might find it. They pulled up parts of the +floor, tore away the ceiling, and left marks of their visit from +cellar to garret. + +Immediate efforts were made and measures taken to ferret out the +perpetrator of this daring crime. These were, for a considerable +length of time, fruitless, and, the excitement that at first arose +being somewhat quelled, some thought the search that had been +instituted was given, or about to be given, up, when a man by the +name of Smith came forward, and stated that, about nine days +previous to the discovery, as he was passing the house of the +deceased, he heard a faint cry, as of one in distress, and, turning +round, noticed a young man running in great haste. He, at the time, +thought little of this incident, as he supposed the boys were +engaged in some of their tricks. It had entirely passed his +recollection, until, hearing of the murder, he instantly recollected +the circumstance, and now he did not entertain a doubt that the +young man whom he saw was the murderer. + +It appeared strange to some that this man had not made all this +known before; and that now, at so late a period, he should come +forward and with such apparent eagerness make the disclosures. Being +asked why he had not come forward before, he promptly replied that +he did not wish to suspect any person, for fear he might be +mistaken. + +Efforts were now made, and excitement had again risen, to find out a +young man answering the description given by Smith, whom he alleged +to be one short in stature, and wearing a fur cap. Pedro Castello, +by birth an Italian, by trade a jeweller, who had resided in the +town a few years, was of this description. He was not very tall, +neither very short; but the fur cap he wore made up all deficiencies +in stature. Smith swore to his identity, and, at his instigation, he +was arrested, and with great coolness and self-possession passed +through a short examination, which resulted in his being placed in +custody to await his trial at the next session of a higher court. +The only evidence against him was that of Smith and his son; that of +the former was in substance what has already been stated, and that +of the latter only served to support and partially confirm the +evidence of the former. A host of townsmen appeared to attest to the +good character of the accused; and, with such evidence for and +against, he was committed. + +Never was man led to prison who behaved with a greater degree of +composure. Conscious of his innocence, he acted not the part of a +guilty man, but, relying upon justice for an impartial trial, he +walked with a firm step, and unflinchingly entered a felon's cell. + +In two months his trial was to commence, and that short period soon +elapsed. The morning of the trial came; all was excitement, as we +have before said. A trial for murder! Such an event forms an era in +the history of a town, from which many date. That one so long +esteemed as an excellent neighbor, and of whose untarnished +character there could be no doubt, should be suddenly arrested, +charged with the committal of a crime at the thought of which human +nature revolts, was a fact the belief of which was hardly credible. +He himself remained not unmoved by the vast concourse of spectators; +he thought he could read in the pitying glance of each an acquittal. +An acquittal at the bar of public opinion always has and always will +be esteemed of more value than one handed in by a jury of twelve; +yet by that jury of twelve men he was to be tried,--he must look to +them for his release, if he was to obtain it. Their decision would +condemn him to an ignoble death, or bid him go forth once more a +free man. He had obtained the best of counsel, by whose advice he +selected, from twenty-five jurors, twelve, whose verdict was to seal +his fate. + +The trial commenced. A deep silence prevailed, broken only by the +voice of the government officer, who briefly stated an outline of +the facts, to wit: "That murder and robbery had been committed; that +a young man was seen hastily leaving the spot upon which the crime +was committed; that the appearance of the defendant was precisely +that of the person thus seen; said he should not enter into an +examination of the previous character of the prisoner, giving as a +reason that a man may live long as a person of unquestionable +character, and after all yield to some strong temptation and fall +from the standard of excellence he had hitherto attained; he should +present all the facts that had come to his knowledge, tending to +substantiate the charge, and would leave it to the prisoner and his +counsel to undermine the evidence he presented, and to prove the +accused innocent, if possible; all that he should do would be to +attempt to prove him guilty; if he failed to do so a verdict must be +rendered accordingly." Having said this, he called upon his +witnesses. Those who first discovered the outrage were called and +testified to what they saw. John Smith was next called, and gave in +as evidence what has before been stated; at the close of a strict +cross-examination he returned to his seat. His son Levi was next +called, and stated that his father was out the night he himself +stated he was; he went out about half-past six or seven; did not say +where he was going, or how long he should be out; he came home about +eleven. + +Prisoner's counsel here inquired whether it was usual, upon his +father's going out, to state where he was going or when he should +return. He answered in the affirmative. This was all the knowledge +Levi Smith had of the affair, and with this the evidence for the +government closed. + +The counsel for the defendant stated, in the opening, that all he +should attempt to prove would be the bad character of the principal +witness, John Smith, and the unexceptionable character of the +prisoner. He would prove that the reputation of Smith for truth and +veracity was bad, and that therefore no reliance could be placed +upon his statements. He should present the facts as they were, and +leave it to them to say whether his client was innocent or guilty. + +A person by the name of Renza was first called, who stated that for +about two years he had resided in the house with the prisoner; that +he esteemed him as a friend; that the prisoner had treated him as a +brother,--had never seen anything amiss in his conduct,--at night he +came directly home from his place of business, was generally in at +nine, seldom out later than ten,--remembered the night in +question,--thought he was in about ten, but was not certain on that +point,--had been acquainted with John Smith for a number of +years,--had not said much to him during that time,--had often seen him +walking about the streets,--had known him to be quarrelsome and +avaricious, easily provoked, and rather lacking in good principle. +After a few cross-questions the witness took his seat. + +Seven others were called, whose testimony was similar to the above, +placing the evidence of the principal government witness in rather a +disagreeable light. The evidence being in on both sides, the +prisoner's counsel stood forth to vindicate the innocence of +Castello. For three hours he faithfully advocated the cause, dwelt +long upon the reputation of Smith, and asked whether a man should be +convicted upon such rotten evidence. He brought to light the +character of Smith, and that of Castello; placed them in contrast, +and bade them judge for themselves. He wished to inquire why Smith, +when he heard the terrible scream, when he saw a person running from +the place whence the sound proceeded, why, when he heard and beheld +all this, he did not make an alarm; why did Smith keep it a secret, +and not till nine days had elapsed make this known? "Perhaps he +would reply," argued the counsel, "that he did not wish to suspect +any person, fearing the person suspected might be the wrong one; if +so, why did he not inform of the person he saw running? If he was +not the doer of the deed, perhaps he might relate something that +would lead to the detection of him who was. Beside, if he had doubts +whether it was right to inform then, why does he do so now with so +much eagerness? It would be natural for one, after hearing such +fearful noises,--after seeing what he testifies to having seen,--to +have related it to some one; but no-Smith keeps all this important +information treasured up, and not till two weeks had nearly passed +does he disclose it. But, gentlemen, I have my doubts as to the +truth of John's evidence. It is my firm belief that he never saw a +person running from that house; he might have heard the noise-I will +not dispute that. I believe his story has been cut and dried for the +occasion, and surely nine days and nights have afforded him ample +time to do so. The brains of an ox could concoct such ideas in nine +days. Now comes the inquiry, why should he invent such a story? Of +what benefit can it be to him to appear in a crowded courtroom? +Gentlemen, I confess myself unable to give you his reasons; to him +and to his God they are only known. The veil which, in my opinion, +now shrouds this affair, will some day be withdrawn, and we shall +know the truth, even as it is." + +The defence here closed. The officer for the prosecution now arose, +and with equal faithfulness and ability argued his side of the +question. He thought the reasons why Smith had not before informed +were full and explicit; and, as to the testimony of the eight as to +the past good character of the prisoner, he saw no reason why a man +should be always good because for two or more years he had been so. +A great temptation was presented; he was young--perhaps at the +moment regardless of the result, the penalty of the crime; he did +not resist, but yielded; and as to the argument of the learned +counsel, that Mr. S. did not see what he testifies to have seen, it +is useless to refute such an unfounded allegation. Can you suppose +Smith to be benefited by this prosecution further than to see +justice have its dues? Settle it then in your minds that Mr. Smith +did actually see all he says he did. We come next to the description +given by Smith of the man seen. He said he was short in stature, and +wearing a fur cap. Look at the prisoner,--is he not short?-and the +testimony of two of the previous witnesses distinctly affirm that +for the past six weeks he has worn a fur cap. What more evidence do +you want to prove his guilt? + +The prosecuting officer here closed. We have given but a faint +outline of his remarks; they were forcible and to the point. + +It was near the dusk of the second day's trial that the judge arose +to charge the jury. He commented rather severely upon the attempt to +impeach the character of Smith. His address was not lengthy; and in +about thirty minutes the jury retired, while a crowded audience +anxiously waited their return. It was not till the rays of the +morning sun began to be seen that it was rumored that they had +arrived at a decision and would soon enter. All was silent as the +tomb. The prisoner, although aware that his life was at stake, sat +in great composure, frequently holding converse with his friends who +gathered around. How anxiously all eyes were turned towards the door +by which they were to enter, wishing, yet dreading, to hear the +final secret! The interest of all watched their movements and seemed +to read acquittal upon each juror's face. The prisoner arose, the +foreman and he looking each other in the face. The clerk put the +question, "Guilty, or not guilty?" The ticking of the clock was +distinctly heard. "Guilty!" responded the foreman. A verdict so +unexpected by all could not be received in silence, and, as with one +voice, the multitude shouted "False! false! FALSE!" With great +difficulty were they silenced and restrained from rescuing the +prisoner, who, though greatly disappointed, heard the verdict +without much agitation. Innocent, he was convinced that justice +would finally triumph, though injustice for a moment might seem to +have the ascendency. + +One week had passed. Sentence had been pronounced upon the young +Italian, and, notwithstanding the strenuous efforts his friends made +for his pardon, he was committed to prison to await the arrival of +that day when innocence should suffer in the place of guilt, and he +should by the rough hands of the law be unjustly dragged to the +gallows, and meet his death at so wretched a place; yet far better +was it for him, and of this was he aware, to be led to that place +free, from the blood of all men, than to proceed there a guilty +criminal, his hands dyed in the warm blood of a fellow-creature, +pointed out as a murderer, and looked upon but with an eye of +condemnation. He was certain that in the breasts of hundreds a +spark, yea, a burning flame, of pity shone for him,--that he met not +his death uncared for,--that many a tear would flow in pity for him, +and that he would wend his way to the scaffold comforted by the +consciousness of his innocence, and consoled by many dear friends. + +The day had arrived for the execution, and crowds of people flocked +to the spot to gratify their love of sight-seeing-to allay their +curiosity-even though that sight were nothing less than the death of +a fellow-being. Crowds had assembled. A murder had been committed, +and now another was to follow. To be sure it was to be executed +"according to law," but that law was inspired with the spirit of +revenge. Its motto was "blood for blood." It forgot the precepts of +Christ, "forgive your enemies;" and that that which is a wrong when +committed by one in secret, is no less a wrong when committed by +many, or by their sanction, in public. The condemned stood upon the +death-plank, yet he hoped justice would be done. "Hope!" what a +cheering word! 't will nerve man for every trial. Yes, Castello +hoped, and relied upon that kind arm that had hitherto supported +him, and had enabled him to bear up under an accumulated mass of +affliction. He had a full consciousness of innocence, and to the +oft-repeated inquiry as to his state of mind he replied, "I am +innocent, and that truth is to me better than gold." + +It lacks but five minutes of the appointed time-now but three-but +two. But yonder the crowd seem excited. What is the cause of the +sudden movement? But a few moments since and all were silently +gazing at the centre of attraction, the scaffold. Lo, a messenger, +breathless with haste, shouting "INNOCENT! INNOCENT! INNOCENT!" and +a passage is made for him to approach, whilst thousands inquire the +news. He answers not, save by that shrill shout, "INNOCENT!" and +pressing forward touches the gallows just as Castello is about to be +launched forth. The stranger ascends the steps and begs that the +execution may be deferred, at least until he can relate some recent +disclosures. His wish is granted, and he speaks nearly as follows: + +"The testimony of the principal witness was doubted. Last night I +remained at the house of Smith. Owing to the great excitement I did +not retire to rest, and sat in a room adjoining that in which Smith +lodged. About midnight I heard a voice in that room. I went to the +door, and, fearing he was sick and desired aid, I entered. He was +asleep, and did not awake upon my entering, but continued talking. I +thought it strange, and thinking I might be amused, and having +nothing else to do, I sat and listened. He spoke in somewhat this +manner, and you may judge of my surprise while I listened: + +"'I'm rich; too bad Pedro should die; but I'm rich; no matter, I'm +rich. Kings kill their millions for a little money. I only kill one +man; in six months 't will be forgotten; then I'll go to the bank of +earth back of the red mill and get the gold; I placed it there safe, +and safe it is. Ha, ha! I made that story in nine days-so I did, and +might have made it in less; let him die. But supposing I should be +detected; then it may be that I shall find that Pedro is right when +he says there is something better than gold. But I am in no danger. +The secret is in my own heart, locked up, and no one has the key but +myself; so cheer thee, my soul, I'm safe!-and yet I don't feel +right. I shall feel, when Pedro dies; that I kill him; but why +should I care? I who have killed one, may kill another!' + +"After waiting some time, and hearing no more, I hastened to the +spot he had alluded to, for the purpose of satisfying myself whether +what he had ramblingly spoken of was truth or fancy. After searching +the hill for over an hour, I found a stone, or rather stumbled +against it; I threw it aside, so that others might not stumble over +it as I had, when to my astonishment I found it to be a large flat +one, beneath which I found a collection of bags and boxes, which +upon opening I found filled with gold and silver coin, and in each +box a small paper,--one of which I hold in my hand; all are alike, +and written upon each are these words: + +"'This gold and silver is the property of Pedan, who enjoyed it but +little himself; he leaves it to posterity, and hopes that they may +find more pleasure and more satisfaction in its use than he ever +did.' + +"Not content with this, I pushed my researches still further, and, +having taken out all the bags and boxes, I found this knife, all +bloody as you see it, and this hatchet in nearly the same condition. +Now I ask if it is not the course of justice to delay the execution +of this young man until more examinations can be made?" + +The executioner obeyed the mandate of the sheriff, and stayed his +avenging hand. + +"Better than gold!" shouted the prisoner, and sank helpless upon the +platform. + +That day John Smith was arrested, and, being bluntly charged with +the murder, confessed all. Castello was immediately released, and +went forth a free man. + +In four weeks Smith was no more of earth; he had paid the penalty of +his crimes, and died not only a murderer but a perjured man. + +The next Sabbath the pastor of the church discoursed upon the +subject, and an indescribable thrill pervaded the hearts of some of +the people as they repeated the words, "Forgive us our trespasses as +we forgive those who trespass against us." + + + + + + +GONE AWAY. + + + + + + HERE, where now are mighty cities, + Once the Indians' wigwam stood; + Once their council-fires illumined, + Far and near, the tangled wood. + Here, on many a grass-grown border, + Then they met, a happy throng; + Rock and hill and valley sounded + With the music of their song. + Now they are not,--they have vanished, + And a voice doth seem to say, + Unto him who waits and listens, + "Gone away,--gone away." + Yonder in those valleys gathered + Many a sage in days gone by; + Thence the wigwam's smoke ascended, + Slowly, peacefully, on high. + Indian mothers thus their children + Taught around the birchen fire,-- + "Look ye up to the great Spirit! + To his hunting-grounds aspire." + Now those fires are all extinguished; + Fire and wigwam, where are they? + Hear ye not those voices whispering, + "Gone away,--gone away!" + Here the Indian girl her tresses + Braided with a maiden's pride; + Here the lover wooed and won her, + On Tri-mountain's grassy side. + Here they roamed from rock to river, + Mountain peak and hidden cave; + Here the light canoe they paddled + O'er the undulating wave. + All have vanished-lovers, maidens, + Meet not on these hills to-day, + But unnumbered voices whisper, + "Gone away,--gone away!" + "Gone away!" Yes, where the waters + Of the Mississippi roll, + And Niagara's ceaseless thunders + With their might subdue the soul, + Now the noble Indian standeth + Gazing at the eagle's flight, + Conscious that the great good Spirit + Will accomplish all things right. + Though like forest-leaves they're passing, + They who once held boundless sway, + And of them 't will soon be written, + "Gone away,--gone away!" + As they stand upon the mountain, + And behold the white man press + Onward, onward, never ceasing, + Mighty in his earnestness; + As they view his temples rising, + And his white sails dot the seas, + And his myriad thousands gathering, + Hewing down the forest trees; + Thus they muse: "Let them press onward, + Not far distant is the day + When of them a voice shall whisper, + 'Gone away,--gone away!'" + + + + + + +LINES TO MY WIFE. + + + + + + THOU art ever standing near me, + In wakeful hours and dreams; + Like an angel-one, attendant + On life and, all its themes; + And though I wander from thee, + In lands afar away, + I dream of thee at night, and wake + To think of thee by day. + In the morning, when the twilight, + Like a spirit kind and true, + Comes with its gentle influence, + It whispereth of you. + For I know that thou art present, + With love that seems to be + A band to bind me willingly + To heaven and to thee. + At noon-day, when the tumult and + The din of life is heard, + When in life's battle each heart is + With various passions stirred, + I turn me from the blazonry, + The fickleness of life, + And think of thee in earnest thought, + My dearest one-my wife! + When the daylight hath departed, + And shadows of the night + Bring forth the stars, as beacons fair + For angels in their flight, + I think of thee as ever mine, + Of thee as ever best, + And turn my heart unto thine own, + To seek its wonted rest. + Thus ever thou art round my path, + And doubly dear thou art + When, with my lips pressed to thine own, + I feel thy beating heart. + And through the many joys and griefs, + The lights and shades of life, + It will be joy to call thee by + The holy name of "wife!" + I love thee for thy gentleness, + I love thee for thy truth; + I love thee for thy joyousness, + Thy buoyancy of youth + I love thee for thy soul that soars + Above earth's sordid pelf; + And last, not least, above these all, + I love thee for thyself. + Now come to me, my dearest, + Place thy hand in mine own; + Look in mine eyes, and see how deep + My love for thee hath grown; + And I will press thee to my heart, + Will call thee "my dear wife," + And own that thou art all my joy + And happiness of life. + + + + + + +CHEER UP. + + + + + + CHEER up, cheer up, my own fair one! + Let gladness take the place of sorrow; + Clouds shall not longer hide the sun,-- + There is, there is a brighter morrow! + 'T is coming fast. I see its dawn. + See! look you, how it gilds the mountain! + We soon shall mark its happy morn, + Sending its light o'er stream and fountain. + My bird sings with a clearer note; + He seems to know our hopes are brighter, + And almost tires his little throat + To let us know his heart beats lighter. + I wonder if he knows how dark + The clouds were when they gathered o'er us! + No matter,--gayly as a lark + He sings that bright paths are before us. + So cheer thee up, my brightest, best! + For clear's the sky, and fair's the weather. + Since hand in hand we've past the test, + Hence heart in heart we'll love together. + + + + + + +TRUST THOU IN GOD. + + + + + + TRUST thou in God! he'll guide thee + When arms of flesh shall fail; + With every good provide thee, + And make his grace prevail. + Where danger most is found, + There he his power discloseth; + And 'neath his arm, + Free from all harm, + The trusting soul reposeth. + Trust thou in God, though sorrow + Thine earthly hopes destroy; + To him belongs the morrow, + And he will send thee joy. + When sorrows gather near, + Then he'll delight to bless thee! + When all is joy, + Without alloy, + Thine earthly friends caress thee. + Trust thou in God! he reigneth + The Lord of lords on high; + His justice he maintaineth + In his unclouded sky. + To triumph Wrong may seem, + The day, yet justice winneth, + And from the earth + Shall songs of mirth + Rise, when its sway beginneth. + When friends grow faint and weary, + When thorns are on thy way, + When life to thee is dreary, + When clouded is thy day, + Then put thy trust in God, + Hope on, and hoping ever; + Give him thy heart, + Nor seek to part + The love which none can sever! + + + + + + +THE MINISTRATION OF SORROW. + + + + + + THERE'S sorrow in thy heart to-day, + There's sadness on thy brow; + For she, the loved, hath passed away, + And thou art mourning now. + The eye that once did sparkle bright, + The hand that pressed thine own, + No more shall gladden on thy sight,-- + Thy cherished one hath flown. + And thou didst love her well, 't is true; + Now thou canst love her more, + Since she hath left this world, and you, + On angel wings to soar + Above the world, its ceaseless strife, + Its turmoil and its care, + To enter on eternal life, + And reign in glory there. + O, let this thought now cheer thy soul, + And bid thy tears depart; + A few more days their course shall roll, + Thou 'lt meet, no more to part. + No more upon thine ear shall fall, + The saddening word "farewell" + No more a parting hour, but all + In perfect union dwell. + This world is not the home of man; + Death palsies with its gloom, + Marks out his life-course but a span, + And points him to the tomb; + But, thanks to Heaven, 't is but the gate + By which we enter bliss; + Since such a life our spirits wait, + O, cheer thy soul in this,-- + And let the sorrow that doth press + Thy spirit down to-day + So minister that it may bless + Thee on thy pilgrim way; + And as thy friends shall, one by one, + Leave earth above to dwell, + Say thou to God, "Thy will be done, + Thou doest all things well." + + + + + + +GIVING PUBLICITY TO BUSINESS. + + + + + +FROM the earliest ages of society some means have been resorted to +whereby to give publicity to business which would otherwise remain +in comparative privacy. The earliest of modes adopted was the crying +of names in the streets; and before the invention of printing men +were employed to traverse the most frequented thoroughfares, to +stand in the market-places and other spots of resort, and, with loud +voices, proclaim their message to the people. This mode is not +altogether out of use at the present time; yet it is not generally +considered a desirable one, inasmuch as it does not accomplish its +purpose so readily or completely as any one of the numerous other +methods resorted to. + +Since the invention of printing, handbills, posters, and newspapers, +have been the principal channels of communication between the inside +of the dealer's shop and the eye of the purchaser, and from that to +the inside of his purse. So advantageous have these modes been +found, that it is a rare thing to find a single individual who does +not, either on a large or small scale, rein the press into the path +he travels, and make its labor conducive to the profits of his own. + +England and France have taken the lead in this mode of giving +publicity to business; but the United States, with its unwillingness +to be beat in any way, on any terms, has made such rapid strides of +late in this enterprise, that the English lion will be left in the +rear, and the French eagle far in the background. + +In London many curious devices have been used or proposed. Of these +was that of a man who wished to prepare a sort of bomb-shell, to be +filled with cards or bills, which, on reaching a certain elevation +above the city, would explode, and thus scatter these carrier doves +of information in all conceivable directions. In that city, +butchers, bakers, and fishmongers, receive quite an income from +persons who wish their cards attached to the various commodities in +which they deal. Thus, a person receiving a fish, a loaf, or a piece +of meat, finds the advertisement of a dealer in silks and satins +attached to the tail of the fish; that of an auction sale of +domestic flannels wrapped around the loaf; and perhaps flattering +notices of a compound for the extermination of rats around the meat. + +In the evening, transparencies are carried about the streets, +suspended across the public ways or hung upon the walls. + +In this country, no person has taken the lead of a famous doctor in +the way of advertising. Nearly every paper in the Union was +one-fourth filled with ably-written articles in praise of his +compound. In fact, he published papers of his own, the articles in +which were characterized by the "one idea principle," and that one +idea was contained in a bottle of Dr.--'s save all and cure all, +"none true but the genuine," "warranted not to burst the bottles or +become sour." In addition to these, he issued an almanac-millions of +them-bearing glad tidings to the sick and credulous, and sad tidings +to the "regulars" in the medical fraternity. These almanacs were +distributed everywhere. They came down on the American people like +rain-drops. The result was, as we all know, the doctor flourished in +a fortune equal to his fame, and disposed of his interest in the +business, a few years since, for one hundred thousand dollars. + +The amount of capital invested in advertising is very great, some +firms expending thousands of dollars monthly in this mode of making +known their business. It has been truly said that a card in a +newspaper, that costs but a few dollars, is of far more value than +costly signs over one's door. The former thousands behold, and are +directed to your place of business; the latter very few notice who +do not know the fact it makes known before they see it. + +Attracted by the good fortune of those who have advertised, nearly +every one has adopted the means that led to it; and the advertising +system has become universal. + +We have been seated in a car, waiting impatiently for the sound of +the "last bell," when a person in a brown linen coat entered with an +armful of books, and gave to each passenger a copy, without a hint +about pay. Thanking him for the gift, and astonished at his +generosity, we proceeded to open it, when "Wonderful cures," +"Consumption," "Scrofula," "Indigestion," and "Fits," greeted our +eyes on every page. Illustrated, too! Here was represented a man +apparently dying, and near by a figure that would appear to be a +woman were it not for two monstrous wings on its back, throwing +obstacles in the way of death in the shape of a two-quart bottle of +sarsaparilla syrup. Presumptive man in a brown linen coat, to +suppose that we, just on the eve of a pleasure excursion, are +troubled with such complaints, and stand in need of such a remedy! + +You buy a newspaper, go home, seat yourself, and, in the +anticipation of at glorious intellectual feast, open its damp pages, +when, lo and behold! a huge show-bill falls from its embrace, and +you are informed of the consoling truth that you can have all your +teeth drawn for a trifle, and a now set inserted at a low price, by +a distinguished dentist from London. The bill is indignantly thrown +aside, and you commence reading an article under the caption of "An +interesting incident," which, when half finished, you find to refer +to a young lady whose complexion was made beautiful by the free use +of "Chaulks Poudres," a box of which can be obtained at 96 +Azure-street, for 25 cts. After reading another column, headed "An +act of mercy," you find at its close a most pathetic appeal to your +tender sensibilities in an affectionate request for you to call on +Dr. Digg and have your corns extracted without pain. Despairing of +finding the "intellectual treat," you lay the paper aside, and +resolve upon taking a walk. + +Before you are monstrous show-bills, emblazoned with large letters +and innumerable exclamation-points. Above you, flaunting flags with +flaming notices. Beneath you, marble slabs inscribed with the names +of traders and their goods. Around you, boys with their arms full of +printed notices, and men encased with boards on which are mammoth +posters. Sick of seeing these, you close your eyes; but you don't +escape so easily;--a dinner-bell is rung in your ears, and a voice, +if not like mighty thunder, at least like an embryo earthquake, +proclaims an auction sale, a child lost, or news for the afflicted. + +And thus it is, the world is one great Babel. All is business, +business, and we ask for "some vast wilderness" in which to lie down +and get cool, and keep quiet. + +In Paris, the people long since adopted a plan which has not yet +come in vogue among us. A long story is written; in the course of +this story, a dozen or more establishments receive the author's +laudations, which are so ingeniously interwoven that the reader is +scarcely aware of the design. For instance, Marnetta is going to an +evening party. In the morning she goes out, and is met by a sprig of +gentility, a young man of fashion, who cannot allow her to omit +entering the unrivalled store of Messrs. Veuns, where the most +beautiful silks, etc., are to be seen and purchased. Leaving this, +she next encounters a young lady acquaintance of prudent and +economical habits, by whom, "our heroine" is led into a store where +beauty and elegance are combined with durability and a low price. +She wishes perfumery; so she hastens to Viot & Sons; for none make +so good as they, and the fragrance of their store has been wafted on +the winds of all nations. + +Thus is the story led on from one step to another, with its interest +not in the least abated, to the end. This embraces "puffery," as it +is called. And, while on this subject, we may as well bring up the +following specimen of this species of advertising. It was written by +Peter Seguin, on the occasion of the first appearance in Dublin of +the celebrated Mrs. Siddons. It caused much merriment at the time +among some, while in others, who could not relish a joke, it excited +anger. + +"The house was crowded with hundreds more than it could hold, with +thousands of admiring spectators that went away without a sight. +This extraordinary phenomenon of tragic excellence! this star of +Melpomene! this comet of the stage! this sun of the firmament of the +Muses! this moon of blank verse! this queen arch-princess of tears! +this Donnellan of the poisoned bowl! this empress of the pistol and +dagger! this child of Shakspeare! this world of weeping clouds! this +Juno of commanding aspects! this Terpsichore of the curtains and +scenes! this Proserpine of fire and earthquake! this Katterfelto of +wonders! exceeded expectation, went beyond belief, and soared above +all the natural powers of description! She was nature itself! she +was the most exquisite work of art! She was the very daisy, +primrose, tuberose, sweet-brier, furze-blossom, gilliflower, +wallflower, cauliflower, aurica and rosemary! In short, she was the +bouquet of Parnassus! Where expectation was raised so high, it was +thought she would be injured by her appearance; but it was the +audience who were injured; several fainted before the curtain drew +up! but when she came to the scene of parting with her wedding-ring, +all! what a sight was there! The fiddlers in the orchestra, 'albeit +unused to the melting mood!' blubbered like hungry children crying +for their bread and butter; and when the bell rang for music between +the acts, the tears ran from the bassoon player's eyes in such +plentiful showers, that they choked the finger-stops, and, making a +spout of the instrument, poured in such torrents on the first +fiddler's book, that, not seeing the overture was in two sharps, the +leader of the band actually played in one flat. But the sobs and +sighs of the groaning audience, and the noise of corks drawn from +the smelling-bottles, prevented the mistakes between the flats and +sharps being discovered. One hundred and nine ladies fainted! +forty-six went into fits! and ninety-five had strong hysterics! The +world will hardly credit the truth, when they are told that fourteen +children, five women, one hundred tailors, and six common-council +men, were actually drowned in the inundation of tears that flowed +from the galleries, the slips and the boxes, to increase the briny +pond in the pit; the water was three feet deep, and the people that +were obliged to stand upon the benches were in that position up to +their ancles in tears." + +There is nothing in the present style of criticism that can exceed +the above. The author actually reached the climax, and all attempts +to overtop him would be useless. + +Of advertisements there have been many worthy of preservation: some +on account of the ingenuity displayed in their composition; some in +their wit; some for their domesticativeness,--matrimonial offers, +for example,--and others for the conceitedness exposed in them, the +ignorance of the writers, or the whimsicality of the matter +advertised. In 1804 there was advertised in an English paper, as for +sale, "The walk of a deceased blind beggar (in a charitable +neighborhood), with his dog and staff." + +In the St. James Chronicle of 1772 was the following: + +"Wanted, fifteen hundred or two thousand pounds, by a person not +worth a groat; who, having neither houses, lands, annuities, or +public funds, can offer no other security than that of a simple +bond, bearing simple interest, and engaging, the repayment of the +sum borrowed in five, six, or seven years, as may be, agreed on by +the parties," &c. + +We do not know whether the advertiser obtained his pounds or not, +but such an advertisement, now-a-days, would draw forth a laugh much +sooner than the money; or, if "pounds" came, they would, most +probably, fall upon the recipient's shoulders, instead of into his +pocket. + +The Chinese are not behind the age in this business. The following +is an instance in proof: + +"ACHEU TEA CHINCOEU, Sculptor, respectfully acquaints masters of +ships trading from Canton to India that they may be furnished with +figure-heads, any size, according to order, at one-fourth of the +price charged in Europe. He also recommends, for private venture, +the following idols, brass, gold and silver: The hawk of Vishnoo, +which has reliefs of his incarnation in a fish, boar, lion, and +bull, as worshipped by the pious followers of Zoroaster; two silver +marmosets, with gold ear-rings; an aprimanes for Persian worship; a +ram, an alligator, a crab, a laughing hyena, with a variety of +household idols, on a small scale, calculated for family worship. +Eighteen months credit will be given, or a discount of fifteen per +cent. for prompt payment, on the sum affixed to each article. +Direct, Canton-street, Canton, under the marble Rhinoceros and gilt +Hydra." + +We subjoin another, in which self-exaltation is pretty well carried +out. + +"At the shop Tae-shing (prosperous in the extreme)--very good ink; +fine! fine! Ancient shop, great-grandfather, grandfather, father and +self, make this ink; fine and hard, very hard; picked with care, +selected with attention. I sell very good ink; prime cost is very +great. This ink is heavy; so is gold. The eye of the dragon glitters +and dazzles; so does this ink. No one makes like it. Others who make +ink make it for the sake of accumulating base coin, cheat, while I +make it only for a name, Plenty of A-kwan-tsaes (gentlemen) know my +ink-my family never cheated-they have always borne a good name. I +make ink for the 'Son of Heaven,' and all the mandarins in the +empire. As the roar of the tiger extends to every place, so does, +the fame' of the 'dragon's jewel' (the ink). Come, all A-kwan- +tsaes, come to my shop and see the sign Tae-shing at the side of the +door. It is Seou-shwuy-street (Small Water-street), outside the +south gate." + + + + + + +THE MISSION OF KINDNESS. + + + + + + Go to the sick man's chamber; low and soft + Falls on the listening ear a sweet-toned voice; + A hand as gentle as the summer breeze, + Ever inclined to offices of good, + Smooths o'er the sick man's pillow, and then turns + To trim the midnight lamp, moisten the lips, + And, passing over, soothe the fevered brow. + Thus charity finds place in woman's heart; + And woman kind, and beautiful, and good, + Doth thus administer to every want, + Nor wearies in her task, but labors on, + And finds her joy in that which she imparts. + Go to the prisoner's cell; to-morrow's light + Shall be the last on earth he e'er shall see. + He mutters hate 'gainst all, and threatens ill + To every semblance of the human form. + Deep in his soul remorse, despair and hate, + Dwell unillumined by one ray of light, + And sway his spirit as the waves are swayed + By wind and storm. He may have cause to hold + His fellow-men as foes; for, at the first + Of his departure from an upright course, + They scorned and shunned and cursed him. + They sinn‚d thus, and he, in spite for them, + Kept on his sullen way from wrong to wrong. + Which is the greatest sinner? He shall say + Who of the hearts of men alone is judge. + Now, in his cell condemned, he waits the hour, + The last sad hour of mortal life to him. + His oaths and blasphemies he sudden stays! + He thinks he hears upon his prison door + A gentle tap. O, to his hardened heart + That gentle sound a sweet remembrance brings + Of better days-two-score of years gone by, + Days when his mother, rapping softly thus, + Called him to morning prayer. Again 't is heard. + Is it a dream? Asleep! He cannot sleep + With chains around and shameful death before him! + Is it the false allurement of some foe + Who would with such enticement draw him forth + To meet destruction ere the appointed time? + Softened and calmed, each angry passion lulled, + By a soft voice, "Come in," he trembling calls. + Slow on its hinges turns the ponderous door, + And "Friend," the word that falls from stranger lips. + As dew on flowers, as rain on parch‚d ground, + So came the word unto the prisoner's ear. + He speaks not-moves not. O, his heart is full, + Too full for utterance; and, as floods of tears + Flow from his eyes so all unused to weep, + He bows down low, e'en at the stranger's feet. + He had not known what 't was to have a friend. + The word came to him like a voice from heaven, + A voice of love to one who'd heard but hate. + "Friend!" Mysterious word to him who'd known no friend. + O, what a power that simple word hath o'er him! + As now he holds the stranger's hand in his, + And bows his head upon it, he doth seem + Gentle and kind, and docile as a child. + Repentance comes with kindness, goodness rears + Its cross on Calvary's height, inspiring hope + Which triumphs over evil and its guilt. + O, how much changed! and all by simple words + Spoken in love and kindness from the heart. + O, love and kindness! matchless power have ye + To mould the human heart; where'er ye dwell + There is no sorrow, but a living joy. + There is no man whom God hath placed on earth + That hath not some humanity within, + And is not moved with kindness joined with love. + The wildest savage, from whose firelit eye + Flashes the lightning passions of his soul, + Who stands, and feeling that he hath been wronged, + That he hath trusted and been basely used, + And that to him revenge were doubly sweet, + Dares all the world to combat and to death,-- + Even he hath dwelling in his inmost heart + A chord that quick will vibrate to kind words. + Go unto such with kindness, not with wrath; + Let your eye look love, and 't will disarm him + Of all the evil passions with which he + Hath mailed his soul in terrible array. + Think not to tame the wild by brutal force. + As well attempt to stay devouring flames + By heaping fagots on the blazing pile. + Go, do man good, and the deep-hidden spark + Of true divinity concealed within + Will brighten up, and thou shalt see its glow, + And feel its cheering warmth. O, we lose much + By calling passion's aid to vanquish wrong. + We should stand within love's holy temple, + And with persuasive kindness call men in, + Rather than, leaving it, use other means, + Unblest of God, and therefore weak and vain, + To force them on before us into bliss. + There is a luxury in doing good + Which none but by experience e'er can know. + He's blest who doeth good. Sleep comes to him + On wings of sweetest peace; and angels meet + In joyous convoys ever round his couch; + They watch and guard, protect and pray for him. + All mothers bend the knee, and children too + Clasp their fair hands and raise their undimmed eyes, + As if to pierce the shadowy veil that hangs + Between themselves and God-then pray that he + Will bless with Heaven's best gifts the friend of man. + + + + + + +A PLEA FOR THE FALLEN. + + + + + + PITY her, pity her! Once she was fair, + Once breathed she sweetly the innocent's prayer; + Parents stood by in pride o'er their daughter; + Sin had not tempted, Vice had not caught her; + Hoping and trusting, believing all true, + Nothing but happiness rose to her view. + She, as were spoken words lovers might tell, + Listened, confided, consented, and fell! + Now she's forsaken; nursing in sorrow, + Hate for the night, despair for the morrow! + She'd have the world think she's happy and gay,-- + A butterfly, roving wherever it may; + Sipping delight from each rose-bud and flower, + The charmed and the charmer of every hour. + She will not betray to the world all her grief; + She knows it is false, and will give no relief. + She knows that its friendship is heartless and cold; + That it loves but for gain, and pities for gold; + That when in their woe the fallen do cry, + It turns, it forsakes, and it leaves them to die! + But after the hour of the world's bright show, + When hence from her presence flatterers go; + When none are near to praise or caress her, + No one stands by with fondness to bless her; + Alone with her thoughts, in moments like this, + She thinks of her days of innocent bliss, + And she weeps!-yes, she weeps penitent tears + O'er the shame of a life and the sorrow of years: + She turns for a friend; yet, alas! none is there; + She sinks, once again, in the deepest despair! + Blame her not! O blame not, ye fathers who hold + Daughters you value more dearly than gold! + But pity, O, pity her! take by the hand + One who, though fallen, yet nobly may stand. + Turn not away from her plea and her cries; + Pity and help, and the fallen may rise! + Crush not to earth the reed that is broken, + Bind up her wounds-let soft words be spoken; + Though she be low, though worldlings reject her, + Let not Humanity ever neglect her. + + + + + + +JOY BEYOND. + + + + + + BEYOND the dark, deep grave, whose lowly portal + Must yet be passed by every living mortal, + + There gleams a light; + 'T is not of earth. It wavers not; it gloweth + With a clear radiance which no changing knoweth, + + Constant and bright. + We love to gaze at it; we love to cherish + The cheering thought, that, when this earth shall perish, + + And naught remain + Of all these temples,--things we now inherit, + Each unimprisoned, no more fettered spirit + + Shall life retain. + And ever, through eternity unending, + It shall unto that changeless light be tending, + + Till perfect day + Shall be its great reward; and all of mystery + That hath made up its earthly life, its history, + + Be passed away! + O, joyous hour! O, day most good and glorious! + When from the earth the ransomed rise victorious, + + Its conflict o'er; + When joy henceforth each grateful soul engages, + Joy unalloyed through never-ending ages, + Joy evermore! + + + + + + +THE SUMMER DAYS ARE COMING. + + + + + + THE summer days are coming, + The glorious summer hours, + When Nature decks her gorgeous robe + With sunbeams and with flowers; + And gathers all her choristers + In plumage bright and gay, + Till every vale is echoing with + Their joyous roundelay. + No more shall frosty winter + Hold in its cold embrace + The water; but the river + Shall join again the race; + And down the mountain's valley, + And o'er its rocky side, + The glistening streams shall rush and leap + In all their bounding pride. + There's pleasure in the winter, + When o'er the frozen snow + With faithful friend and noble steed + Right merrily we go! + But give to me the summer, + The pleasant summer days, + When blooming flowers and sparkling streams + Enliven all our ways. + + + + + + +THE MAN WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING. + + + + + +SANSECRAT is one of that class of persons who think they know +everything. If anything occurs, and you seek to inform him, he will +interrupt you by saying that he knows it all,--that he was on the +spot when the occurrence happened, or that he had met a man who was +an eye-witness. + +Such a person, though he be the possessor of much assurance, is +sadly deficient in manners; and no doubt the super-abundancy of the +former is caused by the great lack of the latter. + +Such men as he will thrive; there is no mistake about it. This has +been called an age of invention and of humbug. Nothing is so +popular, or so much sought after, as that which cannot be explained, +and around which a mysterious shroud is closely woven. + +My friend Arcanus came sweating and puffing into my room. I had just +finished my dinner, and was seated leisurely looking over a few +pages of manuscript, when he entered. + +"News!" said he; and before I could hand him a chair he had told me +all about the last battle, and his tongue flew about with so much +rapidity, that a conflagration might have been produced by such +excessive friction, had not a rap at the door put a clog under the +wheels of his talkative locomotive, and stayed its progress, which +luckily gave me an opportunity to take his hat and request him to be +seated. + +The door was opened, and who but Sansecrat stood before me. + +"Have you heard the news?" was the first interrogatory of my friend +Arcanus, in reply to which Sansecrat said that he knew it all half +an hour previous,--was at the railroad station when the express +arrived, and was the first man to open the Southern papers. + +In vain Arcanus told him that the information came by a private +letter. He averred, point blank, that it was no such thing; that he +had the papers in his pocket; and was about to exhibit them as proof +of what he had said, when he suddenly recollected that he had sold +them to an editor for one-and-sixpence. + +Notwithstanding the proverb of "Man, know thyself," Sansecrat seems +to know everything but himself. Thousands of times has it been said +that man can see innumerable faults and foibles in his neighbors, +but none in himself. Very true; and man can see his own character, +just as he can see his own face in a mirror. His own associates +mirror forth his own character; and the faults, be they great or +small, that he sees in them, are but the true reflection of his own +errors. Yet, blind to this, and fondly imagining that he is the very +"pink of excellence," he flatters his own vain feeling with the +cherished idea that, while others have faults, he has none, and so +slumbers on in the sweet repose of ignorance. + +Sansecrat imagines that he knows everything; that to teach him would +be like "carrying coals to Newcastle," or sending ship-loads of ice +to Greenland, or furnaces to the coast of Africa; yet he is as +ignorant as the greatest dunce, who, parrot-like, repeats that he +has heard, without having the least understanding of what he says. + +Strange as it may seem, it is nevertheless true that Sansecrat will +prosper in the world; for, though destitute of those qualifications +which render their possessor worthy of success, he has an abundance +of brazen-facedness, with which he will work himself into the good +opinion of not a few, who look more closely upon exterior appearance +than they do upon inward worth, and judge their fellowmen more by +the good quality of their cloth than by the good quality of their +hearts, and set more value on a shining hat and an unpatched boot +than they do on a brilliant intellect and a noble soul. + + + + + + +PRIDE AND POVERTY. + + + + + + I CANNOT brook the proud. I cannot love + The selfish man; he seems to have no heart; + And why he lives and moves upon this earth + Which God has made so fair, I cannot tell. + He has no soul but that within his purse, + And all his hopes are centred on its fate; + That lost, and all is lost. + I knew a man + Who had abundant riches. He was proud,-- + Too oft the effect of riches when abused,-- + His step was haughty, and his eye glanced at + The honest poor as base intruders on + The earth he trod and fondly called his own; + Unwelcome guests at Nature's banqueting. + Years passed away,--that youth became a man; + His beetled brow, his sullen countenance, + His eye that looked a fiery command, + Betrayed that his ambition was to rule. + He smiled not, save in scorn on humble men, + Whom he would have bow down and worship him. + Thus with his strength his pride did grow, until + He did become aristocrat indeed. + The humble beggar, whose loose rags scarce gave + Protection to him from the cold north wind, + He scarce would look upon, and vainly said, + As in his hand he held the ready coin, + "No mortal need be poor,--'t is his own fault + If such he be;--if he court poverty, + Let all its miseries be his to bear." + 'T is many years since he the proud spake thus, + And men and things have greatly changed since then. + No more in wealth he rolls,--men's fortunes change. + I met a lonely hearse, slowly it passed + Toward the church-yard. 'T was unattended + Save by one old man, and he the sexton. + With spade beneath his arm he trudged along, + Whistling a homely tune, and stopping not. + He seemed to be in haste, for now and then + He'd urge to quicker pace his walking beast, + With the rough handle of his rusty spade. + Him I approached, and eagerly inquired + Whose body thus was borne so rudely to + Its final resting-place, the deep, dark grave. + "His name was Albro," was the prompt reply. + "Too proud to beg, we found him starved to death, + In a lone garret, which the rats and mice + Seemed greatly loth to have him occupy. + An' I, poor Billy Matterson, whom once + He deemed too poor and low to look upon, + Am come to bury him." + The sexton smiled,-- + Then raised his rusty spade, cheered up his nag, + Whistled as he was wont, and jogged along. + Oft I have seen the poor man raise his hand + To wipe the eye when good men meet the grave,-- + But Billy Matterson, he turned and smiled. + The truth flashed in an instant on my mind, + Though sad, yet deep, unchanging truth to me. + 'T was he, thus borne, who, in his younger days, + Blest with abundance, used it not aright. + He, who blamed the poor because they were such; + Behold his end!-too proud to beg, he died. + A sad example, teaching all to shun + The rock on which he shipwrecked,--warning take, + That they too fall not as he rashly fell. + + + + + + +WORDS THAT TOUCH THE INNER HEART. + + + + + + WORDS, words! O give me these, + Words befitting what I feel, + That I may on every breeze + Waft to those whose riven steel + Fetters souls and shackles hands + Born to be as free as air, + Yet crushed and cramped by Slavery's bands,-- + Words that have an influence there. + Words, words! give me to write + Such as touch the inner heart; + Not mere flitting forms of light, + That please the ear and then depart; + But burning words, that reach the soul, + That bring the shreds of error out, + That with resistless power do roll, + And put the hosts of Wrong to rout. + Let others tune their lyres, and sing + Illusive dreams of fancied joy; + But, my own harp,--its every string + Shall find in Truth enough employ. + It shall not breathe of Freedom here, + While millions clank the galling chain; + Or e'en one slave doth bow in fear, + Within our country's broad domain. + Go where the slave-gang trembling stands, + Herded with every stable stock,-- + Woman with fetters on her hands, + And infants on the auction-block! + See, as she bends, how flow her tears! + Hark! hear her broken, trembling sighs; + Then hear the oaths, the threats, the jeers, + Of men who lash her as she cries! + O, men! who have the power to weave + In poesy's web deep, searching thought, + Be truth thy aim; henceforward leave + The lyre too much with fancy fraught! + Come up, and let the words you write + Be those which every chain would break, + And every sentence you indite + Be pledged to Truth for Freedom's sake. + + + + + + +OUR HOME. + + + + + + OUR home shall be + A cot on the mountain side, + Where the bright waters glide, + Sparkling and free; + Terrace and window o'er + Woodbine shall graceful soar; + Roses shall round the door + Blossom for thee. + There shall be joy + With no care to molest,-- + Quiet, serene and blest; + And our employ + Work each other's pleasure; + Boundless be the treasure; + Without weight or measure, + Free from alloy. + Our home shall be + Where the first ray of light + Over the mountain height, + Stream, rock and tree, + Joy to our cot shall bring, + While brake and bower shall ring + With notes the birds shall sing, + Loved one, for thee. + + + + + + +SPECULATION AND ITS CONSEQUENCE. + + + + + +SPECULATION is business in a high fever. Its termination is +generally very decided, whether favorable or otherwise, and the +effect of that termination upon the individual most intimately +connected with it in most cases unhealthy. + +It was a truth long before the wise man wrote it, that making haste +to be rich is an evil; and it always will be a truth that the +natural, unforced course of human events is the only sure, the only +rational one. + +The desire to be rich, to be pointed out as wealthy, is a very +foolish one, unless it be coupled with a desire to do good. This is +somewhat paradoxical; for the gratification of the last most +certainly repels that of the first, inasmuch as he who distributes +his gains cannot accumulate to any great extent. + +Wealth is looked at from the wrong stand-point. It is too often +considered the end, instead of the means to an end; and there never +was a greater delusion in the human mind than that of supposing that +riches confer happiness. In ninety-nine cases out of every hundred +the opposite is the result. Care often bears heavily on the rich +man's brow, and the insatiate spirit asks again and again for more, +and will not be silenced. And this feeling will predominate in the +human mind until man becomes better acquainted with his own true +nature, and inclines to minister to higher and more ennobling +aspirations. + +In one of the most populous cities of the Union there resided, a few +years since, a person in moderate circumstances, by the name of +Robert Short. Bob, as he Was usually called, was a shoemaker. With a +steady run of custom, together with prudence and economy combined, +he was enabled to support his family in an easy and by no means +unenviable style. He did not covet the favors and caresses of the +world. He looked upon all,--the rich, the poor, the prince, the +beggar,--alike, as his brethren. He believed that all stood upon one +platform, all were bound to the same haven, and that all should be +equally interested in each other's welfare. With this belief, and +with rules of a similar character, guided by which he pursued his +course of life, it was not to be wondered at that he could boast of +many friends, and not strange that many should seek his +acquaintance. There is a desire planted in the hearts of honest men +to associate with those who, ambitious enough to sustain a good +character, are not so puffed up with pride, or so elevated in their +own estimation, as to despise the company of what are termed "the +common people." It was pleasant, of a winter's evening, to enter the +humble domicile of Mr. Short, and while the howling storm raged +fiercely without, and the elements seemed at war, to see the +contentment and peace that prevailed within. Bob, seated at his +bench, might be seen busily employed, and, as the storm increased, +would seem to apply himself more diligently to his task. Six or +perhaps eight of his neighbors might also be seen gathered around, +seated upon that article most convenient,--whether a stool or a pile +of leather, it mattered not,--relating some tale of the Revolution, +or listening to some romantic story from the lips of the respected +Mr. Short. 'T was upon such an evening, and at such a place, that +our story commences. Squire Smith, Ned Green, and a jovial sort of a +fellow by the name of Sandy, were seated around the red-hot +cylinder. Squire Smith was what some would term a "man of +consequence,"-at least, he thought so. Be it known that this squire +was by no means a daily visitor at the work-shop of our hero. He +came in occasionally, and endeavored to impress upon his mind that +which he had settled in his own, namely, that he, Robert Short, +might be a great man. + +"I tell you what," said he, with an air of importance, "I tell you +what, it is against all reason, it is contrary to common sense and +everything else, that you remain any longer riveted down to this old +bench. It will be your ruin; 'pend upon it, it will be your ruin." + +"How so?" eagerly inquired Mr. Short. + +"Why," replied the squire, "it's no use for me to go into +particulars. But why do you not associate with more respectable and +fashionable company?" + +"Is not the present company respectable?" resumed Mr. Short; "and as +for the fashion, I follow my own." + +Squire Smith did not reply to this inquiry, but stood shaking his +head, and appeared at a loss for words with which to answer. + +"Perhaps your ideas of respectability," continued the squire, "are +not in accordance with mine." + +"Ay, ay; true, true," interrupted Sandy, with a shrug of the +shoulder. + +Mr. Smith continued his remarks, appearing not to notice the +interruption. "Perhaps," said he, "one may be as honest as the days +are long; but, sir, he is far from being respectable, in my humble +opinion, if he is not genteel,--and certainly if he is not +fashionably dressed he is not. He does not think enough of himself; +that's it, my dear Mr. Short, he does not think enough of himself." + +"But he is honest," replied Mr. Short. "Supposing he does not dress +so fashionably as you would wish, would you condemn him for the cut +of his coat, or the quality of his cloth? Perhaps his means are not +very extensive, and will not admit of a very expensive outlay, +merely for show. It is much better, my dear sir, to be clothed in +rags and out of debt, than to be attired in the most costly apparel, +and that not paid for. Sir, to hold up your head and say you owe no +man, is to be free, free in the truest sense of the word." + +"Ah, I must be on the move," interrupted the squire, at the same +time looking at his "gold lever." And off he started. + +Squire Smith had said enough for that night; to have said more would +have injured his plan. Mr. Green and Sandy shook hands with their +friend Robert, and, it being late, they bade him "good-by," and +parted. Our hero was now left alone. Snuffing the candle, that had +well-nigh burnt to the socket, he placed more fuel upon the fire, +and, resting his hands upon his knees and his head upon his hands, +he began to think over the sayings of his friend the squire. + +Robert Short saw nothing of the squire for many days after the event +just described transpired. One day, as he began his work, the door +was suddenly thrown open, and the long absent but not forgotten +squire rushed in, shouting "Speculation! speculation!" Mr. Short +threw aside his last, and listened with feelings of astonishment to +the eloquent words that fell from the lips of his unexpected +visitor. "Gull, the broker," continued the squire, "has just offered +me a great bargain. I have come to make a proposition which is, that +you and I accept his offer, and make our fortunes." + +"Fortunes!" exclaimed the son of Crispin; "speculate in what?" + +"In eastern land," was the reply. + +Bob Short's countenance assumed a desponding appearance; he had +heard of many losses caused by venturing in these speculations, and +had some doubts as to his success, should he accept. Then, again, he +had heard of those who had been fortunate, and he inquired the +conditions of sale. + +"Why," replied Mr. Smith, Esq., "old Varnum Gull has three thousand +acres of good land, upon which are, as he assures me, some beautiful +watering places. It is worth five dollars an acre; he offers it to +me for one, and a grand chance it is; the terms are cash." + +"Are you certain as to the quality of the land?" inquired Mr. Short. + +"Perfectly certain," was the reply. "I would not advise you wrong +for the world; but I now think it best to form a sort of +co-partnership, and purchase the land. There is no doubt but that we +can dispose of it at a great advantage. Will you not agree to my +proposals, and accept?" + +"I will," answered Mr. Short. "But how can I obtain fifteen hundred +dollars? I have but a snug thousand." + +"O, don't trouble yourself about that," replied the delighted +squire. "I will loan you the balance at once. You can return it at +some convenient time. What say you will you accompany me to the +broker's, and inform him of the agreement?" + +Mr. Short, after a moment's delay, arose, and, laying aside his +leather apron, took the squire by the arm, and both sallied forth in +search of the office of Varnum Gull. After wending their way through +short streets and long lanes, narrow avenues and wide alleys, they +came to a small gate, upon which was fastened a small tin sign with +the following inscription: "V. Gull, broker, up the yard, round the +corner, up two pair of stairs." The squire and Mr. Short followed +the directions laid down, and, having gone up the yard and turned +round the corner, they found themselves at the foot of the stairs. +They stood for a moment silent, and were about to ascend, when a +voice from above attracted their attention. + +"'Ollo, Squire, 'ere's the box; walk right up 'ere; only look out, +there's an 'ole in the stairs." + +Our hero looked above, and perceived a man with green spectacles +drawing his head in. + +"We will go up," said the squire, "and look out for the hole; but, +as the stairway is rather dark, we shall not see much; therefore we +shall be obliged to feel our way." + +They ascended, and escaped without injury. A little short man met +them at the door, holding in his hand a paper bearing some +resemblance to a map. + +"Really, Mr. Smith, I feared you would lose that 'ere bargain I +expatiated on. I 'ave received many good offers, but 'ave reserved +it for you. Your friend, ha?" he continued, at the same time +striking Mr. Short in no gentle manner upon the shoulder. + +"Not friend Hay, but friend Short," replied the squire. + +"Hall the same, only an error in the spelling," resumed the broker. +"Good-morning, Mr. Short; s'pose you 'ave become 'quainted with the +rare chance I've offered, an't ye? and wish to accept it, don't ye? +and can pay for it, can't ye? Such an opportunity is seldom met +with, by which to make one's fortune." + +"Well," replied Mr. Short, improving the time Mr. Gull stopped to +breathe, "well, I had some idea of so doing." "Hidea!" quickly +responded the broker; "why will you 'esitate? read that!" and he +handed a paper to Mr. Short which paper he kept for reference, and +pointed out to him an article which read as follows: + +"It is astonishing what enormous profits are at present realized by +traders in Eastern Land. One of our neighbors purchased a thousand +acres, at one dollar and twenty-five cents per acre, of Gull, our +enterprising broker, and sold it yesterday for the round sum of +three thousand dollars, receiving thereby the enormous profit of +nineteen hundred and seventy-five dollars. He was a poor man, but by +this lucky movement has become rich." + +As soon as our hero had read this cheering intelligence, he became +elated with the prospect, and soon came to a final agreement with +the squire to accept the offer. Papers were drawn up, signed by +each, and a check given to the broker, for which was returned a deed +for the land. They then left the office, Mr. Gull politely bidding +them good-by, with a caution to look out for the "'ole." They did +look out for the hole, but it might have been that the cunning +broker referred to a hole of more consequence than that in the +stairs. The squire on that day invited Mr. Short to his house to +dine. This, however, he did not accept, but returned to his shop. +One week had passed away, during which time the squire was often at +the shop of Bob Short, but no customer had yet applied for the land. +It was near dusk on the eighth day succeeding the purchase, as they +were talking over the best way by which to dispose of it, when a +short man entered, wrapped up in a large cloak, and a large bushy +fur cap upon his head. + +"I understand," said he, "you have a few acres of land you wish to +dispose of." + +"Exactly so," answered the squire. + +"And how much do you charge per acre?" inquired the stranger. + +"That depends upon the number you wish. Do you wish to purchase +all?" + +"That depends upon the price charged," was the reply. + +"If you wish all," continued Mr. Smith, "we will sell for four +dollars an acre. That is dog cheap, and a great sacrifice." + +"Well," resumed the stranger, "I will take it on conditions; +namely, I will pay you your price, and if the land answers my +purpose I will keep it,--if not, you will return me the amount of +money I pay." + +"That is rather a hard bargain. I know it to be good land," answered +the squire. + +"Then," continued the stranger, "if you know it to be good, +certainly there can be no danger in disposing of it on the +conditions I have named." + +After a few moments' conversation with Mr. Short, they agreed to +sell to the stranger. Papers were immediately drawn up and signed by +Messrs. Smith and Short, agreeing to return the money provided the +land did not give satisfaction. The sum of twelve thousand dollars +was paid in cash to the signers, and the papers given into the hands +of the purchaser, who then left. Robert Short on that night did +really feel rich. This was six thousand dollars apiece; after Mr. +Short had paid the fifteen hundred borrowed, he had forty-five +hundred left. Both were equally certain that the land would give +entire satisfaction, and acted according to this belief. With a +light heart he went home, and communicated the joyful intelligence +to his wife, who had from the first been opposed to the trade. He +did not, however, inform her of the terms on which he had sold. In a +few days he had disposed of his shop and tools to one of his former +workmen. Many were surprised when the sign of "Robert Short" was +taken from its long resting-place over the door. Mr. Short now began +to think the house in which he had for many years resided was not +quite good enough, and therefore engaged a larger and more expensive +one. He ordered new furniture, purchased a carriage and horses, and +had his new house fitted out under the direction of his friend, the +squire. He rented a large store; bought large quantities of shoes +and leather, partly on credit. His business at first prospered, but +in a short time became quite dull; his former customers left, and +all business seemed at a stand-still. In the mean time, the broker +had left town, having sold out his office to a young man. Matters +stood thus, when, early in the morning on a pleasant day in June, as +the squire and Mr. Short were seated in the counting-room of the +latter, a man dressed in a light summer dress entered. + +"Good-morning," said the visitor. "Business is quite lively, I +suppose?" + +"O, it's moderate, nothing extra," replied Mr. Short; "won't you be +seated?" + +The stranger seated himself. + +"Mr. Robert Short is your name, is it not?" he inquired. + +"It is, sir." + +"Did I not make a bargain with you about some eastern land, a few +months since?" + +"Yes, some person did;" and Mr. Short immediately recognized him as +the purchaser. The new comer then took from his pocket the paper of +agreement, and presented it for the inspection of the two gentlemen. + +"Are you not satisfied with your bargain?" inquired Mr. Smith. + +"Not exactly," replied the stranger, laughing. + +"Why, what fault is there in it?" + +"Well," replied the stranger, "I suppose a report of my examination +will be acceptable." + +"Certainly, sir," replied Mr. Short. + +"Then I can give it in a few words. It is a good watering place, +being WHOLLY COVERED WITH WATER; and is of no value unless it could +be drained, and that, I think, is impossible." + +The squire was astonished; Mr. Short knew not what to + +"What is the name of the water bought for land?" inquired Squire +Smith. + +"The location of it is in a large pond of water, twelve miles in +length, and about six in width, and is known in those parts by the +name of the 'Big Pond.' But," continued the stranger, "I must be +gone; please return me my money, according to agreement." + +After some talk, the stranger agreed to call the next day. The next +day came, and with it came the stranger. Mr. Short had tried in vain +to obtain the requisite sum, and was obliged to request him to call +the next day. He came the next day, and the next, and the next, but +received no money; and he was at length obliged to attach the +property of the squire, as also that of Mr. Short. His other +creditors also came in with their bills. All the stock of Mr. Short +was sold at auction, and he was a poor man. He obtained a small +house, that would not compare with the one he had lived in in former +years. He had no money of his own, and was still deeply in debt. He +was obliged to work at such jobs as came along, but at length +obtained steady employment. The squire, who was the prime cause of +all his trouble, sailed for a foreign port, leaving all his bills +unpaid, In a short time Mr. Short obtained a sufficient sum to buy +back his old shop, in which to this day he has steadily worked, with +a vivid remembrance of the consequence of speculation. + + + + + + +RETROSPECTION. + + + + + + HE had drank deep and long from out + The bacchanalian's bowl; + Had felt its poisonous arrows pierce + The recess of his soul; + And now his footsteps turned to where + His childhood's days were cast, + And sat him 'neath an old oak tree + To muse upon the past. + Beneath its shade he oft had sat + In days when he was young; + Ere sorrow, like that old oak tree, + Its own deep shadows flung; + Beneath that tree his school-mates met, + There joined in festive mirth, + And not a place seemed half so dear + To him, upon the earth. + The sun had passed the horizon, + Yet left a golden light + Along a cloudless sky to mark + A pathway for the night; + The moon was rising silently + To reign a queen on high, + To marshal all the starry host, + In heaven's blue canopy. + In sight the schoolhouse stood, to which + In youth he had been led + By one who now rests quietly + Upon earth's silent bed. + And near it stood the church whose aisles + His youthful feet had trod; + Where his young mind first treasured in + The promises of God. + There troops of happy children ran + With gayety along; + 'T was agony for him to hear + Their laughter and their song. + For thoughts of youthful days came up + And crowded on his brain, + Till, crushed with woe unutterable, + It sank beneath its pain. + Pain! not such as sickness brings, + For that can be allayed, + But pain from which a mortal shrinks + Heart-stricken and dismayed: + The body crushed beneath its woe + May some deliverance find, + But who on earth hath power to heal + The agony of mind? + O Memory! it long had slept; + But now it woke to power, + And brought before him all the past, + From childhood's earliest hour. + He saw himself in school-boy prime; + Then youth, its pleasures, cares, + Came up before him, and he saw + How cunningly the snares + Were set to catch him as he ran + In thoughtless haste along, + To charm him with deceitful smiles, + And with its siren song: + He saw a seeming friendly hand + Hold out the glittering wine, + Without a thought that deep within + A serpent's form did twine. + Then manhood came; then he did love, + And with a worthy pride + He led a cherished being to + The altar as his bride; + And mid the gay festivity + Passed round the flowing wine, + And friends drank, in the sparkling cup, + A health to thee and thine. + A health! O, as the past came up, + The wanderer's heart was stirred + And as a madman he poured forth + Deep curses on that word. + For well he knew that "health" had been + The poison of his life; + Had made the portion of his soul + With countless sorrows rife. + Six years passed by-a change had come, + And what a change was that! + No more the comrades of his youth + With him as comrades sat. + Duties neglected, friends despised, + Himself with naught to do, + A mother dead with anguish, and + A wife heart-broken too. + Another year-and she whom he + Had promised to protect + Died in the midst of poverty, + A victim of neglect. + But ere she died she bade him kneel + Beside herself in prayer, + And prayed to God that he would look + In pity on them there: + And bless her husband, whom she loved, + And all the past forgive, + And cause him, ere she died, begin + A better life to live. + She ceased to speak,--the husband rose, + And, penitent, did say, + While tears of deep contrition flowed, + "I'll dash the bowl away!" + A smile passed o'er the wife's pale face, + She grasped his trembling hand, + Gave it one pressure, then her soul + Passed to a better land. + He, bent to kiss her pale cold lips, + But they returned it not; + And then he felt the loneliness + And sorrow of his lot. + It seemed as though his life had fled; + That all he called his own, + When her pure spirit took its flight, + Had with that spirit flown. + She had been all in all to him, + And deep his heart was riven + With anguish, as he thought what woe + He her kind heart had given. + But all was passed; she lay in death, + The last word had been said, + The soul had left its prison-house, + And up to heaven had fled; + But 't was a joy for him to know + She smiled on him in love, + And hope did whisper in his heart, + "She'll guard thee from above." + He sat beneath that old oak tree, + And children gathered round, + And wondered why he wept, and asked + What sorrow he had found. + Then told he them this sad, sad tale, + Which I have told to you; + They asked no more why he did weep, + For they his sorrow knew. + And soon their tears began to fall, + And men came gathering round, + Till quite a goodly company + Beneath that tree was found. + The wanderer told his story o'er, + Unvarnished, true and plain; + And on that night three-score of men + Did pledge them to abstain. + + + + + + +NATURE'S FAIR DAUGHTER, BEAUTIFUL WATER. + + + + + + NATURE'S fair daughter, + Beautiful water! + O, hail it with joy, with echoes of mirth, + Wherever it sparkles or ripples on earth. + Down from the mountain, + Up from the fountain, + Ever it cometh, bright, sparkling and clear, + From the Creator, our pathway to cheer. + Nobly appearing, + O'er cliffs careering, + Pouring impetuously on to the sea, + Chanting, unceasing, the song of the free. + See how it flashes + As onward it dashes + Over the pebbly bed of the brook, + Singing in every sequestered nook. + Now gently falling, + As if 't were calling + Spirits of beauty from forest and dell + To welcome it on to grotto and cell. + Beauteous and bright + Gleams it in light, + Then silently flows beneath the deep glade, + Emblem of life in its sunshine and shade. + Beautiful water! + Nature's fair daughter! + Where'er it sparkles or ripples on earth, + Hail it with joy and with echoes of mirth. + + + + + + +THE TEST OF FRIENDSHIP. + + + + + + BRIGHTEST shine the stars above + When the night is darkest round us; + Those the friends we dearest love + Who were near when sorrow bound us. + When no clouds o'ercast our sky, + When no evil doth attend us, + Then will many gather nigh, + Ever ready to befriend us. + But when darkness shades our path, + When misfortune hath its hour, + When we lie beneath its wrath, + Some will leave us to its power. + Often have we seen at night, + When the clouds have gathered o'er us, + One lone star send forth its light, + Marking out the path before us. + Like that star some friendly eye + Will beam on us in our sorrow; + And, though clouded be our sky, + We know there'll be a better morrow. + We know that all will not depart, + That some will, gather round to cheer us: + Know we, in our inmost heart, + Tried and faithful friends are near us. + Brother, those who do not go + May be deem‚d friends forever; + Love them, trust them, have them know + Nothing can your friendship sever. + + + + + + +WEEP NOT. + + + + + + WEEP not, mother, + For another + Tie that bound thyself to earth + Now is sundered, + And is numbered + With those of a heavenly birth. + She hath left thee. + God bereft thee + Of thy dearest earthly friend; + Yet thou'lt meet her, + Thou wilt greet her + Where reunions have no end + Her life's true sun + Its course did run + From morn unto meridian day; + And now at eve + It takes its leave, + Calmly passing hence away. + Watch the spirit- + 'T will inherit + Bliss which mortal cannot tell; + From another + World, my mother, + Angels whisper, "All is well." + 'Way with sadness! + There is gladness + In a gathered spirit throng; + She, ascended, + Trials ended, + Joins their ranks and chants their song. + Weep not, mother, + For another + Tie doth bind thyself above; + Doubts are vanished, + Sorrows banished, + She is happy whom you love. + + + + + + +RICH AND POOR. + + + + + +"GOOD-BY, Ray, good-by," said George Greenville; and the stage wound +its way slowly up a steep ascent, and was soon lost to view. + +"Well, well, he has gone. Glad of it, heartily glad of it! When will +all these paupers be gone?" said the father of George, as he entered +the richly-furnished parlor, and seated himself beside an open +window. + +"Why so glad?" inquired George, who listened with feelings of regret +to the remark. + +"Why?" resumed the owner of a thousand acres; "ask me no questions; +I am glad,--that's enough. You well know my mind on the subject." + +"Father, act not thus. Is this a suitable way to requite his +kindness?" + +"Kindness!" interrupted the old man; "say not 't was kindness that +prompted him to do me a favor; rather say 't was his duty,--and of +you should I not expect better things? Did I allow you to visit +Lemont but to become acquainted with such a poverty-stricken, +pauper-bred youth as Ray Bland?" + +Saying this, he arose and left the room. + +George seated himself in the chair vacated by his father. He looked +across the verdant fields, and mused upon his passionate remarks. +"Well," thought he, "I was right; shall I allow the god of Mammon to +bind me down? Of what use are riches, unless, whilst we enjoy, we +can with them relieve the wants and administer to the necessities of +our fellow-men? Shall we hoard them up, or shall we not rather give +with a free hand and a willing heart to those who have felt +misfortune's scourging rod,--who are crushed, oppressed and trampled +upon, by not a few of their more wealthy neighbors?" In such a train +of thought he indulged himself till the hour of dinner arrived. + +George Greenville had formed an acquaintance with Ray Bland whilst +on a visit to a neighboring town. He was a young man, possessing +those fine qualities of mind that constitute the true gentleman. His +countenance beamed with intelligence, and his sparkling eye betrayed +vivacity of mind, the possession of which was a sure passport to the +best of society. When the time came that George was to return home +to the companionship of his friends, they found that ties of +friendship bound them which could not be easily severed, and Ray +accepted the invitation of George Greenville to accompany him, and +spend a short time at the house of his father. The week had passed +away in a pleasant manner. The hour of parting had come and gone; +The farewell had been taken, the "good-by" had been repeated, when +the conversation above mentioned passed between him and his father. + +The family and connections of George were rich; those of Ray were +poor. The former lived at ease in the midst of pleasures, and +surrounded by all the comforts and conveniences of life; the latter +encountered the rough waves of adversity, and was obliged to labor +with assiduity, to sustain an equal footing with his neighbors. Thus +were the two friends situated; and old Theodore Greenville scorned +the idea of having his son associate with a pauper, as he termed all +those who were not the possessors of a certain amount of +money,--without which, in his opinion, none were worthy to associate +with the rich. + +"Ray is a person not so much to be hated and sneered at as you would +suppose," said George, breaking the silence, and addressing his +father at the dinner-table. + +"George, I have set my heart against him," was the reply. + +"Then," continued the first speaker, "I suppose you are not open to +conviction. If I can prove him worthy of your esteem and confidence, +will you believe?" + +"That cannot be done, perhaps. You may think him to be a worthy +young man; but I discard the old saying that poverty is no disgrace! +I say that it is; and one that can, if its victim choose, be washed +away. Ray Bland is a pauper, that's my only charge against him; and +all the thundering eloquence of a Cicero will not alter my opinion, +or move me an iota from the stand I have taken,--which is, now and +ever, to reject the company of paupers. It is my request that you do +the same." + +Amelia, the sister of George, now joined in the conversation, +inquiring of her father whether it was against his will for her to +associate with the poor. + +"Precisely so," was the brief reply; and the conversation ended. The +father left the house for a short walk, as was his custom, whilst +George and Amelia retired to the parlor, and conversed, for a long +time, upon the rash and unjust decision of their parent. The mutual +attachment that existed between George and Ray was not looked upon +with indifference by the sister of the former; and she determined +upon using all the means in her power to bring the latter into the +good will of her father; she resolved, like a noble girl, to cherish +a social and friendly feeling toward the friend of her brother. He +who knows the warmth of a sister's affection can imagine with what +constancy she adhered to this determination. The command of her +father not to associate with the poor only served to strengthen her +resolution, for she knew with what obstacles her brother would have +to contend. She had a kind heart, that would not allow a +fellow-being to want, so long as she had, or could obtain, the means +to relieve him. + +"Do you think father was in earnest in what he said?" inquired +Amelia. + +"I have no reason to doubt his sincerity," replied George; "but what +led you to ask such a question?" + +"Because, you know, he often speaks ironically; and, as he left the +dinner-room with mother, he smiled, and said something about the +poor, and a trick he was about to play." + +"True, Amelia," replied George, "he is to play a trick; but it +concerns not us. You know poor old Smith is one of father's tenants. +Smith has been sick, and has not been able to procure funds with +which to pay his rent, and father intends to engage a person to take +out all the doors and windows of the house. He hopes Smith will thus +be forced to leave. I have been thinking whether we cannot devise +some plan to prevent the poor man from being turned thus abruptly +from the house." + +"I am sure we can," replied Amelia; "yet I had much rather have a +trick played upon us than upon poor Smith. Can you not propose some +way by which we can prevent father from carrying out his +intentions?" + +"I will give you the money," replied George, "if you will convey it +to Mr. Smith, so that he will be enabled to pay his rent. Recollect +it must be carried in the night, and this night, as father expects +to commence his operations to-morrow or next day. You know that I +cannot go, as my time will be fully occupied in attending upon some +important business at home." It was not necessary to make this offer +more than once. The heart of Amelia bounded with joy, as she +anticipated being the bearer of the money to Smith; and, shortly +after dark, being provided with it, she proceeded to his house. + +It was a dark night. The moon was obscured by thick clouds, and no +twinkling star shone to guide her on her errand of mercy. As she +drew near the lonely dwelling of Paul Smith, she perceived no light. +She feared that he might be absent. Stealthily along she crept, and, +listening at the door, heard the voice of prayer, imploring aid and +support during the trials of life, that relief might soon be sent. +Amelia silently opened the door, and placed the money on a table, +accompanied with a note to Smith, requesting him not to disclose the +manner in which he received it, and, as silently withdrawing, wended +her way home. As she entered the parlor, she found her father and +brother engaged in earnest conversation,--so earnest that she was not +at first noticed. + +"Confound my tenants!" said Mr. Greenville. "There's old Paul Smith; +if to-morrow's sun does not witness him bringing my just dues, he +shall leave,--yes, George, he shall leave! I am no more to be trifled +with and perplexed by his trivial excuses. All my tenants who do not +pay shall toe the same mark. I'll make them walk up, fodder or no +fodder! Ha, ha, ha! old Smith shall know that I have some principle +left, if I have passed my sixtieth year-that he shall! Slipnoose, +the lawyer, shall have one job." + +"You are always visiting your friends, George. It seems as though +all are your friends. Yet I don't blame you, for friends are very +happy appendages to one's character. I pity the man who lives a +friendless life. That's the reason I have been such a friend to +Smith,--but no longer!" As he said this the wealthy landlord left the +room. + +Amelia related to her brother an account of her adventure, and both +were thankful that they been instrumental in relieving the wants of +their poor neighbors. The next morning, seated at the table, Mr. +Greenville began again to express his opinion respecting poor people +in general, and Paul Smith in particular, when a loud rap at the +door somewhat startled him. In a few moments a servant entered, and +gave information that a person was at the door who wished to see Mr. +Greenville. Arriving there, the landlord encountered his tenant, +Smith, who immediately told him that by some kind providence he was +enabled to pay him his due, and hoped that in future he should be +prompt in his payments. + +The landlord took the money, and, looking it over, handed him a +receipt for the same, and returned to the breakfast-table. Nothing +was said about Smith until Mr. Greenville, as he left the room, +remarked "that he did not know but that Smith meant well enough." + +Nearly a month had elapsed and nothing had been heard of Ray Bland, +when, on a certain morning, Mr. Greenville came in and handed George +a letter. Upon opening it, George found it to be written by his +friend Ray, informing him of his safe arrival home, thanking him for +the kind attention he received during his visit, and expressing +great pleasure in soon having another opportunity to visit him. +George communicated this intelligence to Amelia, and they determined +upon using their united efforts in endeavoring to bring over the +kind feelings of their father to their young, but poor, friend. + +"It's no use for you to talk," said old Mr. Greenville, after a long +conversation with the two; "the die is cast. I have resolved, and +all the arguments you can bring forward will not cause me to break +my resolution." + +"Well," remarked George, "perhaps the day will come when you will +deeply regret forming such a resolution. Perhaps the sunshine of +prosperity will not always illumine our path." + +"Be that as it may," interrupted Mr. Greenville, "we will not allow +our imagination to wander forth into the mystical regions of the +future, or picture to ourselves scenes of wretchedness, if such +await us. Flatter me not with the good intentions of Ray Bland." + +Months passed away, and the children of the proud Mr. Greenville +forbore to mention in the presence of their father aught concerning +their friend Ray Bland, or to excite the anger of the old gentleman +by combating his prejudices against the poor. + +Months passed away, and again Ray Bland found himself beneath the +roof of his former friend. He was received by George and Amelia with +the cordiality that had ever marked his intercourse with them; but +the father was, if possible, more morose and sullen than usual. + +Ray had several times made the attempt to know the cause of this +coldness, but as often as he alluded to it George would invariably +turn the subject; and he forbore to question further, content with +the happiness which he enjoyed in the society of those he held so +dear. + +It was the evening of a fine day in the early spring, that the three +friends sat together. It was the last evening of his visit, and Ray +expected not to return for a long time. Alone in his study, the +father vented his indignation against paupers, which respect for his +daughter's feelings only prevented in the presence of their visitor. +He opened the casement. Clouds were gathering in the sky, and now +and then a faint flash of lightning illumined the increasing +darkness; and the far-off voice of the storm was audible from the +distance, each moment increasing in strength and violence. Soon the +storm was upon them. + +The old gentleman retired to his apartment. Each moment the storm +increased in violence, and in vain did he strive to close his eyes +in sleep. + +At length a flash more vivid, accompanied by a peal of thunder more +terrific than any that had preceded it, startled the inmates of the +mansion. The wind howled terribly, and the old trees groaned and +creaked about the dwelling with a fearful and terrific sound. + +Within all was still and quiet. No word was spoken, for it was a +fearful night, and in fear and dread they suspended their +conversation. + +Amelia first broke the silence. "Something must be burning," +exclaimed she. In an instant the cry of fire was heard. All started +up and rushed to the door; and there, indeed, they were witnesses of +a sight which might well appall. The whole upper part of the house +was in flames. Instantly the cause flashed upon them. The house had +been struck and set on fire by lightning. "My father! O, my father!" +shrieked Amelia, and fell fainting to the floor. Quick as the word +came the thought of Ray Bland that the aged Mr. Greenville might be +in danger; and ere George Greenville had borne his sister to a place +of safety, through flame and smoke had Ray Bland reached the chamber +which he knew the old gentleman occupied. It was locked. One blow of +his foot, with all the force he could muster, and locks and bolts +gave way. The room was nearly enveloped in flames, the curtains of +the window and bed had been consumed, and now the flames had seized +the wood-work and burned with great fury. Upon the floor, prostrate +as if dead, lay the proud man, who scorned and detested the poor, +and who had boasted of being beyond the reach of adversity. To lift +him in his arms and bear him to the street was the work of an +instant. He had only been stunned, and the drenching rain through +which he was carried soon revived him. Ray bore him to the house of +poor Smith, the nearest to his own; and there, with feelings of +anguish which cannot be described, surrounded by his children and +neighbors, the old man learned a lesson which his whole previous +life had not taught, of the dependence which every member of society +has upon the whole. While his riches were taking wings to fly away +even before his own eyes, he felt how foolish and wicked was his +past conduct; and ever after the poor found no warmer friend or more +liberal hand than that of old George Greenville. + +In the course of a few months a new and spacious building was +erected upon the site of the one destroyed; and the neighbors say +that the pretty cottage which is being built just over the way is to +be the future residence of Ray Bland and the fair Amelia, whose +aristocratic father now knows no distinction, save in merit, between +the rich and poor. + + + + + + +THE HOMEWARD BOUND. + + + + + + SLOWLY he paced the vessel's whitened deck, + While thoughts of hours, and days, and scenes long past, + Brought forth from fountains well-nigh dry a tear: + For in imagination he could see + Himself a tiny boy, in childish sport + Upon a river's bank, quite near his home, + Chasing the butterfly, whose gaudy dress + Lured him away, till, wearied with the chase, + Upon some mossy stone he sat him down; + Or, in some rippling brook, beneath the shade + Of some tall oak, he bathed his parched brow; + Then up he sprang, retraced his wandering steps, + Yet heedless ran, and could not leave his play. + And since that day what scenes had he passed through, + What trials met, what sights his eyes beheld! + Beneath the burning skies of torrid zones, + On frozen banks of Nova Zembla's coast, + Or the more fertile climes of Italy; + There, where the luscious grape in fulness hangs, + And fields of roses yield a rich perfume; + 'Mid orange-groves whence sweetest odors rise, + 'Neath branches burdened with their fragrant fruit, + Forth he had wandered. + Mark the semblance now! + For much there is between his childish course + Upon the river's bank and his later + Wanderings. Then, he chased the butterfly. Now, + His inclination led to a pursuit + More bold, adventurous, and far more grand. + Ambition filled his soul. Sometimes he ran + In vain; and so it was in boyhood's days; + And thus 't is plainly seen that childhood hours + Are but an index of our future life, + And life an index of that yet to come. + As on the vessel swept, a tear would 'scape + Forth from its hidden cell, and trickle down + The sailor's deeply-furrowed cheek, to bathe + Those recollections with the dew of Thought! + Some deem it weak to weep. Away the thought! + It is not weakness when Affection's fount + O'erflows its borders, and to man displays + The feelings that its powers cannot conceal. + It is not weakness when our feeble words + Find utterance only in our flowing tears. + Call not such language "weakness"! Worlds may laugh, + Yet know no joy like that which often flows + In silent tears. + As nearer drew the seaman to his home, + As in the distance first he saw the spot + Where childhood's hours in happiness were spent, + His slow pace quickened to a faster walk, + And, had he had the power, he'd walked the waves, + And bravely dashed the intrusive spray aside, + To reach the much-loved spot more rapidly + Than wind and tide urged on his noble bark. + + + + + + +THE POOR OF EARTH. + + + + + + I'VE often wondered, as I've sat + Within mine own loved home, + And thought of those, my fellow-men, + Who houseless, homeless, roam; + That one upon this earth is found + Whose heart good promptings smother; + And will not share his wealth with him + Who is his poorer brother! + I've often wondered, as I've walked + Amid life's busy throng, + And seen my fellows who have been + By Fortune helped along, + That they who bask in its bright rays + No tear of pity shed + On him who doth no "fortune" seek, + But asks a crust of bread! + I've seen the gilded temple raised, + The aspirant of fame + Ascend the altar's sacred steps, + To preach a Saviour's name, + And wondered, as I stood and gazed + At those rich-cushioned pews, + Where he who bears the poor man's fate + Might hear Salvation's news. + I've walked within the church-yard's walls, + With holy dread and fear, + And on its marble tablets read + "None but the rich lie here." + I've wandered till I came upon + A heap of moss-grown stones, + And some one whispered in mine ear, + "Here rest the poor man's bones." + My spirit wandered on, until + It left the scenes of earth; + Until I stood with those who'd passed + Through death, the second birth. + And I inquired, with holy awe, + "Who are they within this fold, + Who seem to be Heaven's favorite, + And wear those crowns of gold?" + Then a being came unto me, + One of angelic birth, + And in most heavenly accents said, + "Those were the poor of earth." + Then from my dream I woke, but + Will ne'er forget its worth; + For ever since that vision + I have loved "the poor of earth." + And when I see them toiling on + To earn their daily bread, + And dire oppression crush them down, + Till every joy hath fled,-- + I mind me of that better world, + And of that heavenly fold, + Where every crown of thorns gives place + Unto a crown of gold. + + + + + + +IF I DON'T, OTHERS WILL. + + + + + + "IF I don't make it, others will; + So I'll keep up my death-drugged still. + Come, Zip, my boy, pile on the wood, + And make it blaze as blaze it should; + For I do heartily love to see + The flames dance round it merrily! + "Hogsheads, you want?-well, order them made; + The maker will take his pay in trade. + If, at the first, he will not consent, + Treat him with wine till his wits are spent; + Then, when his reason is gone, you know + Whate'er we want from his hands will flow! + "Ah, what do you say?-'that won't be fair'? + You're conscientious, I do declare! + I thought so once, when I was a boy, + But since I have been in this employ + I've practised it, and many a trick, + By the advice of my friend, Old Nick. + I thought 't was wrong till he hushed my fears + With derisive looks, and taunts, and jeers, + And solemnly said to me, 'My Bill, + If you don't do it, some others will!' + "If I don't sell it, some others will; + So bottles, and pitchers, and mugs I'll fill. + When trembling child, who is sent, shall come, + Shivering with cold, and ask for rum + (Yet fearing to raise its wet eyes up), + I'll measure it out in its broken cup! + "Ah! what do you say?-'the child wants bread'? + Well, 't is n't my duty to see it fed; + If the parents will send to me to buy, + Do you think I'd let the chance go by + To get me gain? O, I'm no such fool; + That is not taught in the world's wide school! + "When the old man comes with nervous gait, + Loving, yet cursing his hapless fate, + Though children and wife and friends may meet, + And me with tears and with sighs entreat + Not to sell him that which will be his death, + I'll hear what the man with money saith; + If he asks for rum and shows the gold, + I'll deal it forth, and it shall be sold! + "Ah! do you say, 'I should heed the cries + Of weeping friends that around me rise'? + May be you think so; I tell you what,-- + I've a rule which proves that I should not; + For, know you, though the poison kill, + If I don't sell it, some others will!" + A strange fatality came on all men, + Who met upon a mountain's rocky side; + They had been sane and happy until then, + But then on earth they wished not to abide. + The sun shone brightly, but it had no charm; + The soft winds blew, but them did not elate; + They seemed to think all joined to do them harm, + And urge them onward to a dreadful fate. + I did say "all men," yet there were a few + Who kept their reason well,--yet, weak, what could they do? + The men rushed onward to the jagged rocks, + Then plunged like madmen in their madness o'er; + From peak to peak they scared the feathered flocks, + And far below lay weltering in their gore. + The sane men wondered, trembled, and they strove + To stay the furies; but they could not do it. + Whate'er they did, however fenced the drove, + The men would spring the bounds or else break through it, + And o'er the frightful precipice they leaped, + Till rock and tree seemed in their red blood steeped. + One of the sane men was a great distiller + And one sold liquors in a famous city; + And, by the way, one was an honest miller, + Who looked on both their trades in wrath and pity. + This good "Honestus" spoke to them, and said, + "You'd better jump; if you don't, others will." + Each took his meaning, yet each shook his head. + "That is no reason we ourselves should kill," + Said they, while very stupid-brained they seemed, + As though they of the miller's meaning never dreamed. + + + + + + +NOT MADE FOR AN EDITOR. + +BEING A TRUE ACCOUNT OF AN INCIDENT IN THE HISTORY OF THE STUBBS FAMILY. + + + + + +MR. and MRS. STUBBS were seated at the side of a red-hot cylinder +stove. On one side, upon the floor, a small black-and-white dog lay +very composedly baking himself; on the other, an old brown cat was, +in as undisturbed a manner, doing the same. The warmth that existed +between them was proof positive that they had not grown cold towards +each other, though the distance between them might lead one to +suppose they had. + +In one corner of the room was the bust of a man, whose only +existence was in the imagination of a miserable ship-carver, who, in +his endeavors to breathe life into his block, came near breathing +life out of himself, by sitting up late at night at his task. In the +other hung a crook-necked squash, festooned with wreaths of +spider-webs. Above the mantel-piece was suspended a painting +representing a feat performed by a certain dog, of destroying one +hundred rats in eight minutes. The frame in which this gem of art +was placed was once gilt, but, at the time to which we refer, was +covered with the dust of ages. + +Mr. Stubbs poked the fire. Mrs. Stubbs poked the dog, when suddenly +the door flew open, and their son entered with blackened eyes, +bloody hands; bruised face and dirty clothes, the most +belligerent-looking creature this side of the "Rio Grande." + +"My voice a'nt still for war, it's loud for war," he said, as, with +a braggadocia sort of air, he threw his cap at the dog, who clenched +it between his teeth, shook it nearly to tatters, and then passed it +over to the cat. + +"What's the matter now, Jake?" said Mrs. Stubbs. "Always in +trouble,--fights and broils seem to be your element. I don't know, +Jake, what will become of you, if you go on at this rate. What say +you, father?" + +Mr. Stubbs threw down the poker, and casting a glance first at his +hopeful son, and then at his hoping wife, replied that Jake was an +ignorant, pugnacious, good-for-nothing scamp, and never would come +to anything, unless to a rope's end. + +"O, how can you talk so?" said his wife. "You know it's nat'ral." + +"Nat'ral!" shouted the father; "then it's ten times worse-the harder +then to rid him of his quarrelsome habits. But I've an idea," said +he, his face brightening up at the thought, as though he had +clenched and made it fast and sure. + +The mother started as by an electric shock. The boy, who had retired +into one corner in a sullen mood, freshened up, and looked at his +father. The ship-carver's fancy sketch brightened up also; but not +of its own free will, for the force with which Mr. Stubbs brought +his hand in contact with the table caused the dirty veil to fall +from the bust-er's face. + +"What is it?" inquired Mrs. Stubbs, with much animation. + +"Why, my dear woman, as we can do nothing with him, we'll make him +an editor." + +The old lady inquired what that was; and, being informed, expressed +doubts as to his ability. + +"Why," said she, "he cannot write distinctly." + +"What of that?'-let him write with the scissors and paste-pot. Let +him learn; many know q great deal more after having learned." + +"But he must have some originality in his paper," said Mrs. Stubbs, +who, it seemed, did not fall in with the general opinion that "any +one can edit a paper." + +"Never fear that," said Mr. Stubbs; "he'll conduct anything he takes +hold of, rather than have that conduct him. I'll tell you what, old +woman, Jake shall be an editor, whether he can write a line of +editorial or not. Jake, come here." + +Jake, who had nearly forgotten his fight, was elated at the +proposition of his father, and, being asked whether, in his opinion, +he could conduct a paper with ability, originality and success, +replied, in the slang phrase of the day, that he "could n't do +anything else," at the same time clenching his fist, as though to +convince his sire that he could do something else, notwithstanding. + +"As I have never asked you any question relative to public affairs, +and as the people of this generation are getting to be wise, I deem +it right that I should ask you a few questions before endeavoring to +obtain a situation. Now, Jake, who is the President of the United +States?" + +"General George Washington," replied the intelligent lad, or rather +young man; for, though he indulged in many boyish tricks, he was +about twenty years of age, a short, dull-looking member of the +"great unwashed." The father intimated that he was mistaken; the son +persisted in saying that he was not. + +"Never mind the catechizer," said Jake; "I'll conduct a newspaper, I +will, for Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs never see the day I could n't conduct +anything." + +"That's bright," said Mrs. Stubbs; "he possesses more talent than I +was aware of; he'll make an editor." + +"An' he shall," said the father, resolutely. + +The clock struck nine, which was the signal for Mr. and Mrs. Stubbs +to retire, and they did so. No sooner had they left than their +dutiful son mounted the table, and, taking down the fancy bust, +pulled the dog by the tail to awake him, and set him barking at it. +The cat must have her part in the tragedy, so Jake thought; and, +pulling her by the tail, she was soon on the field of action. + +"Now, sist-a-boy, Tozer; give her an editorial," said he; and, as +dog and cat had been through the same performance before, they acted +their parts in manner suiting. The dog barked, the cat snapped and +snarled, and Jake Stubbs stood by rubbing his hands in a perfect +ecstasy of delight. + +It is needless for us to relate the many curious adventures Mr. +Stubbs met with whilst searching for a situation for Jake. + +His endeavors to find a situation such as he wanted were, for a long +time, ineffectual. At length he blundered into a small +printing-office, where three men and a boy were testing the merits +of half a dozen doughnuts, and a bottle of root beer. + +Mr. Stubbs was very sorry to disturb them. When he mentioned his +errand, one of the men-a tall fellow, with check shirt and green +apron-said that he had, for a long time, contemplated starting a +paper, but, as he was not capable of editing one, he had not carried +out his intention. The principal reason why he had not published +was, he was poor; business had not prospered in his hands, and an +outlay of two thousand dollars would be needed to commence and +continue the paper. + +"Very well," replied Mr. Stubbs, "that is a large sum; but, if there +is no doubt of its being returned, I might think of loaning it to +you, for the sake of getting my talented son into business." + +"Not the least doubt, not the least," replied Mr. Pica; and he so +inflamed the imagination of Mr. Stubbs, that, strange as it may seem +to the cautious reader, he wrote a check for the amount, merely +taking the unendorsed note of Mr. Pica as security; then, hastening +home, he told Mrs. Stubbs to brush up the boy, for he was an editor. + +Behold, now, Mr. Jake Stubbs in a little room up three pair of +stairs, preparing "copy" for the first number of "The Peg Top, or +the Buzz of the Nation." He hasn't got black eyes now; all the +blackness of his person, if not of his character, has settled in his +fingers, and they are black with ink. Not all settled, for a few +daubs of the "blood of the world," as the dark fluid has been +called, were to be seen on his forehead, having passed there from +his fingers, when leaning upon them in a pensive mood, vainly +endeavoring to bring up thoughts from the mighty depths of his +intellect,--so mighty, in fact, that his thoughts were kept there, +and refused to come up. + +Mr. Jake Stubbs had been cutting and pasting all day, when, thinking +it a little too severe to inflict further duty upon the assistant +editor, he took his pen in hand, resolved upon writing a masterly +article as a leader. + +A sheet of blank paper had lain on the table before him for nearly +an hour. He would sit and think. Some idea would pop into his head, +then with a dash would the pen go into the ink, but before he could +get his pen out the idea had flown, and the world was the loser. +Then he threw himself back into his chair,--thought, thought, +thought. At length Jake obtained the mastery, as patience and +perseverance always will, and the pen became his willing slave, +though his mind, being the slave-driver, did not hurry it on very +fast. He was able to pen a few words, and wrote "The war with +Mexico-" + +Well, he had got so far; that was very original, and if he never +wrote anything else, would stamp him a man of talent. Into the ink, +on the paper, and his pen wrote the little word are. "The war with +Mexico are." Ten minutes more of steady thought, and three more +words brought him to a full stop. "The war with Mexico are a +indisputable fact." That last but one was a long word, and a close +observer could have seen his head expand with the effort. + +"Copy, sir, copy!" shouted the printer's boy, as he stood with his +arms daubed with ink, and a straw hat upon his head that had seen +service, and looked old enough to retire and live on a pension. + +"Copy what?" inquired the editor, who began to feel indignant, +imagining that the publisher had seen his labor to write an article, +and had sent him word to copy from some paper. + +"Here," said he, "take this to Mr. Pica, and tell him 't is +original, and gives an account of the war with Mexico, with news up +to this date." + +The boy took it, trudged up stairs with two lines of MS., and the +editor arose and walked his office, as though his labors were o'er, +and he might rest and see some mighty spirit engrave his name upon +the scroll of fame. + +He had crossed the floor half a dozen times, when in came the same +youth, shouting "Copy, sir, copy!" + +"Copy what?" shouted Jake, laying hold of the boy's shirt-sleeve. +"Tell me what you want copied! tell me, sir, or I will shake your +interiors out of you-" + +The boy was small, but spunky. His education had been received at +the corners of the streets. He had never taken lessons of a +professor, but he had practised upon a number of urchins smaller +than himself, and had become a thoroughly proficient and expert +pugilist. + +It was not for Bill Bite to be roughly handled by any one, not even +by an editor. So he pushed him from him, and said, + +"I want copy; that's a civil question,--I want a civil answer." + +Jake's organ of combativeness became enlarged. He sprang at the boy, +grasped him by the waist, and would have thrown him down stairs, had +not a movement the boy made prevented him. + +Bill's arms were loose, and, nearing the table, he took the inkstand +and dashed the contents into the face of his assailant. + +"Murder!" shouted the editor. + +"Copy!" shouted the boy; and such a rumpus was created, that up came +Mr. Pica, saying that the building was so shaken that an article in +type on the subject of "Health and Diet" suddenly transformed itself +into "pi." + +The two belligerents were parted; the editor and Master Bill Bite +stood at extremes. At this crisis who should enter but Mr. Stubbs, +senior, who, seeing his son's face blackened with ink, inquired the +cause rather indignantly; at which Mr. Pica, not recognizing in the +indignant inquirer the father of the "talented editor," turned +suddenly about and struck him a blow in the face, that displaced his +spectacles, knocked off his white hat into a pond of ink, and made +the old fellow see stars amid the cobwebs and dust of the ceiling. + +The son, seeing himself again at liberty, flew at the boy, and gave +him "copy" of a very impressive kind. + +Down from the shelves came dusty papers and empty bottles, whilst up +from the printing-office came the inmates, to learn the cause of +the disturbance. + +A couple of police-officers passing at the time, hearing the noise, +entered, and one of them taking Mr. Stubbs, senior, and the other +Mr. Stubbs, junior, bore them off to the lock-up. + +This affair put a sudden stop to "The Buzz of the Nation." The first +number never made its appearance. + +Mr. Pica, having obtained the amount of the check, went into the +country for his health, and has not been heard from since. + +Elder Stubbs and Stubbs the younger paid a fine of five dollars +each; and when they reached home and related to Mrs. Stubbs the +facts in the case, she took off her spectacles, and, after a few +moments' sober thought, came to the sage conclusion that her son +Jake was not made for an editor. + + + + + + +HERE'S TO THE HEART THAT'S EVER BRIGHT. + + + + + + HERE'S to a heart that's ever bright, + Whatever may betide it, + Though fortune may not smile aright, + And evil is beside it; + That lets the world go smiling on, + But, when it leans to sadness, + Will cheer the heart of every one + With its bright smile of gladness! + A fig for those who always sigh + And fear an ill to-morrow; + Who, when they have no troubles nigh, + Will countless evils borrow; + Who poison every cup of joy, + By throwing in a bramble; + And every hour of time employ + In a vexatious scramble. + What though the heart be sometimes sad! + 'T is better not to show it; + 'T will only chill a heart that's glad, + If it should chance to know it. + So, cheer thee up if evil's nigh, + Droop not beneath thy sadness; + If sorrow finds thou wilt not sigh, + 'T will leave thy heart to gladness. + + + + + + +MORNING BEAUTY. + + + + + + BRIGHTLY now on every hill + The sun's first rays are beaming, + And dew-drops on each blade of grass + Are in their beauty gleaming. + O'er every hill and every vale + The huntsman's horn is sounding, + And gayly o'er each brook and fence + His noble steed is bounding. + There's beauty in the glorious sun + When high mid heaven 't is shining, + There's beauty in the forest oak + When vines are round it twining; + There's beauty in each flower that blooms, + Each star whose light is glancing + From heaven to earth, as on apace + 'T is noiselessly advancing. + Beauties are all around thy path, + And gloriously they're shining; + Nature hath placed them everywhere, + To guard men from repining. + Yet 'mong them all there's naught more fair, + This beauteous earth adorning, + Than the bright beauty gathering round + The early hours of morning. + + + + + + +THE RECOMPENSE OF GOODNESS. + + + + + + WHEN our hours shall all be numbered, + And the time shall come to die, + When the tear that long hath slumbered + Sparkles in the watcher's eye, + Shall we not look back with pleasure + To the hour when some lone heart, + Of our soul's abundant treasure, + From our bounty took a part? + When the hand of death is resting + On the friend we most do love, + And the spirit fast is hasting + To its holy home above, + Then the memory of each favor + We have given will to us be + Like a full and holy savor, + Bearing blessings rich and free. + O, then, brother, let thy labor + Be to do good while you live, + And to every friend and neighbor + Some kind word and sweet smile give. + Do it, all thy soul revealing, + And within your soul you'll know + How one look of kindly feeling + Cause the tides of love to flow. + + + + + + +BRIDAL SONGS. + +TO THE WIFE. + + + + + + LET a smile illume thy face, + In thy joyous hours; + Look of sympathy be thine, + When the darkness lowers. + He thou lovest movest where + Many trials meet him; + Waiting be when he returns, + Lovingly to greet him. + Though without the world be cold, + Be it thy endeavor + That within thy home is known + Happiness forever. + TO THE HUSBAND. + WHATSOEVER trials rise, + Tempting thee to falter, + Ne'er forget the solemn vows + Taken at the altar. + In thy hours of direst grief, + As in those of gladness, + Minister to her you love, + Dissipate her sadness. + Be to cheer, to bless, to love, + Always your endeavor; + Write upon your heart of hearts + Faithfulness forever. + + + + + + +THE JUG AFLOAT. + + + + + +"WHAT I tell thee, captain, is sober truth. If thee wishes to +prosper, thee must not allow thy sailors grog, lest, when at sea, +they become tipsy, and thy ship, running upon hidden rocks, shall be +lost; or else, when at the mast-head, giddiness come upon them, and, +falling, thy crew shall number one less." + +Thus spake a good old Quaker, a native of the city of Penn. Captain +Marlin had been for many days and nights considering whether it were +best to carry a complement of wine for himself and friends, and grog +for his crew. He had that morning met Simon Prim, and asked his +opinion, which he gave as above; yet Captain Marlin seemed +undetermined. He felt it to be an important question, and he desired +to come to a right conclusion. + +They had been passing up Broadway; had reached the Trinity, crossing +over towards Wall-street. Simon, with his usual gravity, raised his +hand, and, pointing to the towering steeple of the splendid edifice, +said: + +"If thou, neighbor, desired to ascend yonder spire, thinkest thou +thou wouldst first drink of thy wine, or thy grog?" + +"Certainly not," replied Captain Marlin. + +"Then," continued the Quaker, "do not take it to sea with thee; for +thou or thy men mayest be called to a spot as high as yonder +pinnacle, when thee little thinkest of it." + +The two walked down Wall-street without a word from either, till, +reaching a shipping-office, Captain Marlin remarked that he had +business within. The Quaker very politely bowed, and bade him take +heed to good counsel, and good-day. + +The owner of the vessel was seated in an arm-chair, reading the +shipping news in the Journal. + +"Did you know," said he, as his captain entered, "that Parvalance & +Co. have lost their ship, 'The Dey of Algiers,' and none were saved +but the cabin-boy, and he half dead when found?" + +"Indeed not; when-where-how happened it?" inquired Captain Marlin, +in some haste. + +"On a voyage from Canton, With a rich cargo of silks, satins, teas, +&c. The boy says that the men had drank rather too much, and were +stupidly drunk,--but fudge! Captain Marlin, you know enough to know +that no man would drink too much at sea. He would be sure to keep at +a good distance from a state of intoxication, being aware that much +was intrusted to his care which he could not well manage whilst in +such a state." + +"Perhaps so," said Captain Marlin, doubtingly. "Mr. Granton, this +touches a question I have been for days considering. It is, whether +I shall allow my men grog." + +"Of course, of course!" answered the ship-owner; "nothing so good +for them round the Cape. You know the winds there, rather tough +gales and heavy seas. Cold water there, Mr. Marlin! Why, rather give +them hot coffee with ice crumbled in it, or, carry out a cask of +ice-cream to refresh them! Man alive, do you think they could live +on such vapor? You talk like one who never went to sea, unless to +see a cattle-show." + +Captain Marlin could not refrain from laughing at such reasoning, +yet was more than half inclined to favor it. He was fond of his +wine, and being, as such folks generally are, of a good disposition, +he wished to see all men enjoy themselves, especially when at sea. +He wished evil to no man, and had he thought that liquor might +injure any of his crew, he would not that morning, in that office, +have come to the conclusion to have it on board the "Tangus." + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +On a bright, clear morning, a deeply-freighted ship started from a +New York slip; a fair wind bore it swiftly down the bay, and a few +minutes' sail found it far from sight of the metropolis of the +Union. Friends had taken the last glimpse of friends, the last +interchange of kindly feelings had passed, and deep waters now +separated them. It was the "Tangus," Robert Marlin captain, with a +picked crew, and bound for the coast of Sumatra. Simon Prim shook +his head, as he with others turned and walked home. "'T is a pity +men will not see evil and flee from it," said he, and he pulled his +straight coat-collar up, and thrust his hands more deeply than ever +into his pockets. He was a little startled by a light tap upon the +shoulder, and quite a happy voice exclaiming, "Why, Mr. Prim, how +are you?" + +"Verily, neighbor; thou didst move me; but I was thinking so deeply +of Captain Marlin and his success, that no wonder thy light touch +should do so." + +"But what of him, Prim?" + +"His ship, the Tangus, has just left, bound on a long voyage, and +with a quantity of deadly poison on board, with which to refresh the +crew. I tell thee, neighbor, I have fears for the result. The jug +may possibly stand still when on land, but when it's afloat it's +rather unsteady." + +"Very true, but you seem to express unusual anxiety in regard to +Captain Marlin and his good ship; thousands have been just as +imprudent." + +"But not in these days of light and knowledge, friend. There have +been enough sad examples to warn men not to trifle on such subjects. +Twenty years ago I drank. We had our whiskey at our funerals and our +weddings. I have seen chief mourners staggering over the grave, and +the bridegroom half drunk at the altar; but times are changed now, +and thank God for the good that has been effected by this +reformation!" + +"You speak true, Simon; and I wonder Captain Marlin could, if he +considered the evils brought about by intoxicating drink, carry it +to sea with him." + +"I told him all as I tell it to thee, friend Jones. He asked my +opinion, and I gave it him, yet it seems he thought little of it. +Good-day, neighbor; I have business with a friend at the 'Croton,' +good-day;" and, saying this, Mr. Prim walked up a bye street. + +Jones walked on, and thought considerable of the Quaker's last +words. His mind that day continually ran upon the subject. Indeed, +he seemed unable to think of anything else but of a jug afloat, and +at night spoke of it to his wife. + +The wife of Captain Marlin had that day called upon Mrs. Jones, and, +although her husband had scarcely got out of sight, looked with +pleasure to the day of his return, and already anticipated the +joyous occasion. There is as much pleasure in anticipation as in +realization, it is often said, and there is much truth in the +saying. We enjoy the thought of the near approach of some wished for +day, but when it arrives we seem to have enjoyed it all before it +came. + +Mrs. Jones was far from thinking it wrong in Captain Marlin that he +carried liquor with him on his voyage, and gave it as her opinion +that the vessel was as safe as it could possibly be without it. + +"Remember what I say, that is a doomed ship," said Mr. Jones, after +some conversation on the subject. + +"You are no prophet, my dear," said his wife, "neither am I a +prophetess; but I will predict a pleasant voyage and safe return to +the Tangus." With such opposite sentiments expressed, they retired. + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +Insensible to all that is beautiful in nature, and grand and +majestic in the works of creation, must the heart of that man be who +can see no beauty, grandeur, or majesty, in the mighty abyss of +waters, rolling on in their strength-now towering like some vast +mountain, and piling wave upon wave, till, like pyramids dancing on +pyramids, their tops seem to reach the sky; then sinking as deep as +it had before risen, and again mounting up to heaven. There's beauty +in such a scene, and no less when, calm and unruffled, the setting +sun sinks beneath the horizon, and for miles and miles leaves its +long, glistening track upon the unmoved waters. + +'T was so when the crew of the "Tangus" were assembled upon the deck +of that noble ship. The day previous had been one of hard labor; the +vessel had bravely withstood the storm, and seemed now to be resting +after the contest. Not a ripple was to be seen. Far as the eye could +reach, was seen the same beautiful stillness. So with the crew; they +were resting, though not in drowsy slumberings. + +"I say what, Bill," remarked one, "'An honest man's the noblest work +of God,' somebody says, and that's our captain, every inch, from +stem to stern, as honest as Quaker Prim, of Gotham." + +"Ay, ay, Jack," said another; "and did you hear how that same Prim +tried to induce Captain Marlin to deprive us of our right?" + +"Grog, you mean?" + +"Ay, ay." + +"No; but how was it?" + +"Arrah, the dirty spalpeen he was, if he was afther a trying for to +do that-the divil-" + +"Will Mr. McFusee wait? By the way, Jack, he, Prim, got him by the +button, and began to pour into his ears a long tirade against a +man's enjoying himself, and, by the aid of thee, thy, and thou, half +convinced the old fellow that he must give up all, and live on +ice-water and ship-bread." + +"Did?" + +"Ay, ay, you know Captain Marlin. He always looks at both sides, +then balances both, as it were, on the point of a needle, and +decides, as Squire Saltfish used to say, 'cording to law and +evidence." + +"By the powers, he's a man, ivery inch, from the crown of his hat to +the soles of his shoes, he is." + +"Mr. McFusee, will you keep still?" said Mr. Boyden, the narrator. +Mr. McFusee signified that he would. + +"Well, he balanced this question, and the evidence against flew up +as 't were a feather; but down went the evidence for, and he +concluded to deal every man his grog in due season." + +"That's the captain, all over," remarked Jack. + +As we before said, their labors the day previous were great, and, as +a dead calm had set in, and the vessel did not even float lazily +along, but remained almost motionless,--not like a thing of life, but +like a thing lifeless,--the captain ordered the crew each a can of +liquor, and now they sat, each with his measure of grog, relating +stories of the past, and surmises of the future. + +"I tell you what," said Jack Paragon, "these temperance folks are +the most foolish set of reformers myself in particular, and the +United States, Texas, and the Gulf of Mexico, in general, ever saw." + +"Even so," remarked Mr. Boyden, "but they do some good. 'Give the +devil his due,' is an old saw, but none the less true for that. +There's Peter Porper, once a regular soaker, always said his +'plaints were roomatic,--rum-attic, I reckon, however, for he used to +live up twelve pairs of stairs,--he and the man in the moon were +next-door neighbors; they used to smoke together, and the jolly +times they passed were never recorded, for there were no newspapers +in those dark ages, and the people were as ignorant as crows. Well, +one of these temperance folks got hold of him, and the next I saw of +him he was the pet of the nation; loved by the men, caressed by the +women-silver pitchers given him by the former, and broadcloth cloaks +by the latter." + +"No selfish motives in keeping temperate!" said Jack Rowlin, +ironically. + +"Can't say; but liquor never did me harm. When I find it does, I +will leave off." + +"That's the doctrine of Father Neptune-drink and enjoy life." + +"Every man to his post!" shouted the captain, as he approached from +the quarterdeck. Quick to obey, they were where they were commanded +in an instant, each with his tin can half filled with liquor. +Captain Marlin, seeing this, ordered them to drink their grog or +throw it overboard; they chose the former mode of disposing of it, +and threw their empty cans at the cook. + +In the distance a small black speck was decried. + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + +The sun had set in clouds. The heavens were hung in darkness. Ever +and anon a peal of thunder echoed above, a flash of vivid lightning +illumed the waters, and far as eye could see the waters tossed high +their whitened crests. The winds blew stormy, and now heavy drops of +rain fell upon the deck of the "Tangus." "Every man to his duty!" +shouted the captain; but the captain's voice was not obeyed. + +Objects at two feet distance could not be seen. Louder that voice +was heard. "Every man to his duty,--save the ship!" + +"Captain, what is my duty?" inquired the cook. + +"I appoint you under officer. Search for the men, and, if they are +not all washed over, tell them I order them to work. If they do not +know it, tell them the ship's in danger, and they must work." + +The storm was fast increasing, till, at length, instead of +blackness, one sheet of livid flame clothed the heavens above. Now +all could be seen, and the captain busied himself. But two of the +crew were to be seen, and they lay as senseless as logs. They heeded +not the rage of the storm. The terrific peals of thunder awoke them +not-they were dead drunk! + +By the time the storm commenced, the liquor they had drank began to +have its effect. Four of the crew, who were usually wide awake-that +is, uncommonly lively-when intoxicated, had unfortunately fell +overboard, and were lost. + +The captain had now food for reflection, but the time and place were +not for such musings. + +He endeavored to arouse them, but in vain; so, with the aid of the +only sober man aboard besides himself, he conveyed them to a place +of safety. In the mean time the ship strained in every joint, and he +momentarily expected to find himself standing on its wreck. + +The waves washed the deck, and everything movable, cook-house and +all, went by the board. The only hope of safety was in cutting away +the masts, and to this task they diligently applied themselves. All +night the captain and cook worked hard, and when morning came they +found the storm abating. Soon the sun shone in its brightness; but +what a scene did its light reveal! The once stately ship dismasted; +four men, including the mate of the vessel, lost, and two lying +insensible in the cabin. + +It was not strange that the question came home to the mind of +Captain Marlin, with force, "Is it right to carry liquor for a +ship's crew?" He need ask the opinion of no one; he could find an +answer in the scene around him. + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + + +"Then thy ship has put in for repairs?" said Simon Prim, as he +entered Granton & Co.'s office, on Wall-street. + +"What?" exclaimed Mr. Granton, who had heard nothing of the matter. +Simon, pulling a paper from his pocket, read: + +"LOSS OF LIFE AT SEA.--By a passenger in the 'Sultan,' from--, we +are informed that the ship 'Tangus,' from this port, bound to +Sumatra, and owned by Messrs. Granton & Co., of this city, put in at +that place in a dismasted condition. + +"The 'Tangus' had been three weeks out, when, in a gale, four men +were washed overboard. The remainder of her crew being insensible, +and the whole duty falling upon the captain and cook, they with +great difficulty managed the ship. It is rumored that all were +intoxicated. This is the seventh case of loss at sea, caused by +intemperance, within four months. When will men become wise, and +awake to their own interests on this topic?" + +The ship-owner rapidly paced his office. "Can it be?" said he to +himself. "Can it be?" + +"Give thyself no trouble, friend," said Prim; "what is done is done, +and can't be undone. Thy ship is not lost, and things are not so bad +as they might be. Look to the future, and mourn not over the past; +and remember that it is very dangerous to have a jug afloat." + +These few words somewhat quieted him, yet not wholly, At this moment +the wife of Captain Marlin entered. Having heard of the news, she +came to learn all that was known respecting it. + +"Madam," said he, after relating all he knew, "my mind is changed on +the question we some time since discussed. Yes, madam, my mind is +changed, and from this hour I will do all I can to exterminate the +practice of carrying grog to sea for the crew. And I tell thee +what," he continued, turning to friend Prim, who stood near by, "I +tell thee what, thee was right in thy predictions; and, though it +has been a dear lesson to me, I have learned from it that it is poor +policy that puts a jug afloat." + + + + + + +GIVE, AND STAY THEIR MISERY. + + + + + + WOULD ye who live in palace halls, + With servants round to wait, + Know aught of him who, craving, falls + Before thine outer gate? + Come with me when the piercing blast + Is whistling wild and free, + When muffled forms are hurrying past, + And then his portion see. + Come with me through the narrow lanes + To dwellings dark and damp, + Where poor men strive to ease their pains; + Where, by a feeble lamp, + The wearied, widowed mother long + Doth busy needle ply, + Whilst at her feet her children throng, + And for a morsel cry. + Come with me thou in such an hour, + To such a place, and see + That He who gave thee wealth gave power + To stay such misery! + Come with me,--nor with empty hand + Ope thou the poor man's door; + Come with the produce of thy land, + And thou shalt gather more. + + + + + + +THE SPIRIT OF MAN. + + + + + + YE cannot bind the spirit down; + It is a thing as free + As the albatross-bird that wings + Its wild course o'er the sea. + Go, bind the lightning, guide the sun, + Chain comets, if you can; + But seek not with thy puny strength + To bind the soul of man. + Though all the powers of earth combine, + And all their strength enroll, + To bind man's body as they will, + They cannot bind his soul. + No power on earth can hold it down, + Or bid it hither stay, + As up to heaven with rapid course + It tireless wings its way. + Time is too limited for it, + And earth is not its clime; + It cannot live where sound the words, + "There is an end to time." + It seeks an endless, boundless sphere, + In which to freely roam; + Eternity its course of life, + Infinity its home. + There, there will it forever live; + And there, a spirit free, + 'T will range, though earth may pass away, + And Time no longer be. + + + + + + +PAUSE AND THINK. + + + + + + O! HOW many souls are sorrowing + In this sunlit world, to-day, + Because Wrong, heaven's livery borrowing, + Leadeth trusting souls astray; + Because men, all thoughtless rushing, + Dance along on Error's brink, + And, the voice of conscience hushing, + Will not for a moment think! + 'T is the lack of thought that bringeth + Man to where he needs relief; + 'T is the lack of thought that wringeth + All his inner self with grief. + Would he give a moment's thinking + Ere his every step is made, + He would not from light be shrinking, + Groping on in Error's shade! + Think, immortal! thou art treading + On a path laid thick with snares, + Where mischievous minds are spreading + Nets to catch thee unawares. + Pause and think! the next step taken + May be that which leads to death; + Rouse thee! let thy spirit waken; + List to, heed the word it saith! + Think, ere thou consent to squander + Aught of time in useless mirth; + Think, ere thou consent to wander, + Disregarding heaven-winged truth. + When the wine in beauty shineth, + When the tempter bids thee drink, + Ere to touch thy hand inclineth, + Be thou cautious-pause and think! + Think, whatever act thou doest; + Think, whatever word is spoke; + Else the heart of friend the truest + May be by thee, thoughtless, broke. + How much grief had been prevented, + If man ne'er had sought to shrink + From the right:-to naught consented, + Until he had paused to think! + + + + + + +LITTLE NELLY. + + + + + +MATILDA was a fashionable girl,--a young lady, perhaps, would be the +more respectable name by which to call her. She had been reared in +affluence. She had never known a want. She had had wants, but she +did not know it. She had wanted many things that make a lady's life +indeed a life. But Matilda never dreamt of such things. + +It was n't fashionable to love the outcast, and therefore she +bestowed no pitying look on them. It was n't fashionable to give a +few pennies even to a poor, lame orphan girl in the street. So she +pretended not to have noticed the plea of little Nelly, who had +accosted her during her morning rambles. + +"Little Nelly." I remember how she looked when at twilight she sat +down on a curb-stone to count the money. She looked sorrowful. She +was, indeed, worthy of pity; but little she got. The crowd went +hurrying, hustling on: few thoughts came down to little Nelly, on +the curb-stone. It had been a gala day. Red flags had flaunted on +high poles, and there had been a great noise of drums and fifes, and +everybody had seemed happy. Why, then, should sorrow come, with its +dark lantern, and look in the face of this little girl? + +I will tell you. + +There was a poor woman whose husband had been killed in Mexico. She +lived in one small room in a secluded part of the city, and by means +of her needle, and such assistance as was given to her daughter, who +diligently walked the streets, selling apples, she managed to live +in a style which she denominated "comfortable." Thus, for upwards of +one year, she toiled and lived, and was thankful for all her many +blessings. + +But sickness came; not severe, but of that kind that bears its +victim along slowly to rest. She was unable to do much. She did not +wish to do much; but she sat day by day, yea, night by night often, +and diligently pursued the avocation that brought her daily bread. + +Weeks passed, and yet she was ill. One morning, she called her +daughter to her side, and, taking her hand in her own, said: + +"Little Nelly, 't is Independence day, to-day. You heard the guns +fire, and the bells ring, and the shouts of the happy children, this +morning, before you arose. I watched you as you lay listening to all +these, and I asked myself, Will my little Nelly be happy? and I +thought I heard my mother's voice;--she died long, long ago, but I +thought I heard her voice right at my side, saying, 'We shall all be +happy soon;' and I wept, for I could not help it. + +"But I've called you now, Nelly, to tell you that I'm much better +this morning, and that, if you can get twenty-five cents to-day, we +will have a happy time to-night." + +Little Nelly looked happy for a moment, but soon a shadow came over +her face; for she could not comprehend the meaning of her mother +when she said she was "better," for she looked more feeble than she +had ever seen her since the news of how her father was shot in the +face at Monterey was told her. + +But she tried to be cheerful. She tried to smile, but, O, it was +very hard; and she got her mother's breakfast, and, having cleared +the things away, took her little basket, and her mother's purse, and +went out. + +It was, indeed, a happy day without. There was joy depicted on every +countenance, and the general happiness infused some of its spirit +into the heart of our little trader. She seemed almost lost in the +great crowd; and there were so many dealers about, and so many that +presented greater attractions in the display of their stock, that +few bought of little Nelly. + +It was late in the afternoon, and she had sold but a little, when +she encountered a young lady gayly dressed, in whose hand was +prominently displayed a bead purse, through the interstices of which +the gold and silver glistened. + +Nelly held out her humble purse, in which no beads were wrought, +through which no coin glistened,--she held it up, and ventured to +ask, in pleasant tones, a few pennies of the lady. But not a penny +for little Nelly. Not even a look recognized her appeal, but costly, +flowing robes rushed by, and nearly prostrated her; they did force +her from the sidewalk into the gutter. + +Go on, ye proud and selfish one! Go, bend the knee to Fashion's +altar, and ask a blessing of its presiding spirit! Bestow no pitying +glance on honest poverty; no helping hand to the weak and falling! +There is a law which God hath written on all his works, proclaiming +justice, and giving unto all as they shall ask of him. Pass on, and +heed not that little praying hand; but remember you cannot do so +without asking of that law its just requital. + +Nelly walked on. She mingled again with the great mass, and twilight +came. It was then that she sat down, as I have before stated, to +count her money. She had but thirteen cents. All day she had sought +to dispose of her stock, that she might carry to her mother the sum +named, with which to have a happy time at home. And now the day had +gone; the night was drawing its great shadowy cloak about the earth, +and Nelly had but about one half of the required sum. What should +she do? + +It was at this moment I met her. I stooped down, and she told me all +her story;--told me all her sorrow,--a great sorrow for a little +breast like hers. I made up the trifling amount, and, taking her by +the hand, we went together towards her home. + +Reaching the house, we entered, and were met on the stairs by an old +lady, who whispered in my ear, "Walk softly." I suspected in a +moment the reason why she asked me thus to walk. She then led the +way. She tried to keep back the little girl, but she could not. She +hurried up the stairs, and through a long, dark entry, to a door, +which she quickly opened. + +Nelly sprang to the bed on which lay her mother. I heard a sigh-a +sob. It was from the child. The mother spoke in a tone so joyous +that I was at first surprised to hear it from one who, it was +supposed, was near her end. But I soon found it was no matter of +surprise. + +How clear and fair was that face! How pleading and eloquent those +eyes, as they turned, in all their full-orbed brightness, upon me, +as I approached the bedside of the mother of Nelly! There were +needed no words to convey to my mind the thoughts that dwelt within +that soul, whose strength seemed to increase as that of the body +diminished. + +With one of her pale hands she took mine; with the other, that of +her daughter. + +"Blessings on you both!" she said. "Nelly, my dear Nelly, my +faithful, loving Nelly, I am much better than I was; I shall soon be +well, and what a happy time we will have to-night! I hear that voice +again to-night, Nelly. Don't you hear it? It says, 'We shall all be +happy soon.' I see a bright star above your head, my child; and now +I see my mother. She is all bright and radiant, and there is a +beauty around her that I cannot describe. Nelly, I am better. Why, I +feel quite well." + +She sprang forward, and, with her hands yet clasping Nelly's and my +own, she stretched her arms upward. There was a bright glow of +indescribable joy upon her features. She spoke calmly, sweetly +spoke. "We shall all be happy soon-happy soon-happy-" then fell back +on the pillow, and moved no more-spoke not again. + +She was indeed happy. But, Nelly-she was sad. For a long time she +kept her hand in that of her mother. She at length removed it, and +fell upon the floor, beneath the weight of her new sorrow. Yet it +was but for a moment. Suddenly she sprang up, as if imbued with +angelic hope and peace. We were surprised to see the change, and to +behold her face beam with so much joy, and hear her voice lose its +sadness. We looked forth with that inner sight which, on such +occasions, seems quickened to our sense, and could see that mother, +and that mother's mother, bending over that child, and raising her +up to strength and hope, and a living peace and joy. + +Nelly's little purse lay on the floor, where she had dropped it when +she came in. The old nurse picked it up, and laid it on a stand +beside the bed. A tear stole out from beneath the eyelids of the +child as she beheld it, and thought how all day she had worked and +walked to get the little sum with which her mother and she were to +be made happy on that Independence night. I called her to me. We sat +down and talked over the past, the present and the future, and I was +astonished to hear the language which her pure and gentle, patient +soul poured forth. + +"Well, sir," she said, "we are happy to-night, though you think, +perhaps, there is greater cause for sorrow. But mother has gone from +all these toiling scenes. She will work no more all the long day, +and the night, to earn a shilling, with which to buy our daily +bread. She has gone where they have food that we know not of; and +she's happy to-night, and, sir, we shall all be happy soon. We shall +all go up there to live amid realities. These are but shadows here +of those great, real things that exist there; and I sometimes think, +when sitting amid these shadows, that it will be a happy time when +we leave them, and walk amid more substantial things." + +Thus she talked for some time. + +Having rendered such assistance as I could, I left. The next day +there was a funeral, and little Nelly was what they called "the +chief mourner;" yet it seemed a very inappropriate name for one +whose sorrow was so cheerful. There were but few of us who followed; +and, when we reached the grave, and the face of the earthly form was +exposed to the sunlight for the last time, little Nelly sung the +following lines, which I had hastily penned for the occasion: + + + + + + +WE SHALL ALL BE HAPPY SOON. + + + + + + Dry our tears and wipe our eyes! + Angel friends beyond the skies + Open wide heaven's shining portal, + Welcome us to joys immortal. + Fear not, weep not, ours the boon; + We shall all be happy soon! + Hark! a voice is whispering near us; + 'T is an angel-voice to cheer us; + It entreats us not to weep, + Fresh and green our souls to keep; + And it sings, in cheerful tune, + We shall all be happy soon. + Thus through life, though grief and care + May be given us to bear, + Though all dense and dark the cloud + That our weary forms enshroud, + Night will pass, and come the noon, + We shall all be happy soon. + +When the last line of each verse was sung, it was no fancy thought +in us, in Nelly more than all others, that suggested the union of +other voices with our own; neither was it an illusion that pictured +a great thing with harps, repeating the words, "We shall all be +happy soon." + +The sexton even, he who was so used to grave-yard scenes, was doubly +interested; and, when the last look was taken, and Nelly seemed to +look less in the dark grave and more up to the bright sky above her +than those in her situation usually do, I saw him watch her, and a +tear trickled down his wrinkled face. + +As we turned to leave, I asked him why he wept. His features +brightened up. "For joy, for joy," said he. "I have put away the +dead here for forty long years; but I never beheld so happy a burial +as this. It seems as though the angels were with that child. She +looks so heavenly." + +Perhaps they were. And why say "perhaps"? Do we not know they are +ever round us, and very near to such a one as Nelly, at such a time? + + + + + + +REUNION. + + + + + + WHEN we muse o'er days departed, + Lights that shone but shine no more, + Friends of ours who long since started + O'er the sea without a shore; + Journeying on and journeying ever, + Their freed spirits wing their flight, + Ceasing in their progress never + Towards the fountain-head of light; + Oft we wish that they were near us,-- + We might see the friends we love,-- + Then there come these words to cheer us, + "Ye shall meet them all above." + When the sun's first ray approacheth, + Ushering in the noonday light; + When the noise of day encroacheth + On the silence of the night; + When the dreams depart that blest us + In the hours forever fled,-- + In which friends long gone carest us, + Friends we number with the dead,-- + Comes this thought, Ye ne'er shall hear them, + Ne'er shall see the friends ye love; + Voices say, "Ye shall be near them, + With them in the world above." + When within the grave's enclosure + Ye do drop the silent tear, + Tremble not at its disclosure, + Myriad spirits hover near. + Hark! they whisper, do ye hear not, + Mingling with your rising sighs, + Words that bid you hope, and fear not, + Angel-voices from the skies? + And as dust to dust returneth,-- + That which held the gem you love,-- + Thine afflicted spirit learneth + It will meet that gem above. + Thus whene'er a friend departeth + In my soul I know 't is right; + And, although the warm tear starteth, + As he passes from my sight, + I do know that him I cherish + Here on earth shall never die; + That, though all things else shall perish, + He shall live and reign on high. + And, that when a few hours more + Shall have passed, then those I love, + Who have journeyed on before, + I shall meet and greet above. + + + + + + +THE VILLAGE MYSTERY. + + + + + +ABOUT fifty miles from a southern city, about five years ago, a most +mysterious personage seemed to fall from the clouds into the midst +of a circle of young ladies, whose hours and days were thenceforth +busily employed in quizzing, guessing, pondering and wondering. + +He was a tall, graceful-formed gentleman, wearing a +professional-looking cloak, and buff pants, tightly strapped over +boots of delicate make, polished up to the very highest capabilities +of Day and Martin. He had no baggage; which fact led some +wise-headed old ladies to report him to be a gentleman of leisure, a +literary millionaire, it might be, who was travelling through "the +States" for the purpose of picking up items for a book on "Ameriky." +The old men wagged their heads, and looked most impenetrably +mysterious. The young men became jealous. To be sure he was not +superlatively handsome, but he had a foreign air, which was +considerable among the girls; and his appearance indicated wealth, +for his dress was of the first quality and cut. He had half a dozen +glistening rings on his hands; he wore a breast-pin of dazzling +brilliance; and every time he moved a chained lion could not have +made more noise, and clatter, and show with his fetters, than he did +with a massive double-linked chain, that danced and flirted upon his +crimson vest. + +Abby and Nelly, the belles of the place, had each had an eye upon +the new comer, since he passed by the splendid mansion of their +abode, casting a sly glance up to the open window at which they +stood. + +In a week, our foreign friend had made the circuit of all the +fashionable society of Greendale. He had drank tea with the +"Commissioners," and walked out with their amiable daughters. He had +visited the pastor, and had evinced great interest in the prosperity +of the church. He had even exhorted in the conference-meeting, and +had become so popular that some few, taking it for granted that so +devout a man must be a clergyman, had serious thoughts of asking the +old parson to leave, and the stranger to accept the pulpit,--four +hundred and eighty-two dollars a year, and a donation-party's +offerings. He had attended the sewing-circle, and made himself +perfectly at home with everybody and everything. The young men's +society for ameliorating the condition of the Esquimauxs and +Hottentots had been favored with his presence; and, likewise, with a +speech of five minutes long, which speech had, in an astonishingly +short time, been printed on pink satin and handsomely framed. + +The lower class of people, for whom the stranger talked so much, and +shed so many tears, and gave vent to so many pitiful exclamations, +but with whom, however, he did not deign to associate, were filled +with a prodigious amount of wonder at the lion and his adventures. +They gathered at Squire Brim's tavern, and at the store on the +corner, and wondered and talked over the matter. The questions with +them were, Who is he?-where did he come, and where is he going to? +They would not believe all they had heard conjectured about him, and +some few were so far independent as to hint of the possibility of +imposition. + +There were two who determined to find out, at all hazards, the name, +history, come from and go to, of the mysterious guest; and, to +accomplish their purpose, they found it necessary for them to go to +Baltimore early the subsequent morning. + +The morning came. After taking a measurement of the height, breadth +and bulk of the foreigner, as also a mental daguerreotype of his +personal appearance, they departed. + +Having been very politely invited, it is no strange matter of fact +that, just as the sun has turned the meridian, on the fifth of +March, a young man is seen walking slowly upon the shady side of +Butternut-street, Greendale. To him all eyes are directed. Boys stop +their plays, and turn their inquisitive eyes towards the pedestrian. +The loungers at Brim's tavern flock to the door, and gaze earnestly +at him; while Bridget the house-maid, and Dennis the hostler, hold a +short confab on the back stairs, each equally wondering whose +"bairn" he can be. + +As he continues on his way, he meets a couple of sociable old +ladies, with whom he formed an acquaintance at the sewing-circle. +They shake hands most cordially. + +"Abby and Nelly are waiting for you; they're expecting you," says +one of the ladies, as she breathes a blessing and bids him good-by, +with a hope that he will have a pleasant time at the deacon's. + +Let us now take a few steps in advance, and enter the hospitable +mansion to which our mysterious personage, who has given his name as +Sir Charles Nepod, is passing. + +Up these beautiful white steps walk with dainty tread. At this +highly-polished door ring with gentle hand. + +A stout serving-man answers our call, and a tittering serving-girl +scampers away and conceals herself behind the staircase, as we +enter. What, think you, can be going on? A wedding, +forsooth,--perhaps a dinner-party. + +A brace of charming girls, the deacon's only daughters, are seated +in the front parlor. We are introduced, and soon learn that they are +waiting the arrival of the talented, the benevolent Sir Charles; +and, as a matter of form and courtesy, rather than of sincerity and +hospitality, we are invited to remain and meet him in the +dining-room. We decline; bid them good-by, and leave. As we pass +out, we are hailed in a loud whisper by the man who first met us, +who glibly runs on with his talk as he leads the way, walking +sideways all the time to the door. + +"An' sirs,--sirs, dus yers know what the young Misthresses is afther? +Well, sirs, they's going' fur to hev' a greath dinner with the +furriner. Yes, sirs, with the furriner as come frum a furrin land, +and was n't born in this at all a' tall." + +As we reach the door, he steps up, whispers in our ears, "An' I +tells yer what, sirs, Kate,--that's the gal yer sees, sirs,--me and +she's goin' to see all frum the little winder beyant. This is +conveniently private to you, sirs, an' I hopes ye'll say nothing to +no one about it, sirs; 't is a private secret, sirs." + +What should induce this man to give us this information, we cannnot +conceive. However, we have no reason to doubt what he tells us, and +therefore understand that a dinner-party is to come off, with a +wedding in perspective. + +As we pass into the street, we meet Nepod. + +As he ascends the steps, the two girls, forgetting all rules of +etiquette, spring to the door, completely bewildering honest Mike, +who is at hand, and welcome the man of the age. + +"Mother and aunty have just gone out," says Nelly;--"they thought we +young folks would enjoy our dinner much better by ourselves alone." + +"How considerate!" replies the guest. "I met the good old ladies on +the street. How kind in them to be so thoughtful! How pleasantly +will pass the hours of to-day! This day will be the happiest of my +life." + +The three pass to the dining-room. Though early in March, the +weather is quite warm. In the haste of the moment, and somewhat +confused by his warm welcome, our hero has taken his hat and cloak +and laid them on a lounge near an open window. Seated at the table, +the company discourse on a variety of subjects, and the two sisters +vie with each other in doing the agreeable. + +Down town all was excitement, and a great crowd was gathered at the +tavern. The investigating committee had returned from the city, and +with the committee three men of mysterious look. To the uninitiated +the mystery that had puzzled them for so long a time grew yet more +mysterious. Nothing could be learned from the two who had returned, +respecting Sir Charles, or the additional strangers. Only dark and +mysterious hints were thrown out, rendering the whole affair more +completely befogged than before. + +Mr. Brim, the keeper of the tavern, silently conducted the new +comers out by a back passage, and soon they were seen in the same +path which Sir Charles had followed. + +One of the men quietly opened the front door of the deacon's home, +and, entering, knocked upon the door of the dining-room. A voice +said, "Come in;" and he proceeded to do so. + +In an instant, as if struck by an electric shock, the distinguished +guest sprang from the table, and leaped through the open window, +leaving his hat and cloak behind. But the leap did not injure him, +for he fell into the arms of a man who stood ready to embrace him; +and, mystery on mystery, they placed hand-cuffs on his wrists! + +Judge, if you can, of the astonishment and mortification of the +deacon's girls, when they were told that he who had been their guest +was a bold highwayman, who had escaped from the penitentiary. + +There was great ado in Greendale that afternoon and evening. Those +who had been unable to gain his attention said they knew all the +time he was a rogue. The young men's society voted to sell the frame +and destroy the printed speech; and the next Sabbath the good pastor +preached about a roaring lion that went about seeking whom he might +devour. + + + + + + +THE WAYSIDE DEATH. + + + + + +Not many years since, an old man, who had for a longtime sat by the +wayside depending upon the charity of those who passed by for his +daily bread, died a few moments after receiving an ill-mannered +reply to his request for alms. Subsequent inquiries proved that he +had been a soldier in the American Revolution. + + WHEN Freedom's call rang o'er the land, + To bring its bold defenders nigh, + Young Alfred took a foremost stand, + Resolved to gain the day or die. + And well he fought, and won the trust; + When the day's conflicts had been braved, + The foe's proud ensigns lay in dust, + While Freedom's banner victor waved. + But now he is a poor old man, + And they who with him, side by side, + Fought bravely in that little van, + Have left him, one by one,--have died. + And now to no one can he tell, + Though touched with patriot fire his tongue, + The story of those days which well + Deserve to be by freemen sung, + And cherished long as life shall last; + To childhood told, that it may know + Who braved the storm when came the blast, + And vanquished Freedom's direst foe. + He sits there on the curb-stone now, + That brave old man of years gone by; + His head 'neath age and care would bow, + But yet he raiseth it on high, + And, stretching out his feeble hands, + He asks a penny from man's purse, + Food for himself from off that land + He fought to save. Yet, but a curse + Falls from their lips to greet his ear; + And he, despairing, turns and sighs, + And bows his head,--there fills one tear, + It is the last-he dies. + Now men do rudely lift his hat, + To gaze upon his furrowed face, + And say, "It is the man who sat + Here for so long a foul disgrace." + Crowds gather round the spot to see, + And then pass idly on, and say, + To those who ask who it can be, + "'T is but a vagrant of the way." + Thus he who fought and bled to gain + The blessings which are round us strewn, + For one he asked, besought in vain, + Received man's curse, and died-unknown. + O, my own country! shall it be, + That they who through thy struggle passed, + And bore thy banner manfully, + Shall thus neglected die at last? + O, shall it be no help shall come + From thy overflowing wealth to bless? + Wilt thou be blind, wilt thou be dumb, + To pleas like theirs in wretchedness? + Answer! and let your answer be + A helping hand lowered down to raise + From want and woe those who for thee + Won all thy honor, all thy praise, + And made thee what thou art to-day, + A refuge and a hope for man; + Speak! ere the last one wings away; + Act! act while yet to-day you can. + + + + + + +BEAUTY AND INNOCENCE. + +[FOR AN ENGRAVING OF COTTAGE GIRL AND LAMB.] + + + + + + O, MAIDEN, standing in the open field, + On pasture sparkling with the morning dew! + What joy thou findest Nature now to yield + To hearts developed right,--hearts that are true! + Above is beauty, as along the sky + The dawn of light sends forth its herald ray + To arch the heavens, and myriad leagues on high + Proclaim the coming of the god of day. + Beneath is beauty; see the glistening gems + Around thy feet in rich profusion strewn; + Such as ne'er glows in kingly diadems, + Such as man's handiwork hath never shown. + Around is beauty; on each vale and hill, + In open field and in the shady wood, + A voice is whispering, soft, and low, and still, + "All, all is beautiful, for God is good." + Thou, too, art beautiful, O, maiden fair, + While Innocence within thine arms doth rest; + And thou wilt e'er be thus, no grief thou 'lt share, + If such a blessing dwell within thy breast + As that whose emblem now lies gently there. + + + + + + +NIGHT. + + + + + + I'VE watched the sun go down, and evening draw + Its twilight mantle o'er the passive earth, + And hang its robe of blue, all gemmed with stars, + High over all for mortal eyes to gaze at. + And now I come to tread this sodded earth, + To walk alone in Nature's vaulted hall; + Yet, not alone;--I hear the rustling leaf, + The cricket's note, the night-bird's early lay; + I feel the cool breeze as it fans my brow, + And scent the fragrance of the untainted air. + I love the night. There's something in its shade + That sends a soothing influence o'er the soul, + And fits it for reflection, sober thought. + It comes bearing a balm to weary ones, + A something undefinable, yet felt + By souls that feel the want of something real. + And now 't is night, and well it is that I + Am here. I stand, my hand on this old tree, + Pressing its mossy side, with no one near + I can call fellow in the human strife, + The great, unfinished drama of this life. + Alone, alone, with Nature and its God, + I'll sit me down, and for a moment muse + On busy scenes, and, like some warrior chief, + Behold, yet mingle not in earth's great acts. + To-night how various are the states of men! + Some, bowed by sickness, press their sleepless couch, + Wishing while day doth last that night would come, + And now that night is with them wish for day. + Remorse holds some in its unyielding grasp; + Despair, more cruel yet, haunts some men's souls; + Both, ministers of justice conscience sends + To do its fearful bidding in those breasts + Which have rebelled and disavowed its rule. + Perchance, a maiden happy as a queen + To-night doth fix her destiny. A happy throng + Gather around, and envy her her bliss. + They little know what magic power lies low + In the filled wine-cup as they pass it round; + They little think it plants a venomed dart + In the glad soul of her whose lips do press + Its dancing sparkles. + Sorrow's nucleus! + Round that cup shall twine memories so dark + That night were noonday to them, to their gloom. + Dash it aside! See you not how laughs + Within the chalice brim an evil eye? + Each sparkling ray that from its depth comes up + Is the foul tempter's hand outstretched to grasp + The thoughtless that may venture in his reach. + How to-night the throng press on to bend + The knee to Baal, and to place a crown + On Magog's princely head! Dollars and dimes, + A purse well-filled, a soul that pants for more; + An eye that sees a farthing in the dust, + And in its glitter plenitude of joy, + Yet sees no beauty in the stars above, + No cause for gladness in the light of day,-- + A hand that grasps the wealth of earth, and yields + For sake of it the richer stores of heaven; + A soul that loves the perishing of earth, + And hates that wealth which rust can ne'er corrupt. + How many such! How many bar their souls + 'Gainst every good, yet ope it wide to wrong! + This night they're all in arms. They watch and wait; + Now that the sun hath fled, and evening's shade + Doth follow in its path, they put in play + The plans which they in daylight have devised, + Entrapping thoughtless feet, and leading down + The flower-strewn path a daughter or a son, + On whose fair, white brow, the warm, warm moisture + Of a parent's kiss seems yet to linger. + Stay! daughter, son, O, heed a friend's advice, + Rush not in thoughtless gayety along! + Beware of pit-fills. Listen and you'll hear + From some deep pit a warning voice to thee; + For thousands low have fallen, who once had + Hopes, prospects, fair as thine; they listened, fell! + And from the depths of their deep misery call + On thee to think. O, follow not, but reach + A helping hand to raise them from their woe! + Clouds hide the moon; how now doth wrong prevail! + Wrong holdeth carnival, and death is near. + O, what a sight were it for man to see, + Should there on this dark, shrouded hour + Burst in an instant forth a noonday light! + How many who are deem‚d righteous men, + And bear a fair exterior by day, + Would now be seen in fellowship with sin! + Laughing, and sending forth their jibes and jeers, + And doing deeds which Infamy might own. + But not alone to wrong and base intrigue + Do minister these shades of night; for Love + Holds high her beacon Charity to guide + To deeds that angels might be proud to own. + Beneath the shadows that these clouds do cast, + Hath many a willing hand bestowed a gift + Its modest worth in secret would confer. + No human eye beheld the welcome purse + Dropped at the poor man's humble cottage door; + But angels saw the act, and they have made + A lasting record of it on the scroll + That bears the register of human life. + Many a patient sufferer watches now + The passing hours, and counts them as they flee. + Many a watcher with a sleepless eye + Keeps record of the sick man's every breath. + Many a mother bends above her child + In deep solicitude, in deathless love. + Night wears away, and up the eastern sky + The dawn approaches. So shall life depart,-- + This life of ours on earth,--and a new birth + Approach to greet us with immortal joys, + So gently on our inner life shall come + The light of heaven. + Time moveth on, and I must join again + The busy toil of life; and I must go. + And yet I would not. I would rather stay + And talk with these green woods,--for woods can talk. + Didst ever hear their voice? In spring they speak + Of early love and youth, and ardent hope; + In summer, of the noon of wedded life, + All buds and blossoms and sweet-smelling flowers; + In autumn, of domestic bliss with all its fund + Of ripe enjoyments, and then winter hears + The leafless trees sing mysterious hymns, + And point their long lean arms to homes above. + Yes, the old woods talk, and I might hold + A sweet communion here with them to-night. + Farewell to Night; farewell these thoughts of mine, + For day hath come. + + + + + + +NOT DEAD, BUT CHANGED. + + + + + + I SAT and mused o'er all the years gone by; + Of friends departed, and of others going; + And dwelt upon their memories with a sigh, + Till floods of tears, their hidden springs o'erflowing, + Betrayed my grief. Soon, a bright light above me, + Voices saying, "We're near thee yet to love thee," + Dispelled my tears. I raised my drooping head, + And asked, "Who, who,--the dead?" + When the angelic lost around me ranged + Whispered within my ear, "Not dead, but changed." + + + + + + +THE DISINHERITED. + + + + + +MY next door neighbor's name was Jotham Jenks. This was all I knew +about him, until the circumstance I am about to tell you occurred. + +One evening I had seated myself by my fire, and had taken up an +evening paper with which to occupy my time, until an acquaintance of +mine, who I momentarily expected, should arrive. It was +December,--cold, blustering, and by no means an agreeable time to be +out of doors, or away from a good fire. Such being the state of +affairs, as far as weather was concerned, I began to think I should +not see my friend that night, when a smart rap upon the outer door, +half a dozen times repeated, prevented me from further speculation. + +Why did n't he ring?-there was a bell. It must have been a stranger, +else he would have used it. + +Presently a servant came with the information that a stranger was at +the door with a carriage, and wished my immediate presence. + +"Request him to walk in," said I. + +"He cannot wait a moment," answered the servant;--"he wishes you to +put on your hat and coat, and go with him." + +"Where?" + +"He did not say." + +This was a strange interruption,--strange that a man, a stranger, in +fact, should call for me to go out with him on such a night; but I +mustered courage, and went out to meet him. I don't know what +induced me so readily to grant his request; but out I went, hatted, +coated and booted. As I approached, I heard the falling of steps, +and the voice of the coachman requesting me to hurry. Reaching the +carriage, I looked in and beheld Jotham Jenks. In I jumped, and +before I was seated the carriage was moving. + +The whip snapped, the wheels whirled round, and we passed through +the lighted streets with almost incredible speed. I ventured to make +an inquiry, and the reply was, + +"You are doing a good deed. My name is Jotham Jenks. Ask no +questions now." + +Thus was a veto put upon the movements of my tongue for the time +being. I, however, recognized the voice of Mr. Jenks; and though I +knew but little respecting him, I judged from his appearance that he +was a quiet, unoffending man; and such I afterwards found him. + +For thirty minutes the horses raced along, causing the water, ice +and snow, to take to themselves wings and fly upon pedestrians, +windows, and sundry other animate and inanimate objects of creation. +For myself, I began to experience some misgiving, for thus exposing +myself to what, I did not know. + +At length the carriage turned down a dark, narrow street, leading to +one of the wharves, upon which we finally found ourselves. The +driver jumped from his seat, opened the carriage-door, threw down +the steps, and we got out. + +Matters had reached a crisis. Was I to be thrown into the water? The +assurance of my companion that I was doing a good deed seemed to +disfavor this supposition, as what possible good could that do +myself or any one else? Yet, for what was I taken from a warm room, +on such a cold, dismal, dark night, and hurried to the wharf? + +"Now," said I to the stranger, "I must know the meaning of all +this,--the why and the wherefore." + +He took my hand in his. It was quite dark. I could not see, yet I +could tell by his voice that he wept, as he said, + +"In a berth in the cabin of that vessel lies a young man, far from +his home, among strangers,--sick, perhaps dying. No relative, other +than those of the great brotherhood of. mankind, is near to minister +to his wants, or to speak comfort to his troubled heart. He had been +here about two days, when I was informed of his situation by a +friend who came in the same vessel. I have brought you here that you +might listen to his statements, and assist me in assisting him. +There is much of romance in his narrative, and, as you are preparing +a volume of life-sketches, as found in town and country, I have +thought that what falls from his lips might fill a few pages with +interest and profit to your readers." + +I thanked him for his thoughtfulness. My suspicions and fears were +all allayed; I asked no more questions, but followed my friend as he +passed to the vessel, and descended the narrow stairway to the +cabin. + +A small lamp hung from the ceiling, and shed a sort of gloomy light +around. I had been in chambers of sickness, but never in a room +where more neatness was discernible, or more sufficiency for its +tenant, than in the cabin in which I then was. A sailor boy seated +by a berth indicated to me the spot where the sick man lay. We were +informed that he had just fallen into a sleep, and we were careful +not to awake him. + +But, notwithstanding all our care, our movements awoke him. He gazed +around as one often does after a deep sleep; but a consciousness of +his situation, and a recognition of my companion, soon dispelled his +vacant looks, and his features were illumed with as expressive a +smile as it has ever been my fortune to behold. + +I was introduced to the invalid, and soon we were as familiar as old +acquaintances. His name was Egbert Lawrence, and his age I should +judge from appearances to be about twenty-five. + +"It is possible that my dear, good friend, Mr. Jenks, has given you +some account of my circumstances," he remarked, addressing me. + +I replied that he had not, any further than to state that he was +friendless. He started, as I said this, and exclaimed, + +"Friendless! His own modesty, that sure mark of true merit, induced +him to say that; but, dear sir, I have a friend in him, greater than +in any other on earth now. I had a friend, but, alas! she's gone." + +I corrected his impression; remarked that I only intended to convey +the fact that he was in a strange country, among a strange people, +and that Mr. Jenks had told me he was worthy of assistance, and that +a sketch of his life would interest me. + +"Then you would like to hear of my past, would you?" + +"Most certainly," I replied; "and should consider it a favor should +you consent to give it to me." + +To this he at once consented. + +"I was born in the west of England," he began, "and can well +remember what a charming little village it was in which I passed my +earliest days. My mother was a woman of the finest +sensibilities,--too fine, in fact, for the rough winds of this world. +Her heart beat too strongly in sympathy with the poor and oppressed, +the weary-footed and troubled ones, to live among and not have the +weight of their sorrows and cares bear also upon her, and gradually +wear out the earth tenement of her spirit. + +"As far as a fine, sensitive feeling was hers, so far it was mine. I +inherited it. But I would not flatter myself so much as to say that +I, in like manner, partook of her heavenly, loving nature, or that I +in any of her noble traits was worthy of being her son. + +"Many times have I been the bearer of her secret charities. Many +times have I heard the poor bless the unknown hand that placed +bounties at their door. Many times have I seen my mother weep while +I told her of what I heard the recipients of her benevolence tell +their neighbors, and the many conjectures in their minds as to who +the donor could be. And, O, there was joy sparkling in her eyes when +I told her of what I had seen and heard! The grateful poor, +concluding, after all their surmising, that, as they could not tell +for a certainty who it was who gave them food and clothing, they +would kneel down and thank God; for, said they, in their honest, +simple manner, He knows. The benevolent hand cannot hide itself from +his presence, or escape his reward. + +"My father was quite a different person. How it was they met and +loved, I could not for a long time determine. But one evening my +mother told me all about it, and said he was not the man of her +choice, but of her parents' choice; and that she had never loved him +with that deep and earnest love that alone can bind two hearts in +one embrace. But she said she had endeavored to do her duty towards +him. Good woman! I knew that. 'T was her very nature to do that. 'T +was a law of her being, and she could not evade it. + +"My father was a rough, coarse-minded man. He held an office under +the government, and, from being accustomed to the exercise of some +little authority without doors, became habituated to a morose, +ill-natured manner of words and behavior within our home. I remember +how I changed my tone of voice, and my mode of action, when at night +he came home. With my mother I talked and laughed, and played +merrily in her presence, and rather liked to have her look on my +sports; but when my father came I never smiled. I sat up on my chair +in one corner as stiff and upright as the elm-tree, in front of our +house. I never played in his presence. I seldom heard a kind word +from him. My mother used to call me 'Berty, my dear,' when she +wished me; but my father always shouted, sternly, 'Egbert, come +here, sir!' and I would tremblingly respond, 'Sir.' + +"Few persons seemed to love him; those who did, did so with an eye +to business. It was policy in them to flatter the man who could +favor them pecuniarily, and they hesitated not to do so. One time, +when my father's vote and influence were worth five thousand pounds +to his party, and he exhibited symptoms of withholding them, he had +rich presents sent him, and every night some half a dozen or more +would call in and sit and talk with him, and tell him how admirably +all the schemes he had started for the good of the town had +succeeded, and in all manner of ways would flatter the old +gentleman, so that he would be quite pleasant all the next day. At +this time handsome carriages came to take him to ride, and gentlemen +proposed an afternoon's shooting or fishing, or sport of some kind, +and my father always accepted and was always delighted. The simple +man, he couldn't see through the gauze bags they were drawing over +his head! lie did not notice the nets With which they were +entangling his feet. When election came, he gave his vote, and did +not keep back his influence. + +"My father was not benevolent to any great degree. He gave, it is +true. He gave to missionary societies, to education and tract +societies, and his name was always found printed in their monthly +reports; but he never gave, as my mother did, to the poor around us, +unseen, unknown. Not even he knew of my mother's charitable acts; +but all the town knew of his, and he was looked upon by the great +mass of public mind to be the most benevolent. But it was not so. +Far from it. One shilling from my mother, given with the heart, with +sympathy, given for the sake of doing good, not for the sake of +popularity, was a greater gift than a hundred pounds from my +father's hand, given as he always gave it. + +"I attended school but little. My mother wished me to have a good +education, but my father said if I could 'figure' well it was +enough. I was taken from school and put in a store,--a place which I +abhorred. I was put there to sell tape, and pins, and thread, and +yarn; and I was kept behind the counter from early morn until late +at night. + +"I had one brother, but his mind was nothing like mine. He partook +of my father's nature. We seldom agreed upon any matter, and I +always chose to be alone rather than with him. I do not think I was +wrong in this, for our minds were of different casts. Neither of us +made our minds or our dispositions. There was, therefore, no blame +upon any one, if, on account of the difference in our mental +organizations, our affinities led us apart. It was a perfectly +natural result of a natural cause. + +"I will not weary you with more detail of my life to-night; but +to-morrow, if you have any interest in what I have begun to tell +you, I will tell you more." + +I had noticed that he began to be exhausted with his effort, and was +about to propose that a future time be allotted to what more he +chose to relate. + +I assured him of an increased interest in him, and suggested +removing him to a good boarding-house. He at first declined, but +upon further urging he accepted, and, having seen that all his wants +were for that night attended to, we left; with the understanding +that a carriage should convey him to more commodious quarters on the +morrow, if the weather permitted. + +I had no fears of my companion as we rode up the wharf and drove +through the streets, the storm beating down furiously around us. I +reached my home, and Mr. Jenks thanked me for my kindness in blindly +following him, and I in return thanked him for the pleasant +adventure to which he had introduced me. + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +The next morning the weather was clear and the air invigorating, as +is often the case after a severe storm. With my neighbor Jenks I +procured a good home for the wanderer, and in a short time he was +located in it. + +I was soon seated by his side, and he continued his narrative. + +"I told you last evening of my parents, and of my entrance upon +business life. About that time a great sorrow visited me. My mother +was taken sick, rapidly declined, and in a fortnight left this state +of existence. Beyond this world it seemed all dark to me then; but +now it is brighter there than here, and there is no uncertainty in +my mind respecting that coming state. + +"I have not told you she died. She did not die. There is no such +word as death in my vocabulary. She did not sleep even. She passed +from a crumbling, falling building into an enduring and beautiful +temple, not made with hands. But to me, then, as I have told you, it +was all dark; and it was not a wonder that I was sad, and that it +was indeed a heavy sorrow that rested on my spirit. Even with the +faith that she had, the thought of being left with a man such as my +father was would have made me sad. You will wonder, perhaps, that I +had not learned from such a mother as mine a clearer faith than that +which possessed my mind at the time of her departure; but I had not. +It was impossible for me to accept a truth with that amount of +evidence which satisfied her mind, and I doubted, at times, a future +existence. But I do not doubt it now. I have had proof,--abundant +proof; and, O, the joy that fills my soul is unfathomable. + +"My father now became more tyrannical than ever, and everything +tended to destroy whatever there was of my mother's disposition in +my character. But nothing could force it from me. I was sensitive as +ever to the remarks and the looks of all with whom I came in +contact, and the severe and unmerited reprimands of my father almost +crushed me. + +"Several years passed by. I wasted them in a retail store. It was, +however, not a complete loss to me, for there I formed an +acquaintance with a young lady, the daughter of a poor collier. Our +friendship ripened to mutual love, and we were happy only when in +each other's presence. Our interviews were frequent, and unknown to +any one but ourselves for a long time. At length my father became +acquainted with the facts. He called me to his room one night, and +scolded me, threatened to disinherit me, and treated me as though I +had been guilty of the most heinous crime. + +"'You miserable, good-for-nothing scamp!' said he. 'Why do you seek +to lower yourself in the estimation of every man, and bring disgrace +on the name and fame of my family, by associating with the poor +daughter of a worthless laborer?' + +"This fired my brain; but I was timid and dare not speak my thoughts +in his presence. I listened. He showered upon me all the evil +epithets his tongue could dispense, and, raving like a madman, he +pushed me to the door, and told me to cease my visits upon Evelina +or leave his house forever and change my name, for he would not +shelter me, or own any relationship to me. + +"Poor girl! She little thought how much I that night endured for +her, or how much I was willing to bear. She was a beautiful +being,--so much like my mother, so gentle, and loving, and +benevolent! We were one. True, no earthly law recognized us as such; +but God's law did,--a law written with his hand on our beating +hearts. We had been joined far, far back, ages gone by, when our +souls first had their birth,--long ere they became enshrined in earth +forms. The church might have passed its ceremonial bond about us, +but that would have been mere form--that would have been a union +which man might have put asunder, and often does. But of a true +union of souls it is useless to say 'what God has joined let no man +put asunder;' for he cannot any more than he can annul any other of +his great laws. + +"My father's reprimands and threatenings could not, therefore, +dissolve that bond which united me to Evelina, and she to me. So, as +soon as I left his room, I sought her presence. I told her all, and +she wept to think of what she had caused, as she said. But I tried +to convince her, and succeeded in doing so finally, that it was not +she who had caused it. She had not made her soul or its attributes. +God had made them, and if they were in unison with mine, or if they +had attractions that drew my. soul to hers, the law under which they +came together and would not be separated was God's law, and we could +not escape it. + +"That night we walked down by the river's side, and we talked of +those great principles that govern us. We studied, there in the +clear moonlight, God's works, and I asked her whether in loving the +beautiful and the good we did not love God. + +"Her mind opened a bright effulgence of light to my spirit. 'Yes,' +said she, 'it is even so. God is a spirit. He fills immensity,--and +if so, then he imbues this little flower with his own life, for he +is the life of all things. It is as he made it, and as we love it we +love him. When we love a being for his goodness, we love God; for +that goodness is of God." + +"'Yes,' I remarked; 'I see it is so. I do not love you as a material +being. It is not your flesh and bones merely that I love, but it is +the goodness dwelling in you. As that goodness is more abundant in +you than in others, in like degree does God dwell in you more than +in them. If, therefore, I love you more than I love them, I love God +more than I should did my supreme love find its highest object in +them. In loving you, therefore, I love God so far as you possess the +characteristics by which we personify that being. It is not wrong, +therefore, to love you or the flower; for goodness exists in one, +and beauty in the other, and they both are of God, and in loving +them we love God.' + +"We parted at a late hour. I went with her to the door of the little +cottage in which she dwelt with her father. Her mother had died, as +they call it, long years before; and, as I kissed her, and pressed +her hand and bade her good-by, I felt more strongly than ever a +determination to bear any privation, endure any suffering, for her +sake. + +"I reached my home. I found the doors fastened and all quiet. The +moon shone very clear, and it was nearly as light as at noon-day. I +tried the windows, and fortunately found one of them unfastened. I +raised it very carefully, and crept in, and up to my room. The next +morning at breakfast my father spoke not a word, but I knew by his +manner that he was aware of my disregard of his command, and I +thought that all that prevented him from talking to me was a want of +language strong enough to express the passionate feelings that ran +riot in his soul. + +"I judged rightly. For at night his passion found vent in words, and +such a copious torrent of abuse that I shuddered. Nevertheless, I +yielded not one position of my heart, and was conscious that I had a +strength of purpose that would ever defend the right, and could not +be swayed by mere words. + +"There was no limit to my father's abuse when it became known to a +few of his friends that I had been seen in company with the +collier's daughter. I endured all, and was willing to endure more. +He seemed to have a peculiar dislike of Evelina's father, as also to +her. This I could not account for. + +"At length I became of age, and on my birthday my father called me +to him, and, in his usual stern, uncompromising way, asked me if I +persisted in paying attention to Evelina. I answered promptly that I +did. I had had so many conflicts that I had lost much of my +timidity, and I now defined my position clear, and maintained it +resolutely. + +"'Then leave my house at once!' said my father. 'I throw you from me +as I would a reptile from my clothes; and go, go with my curse upon +you! Take your penniless girl, and build yourself a name if you can; +for you have lost the one you might have held with honor to yourself +and to me. I had chosen for you a wife, a rich and fashionable lady, +the daughter of a nobleman, and one of whom to be proud; but you +have thought best to be your own judge in such matters, and you made +a fool of yourself. But you shall not stamp my family with such +folly, or wed its name to dishonor.' + +"I endeavored to reply; but he would hear no word from my lips. He +sprang from his seat, walked the room in the greatest rage, and +whenever I opened my mouth to speak would shout, 'Stop your noise, +you ungrateful, heartless wretch!' + +"He was determined to carry out his threat. That night he locked me +out of the house, and took special pains to make the windows fast. +In the papers of the next day he advertised me as disinherited and +cast off, and warned the world against me. He also circulated false +reports respecting me, and spared neither money nor effort to injure +me. He prejudiced my employers, so that they at once discharged me, +without a moment's warning. And all this from a father! How often I +thought of that loving, sympathizing mother! How often I recognized +her presence in my silent hours of thought! Dear, sainted friend! +she was with me often, unseen but not unfelt. + +"Evelina faltered not. She bore all the opprobrium of false friends +with a brave heart, and rested on my promises as the dove rests its +weary head beneath its downy wing. Her father had confidence in me. + +"It was astonishing how changed all things were. The day previous, I +was the son of a wealthy and influential man. I was respected, +apparently, by all. Very many professed a friendship for me, and +told me how much they valued my company. Young ladies politely +recognized me as I passed through the streets; and old ladies +singled me out as an example for their sons to follow. But on that +day no one knew me. Not one of those who had professed such +friendship for me came and took me by the hand when I needed their +friendly grasp the most! Young ladies, when we met, cast their +glances on the earth, on the sky, anywhere but on me. Old ladies +scandalized me, and warned the objects of their paternal +consideration against a course like mine. + +"And why all this? It was because I loved Evelina,--a poor man's only +child!" + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +Egbert's health seemed to improve now that he was in more +comfortable quarters, and had sympathizing friends to whom he could +narrate the story of his life. In the course of a few days he rode +out a short distance. After a rest of a week, during which his +strength had increased, he continued his narrative, in which we had +become deeply interested. + +"I found a home at the cottage of Evelina. We made arrangements to +be married according to law, and in due time I applied to the +minister of the town to perform the ceremonies. I was surprised when +he refused; yet I well knew what inducements led him to act thus. My +father was the leading man in his church. The minister looked to him +as one of the chief pillars of support to his society, and +consequently to his means of livelihood. There was no one in the +town upon whom the public eye, religious or political, rested with +more hope than upon my father. He exhorted in the meetings with an +earnestness worthy of the most devoted follower of Cromwell; and was +as strict and rigid in the performance of his public religious +duties as the most precise Puritan of the old school could wish. Did +the chapel need repairs, my father was consulted. Was it proposed to +make a donation to the pastor, my father was expected to head the +list with a large subscription, and he did. Was it strange, then, +that he gave such a decided refusal to my simple request, knowing, +as he did, and everybody did, my circumstances? It seems not. +Perhaps it was foolish for me to ask a favor of such a man; but I +did, and he had an opportunity of exhibiting his allegiance to +public opinion, and his disregard of the voice within, that must +have commanded him to do right, and to adhere to truth and justice +in the face of all opposition. + +"It was soon noised abroad that I had endeavored to get married and +had failed. There was great rejoicing, and one old lady took the +trouble to send her man-servant to me with the message that she was +glad to know that her good pastor had indignantly refused to place +his seal on my bond of iniquity. + +"The dark cloud that all this time overshadowed my path rested also +on the path of Evelina's father. This was all that troubled me. He, +good man, had more true religion in his soul than the pastor and all +the people in theirs; yet he was scorned and ill-treated. All this +was not new to him. He had lived in that town four-and-forty years, +and had always been frowned upon by the boasting descendants of +proud families, and had received but little good from their hands. +The church looked upon him as a poor, incorrigible sinner. No one +spoke to him, unless it was to ask him to perform some hard job. It +was not strange that, judging from the works of the people who +called themselves Christians, he had a dislike to their forms. He +chose a living Christianity; and theirs, with all its rites, with +all its pretensions, with all its heralded faith, was but a mockery +to him. It was but a shadow of a substantial reality. He chose the +substance; he rejected the shadow, and men called him 'infidel' who +had not a tithe of vital religion in their own souls, while his was +filled to repletion with that heavenly boon. For a time the war of +persecution raged without, and slander and base innuendoes the +weapons were employed against us. But within all was peace and +quiet, and our home was indeed a heaven,--for we judged that heaven +is no locality, no ideal country staked off so many leagues this +way, and so many that; but that it is in our own souls, and we could +have our heaven here as well as beyond the grave. We thought Christ +meant so when he said 'the kingdom of heaven is within you'! We +pitied those who were always saying that when they reached heaven +there would be an end of all sorrow, and wished they could see as we +did that heaven was to reach them, not they to reach it. We feared +that the saying of Pope, 'Man never is, but always to be, blest,' +might prove true of them, and that even when they had passed the +boundary which they fancied divided them from heaven, they would yet +be looking on to so the future state for the anticipated bliss. + +"What cared we, in our home, for the jibes and sneers and falsehoods +without? Those who are conscious of being in the right have no fear +of the goal to which their feet are tending. I heard from my father +often, but never met him. By some means he always evaded me. That +which troubled him most was the calmness with which I received the +results of his course towards me. He knew that I was happy and +contented. This was what troubled him. Had I manifested a great +sorrow and writhing beneath what he deemed troubles, he would have +greatly rejoiced, and so would all his friends. I had accumulated a +small property, and was prospering, notwithstanding the efforts of +many to embarrass me. A few began to see that I was not so bad as I +had been represented to be, and they began to sympathize with me. +This aroused my father's anger afresh. We had been married by a +magistrate of another town, and the clouds above our outside or +temporary affairs seemed breaking away, when an event occurred that +frustrated all our plans. + +"One evening I heard the cry of 'fire,' and, on attempting to go +out, I found the entry of the house filled with a dense smoke. The +smoke poured into the room in which Evelina and her father were +seated. I rushed to the window, dashed it out, and, having seen my +wife and her father safely deposited without, secured what of the +property I could. In a few moments the cottage was enveloped in +flames, and it was not long before no vestige of our happy home +remained, except the smoking embers and a heap of ashes. We were +now, indeed, poor in gold and lands; but it seemed to each of us +that what had been taken from our purse had been put in our hearts, +for we loved each other more than ever before, if such a love were +possible; and, though we received but little sympathy from without, +we had a fund of sympathy within, that made us forget our seeming +sorrows, and rejoice in bliss unspeakable. + +"It was reported that I had fired the cottage. I well knew with whom +this charge originated, and I had good reasons for believing that +the match that fired our house came from the same source. + +"Our condition was such that we concluded to leave the place where +so much had been endured, and those who had strewn our path with +what they intended for thorns and brambles. + +"We left. We journeyed to Liverpool, and engaged a passage in a New +York packet for the United States. It was a beautiful morning when +we set sail, and everything seemed reviving in the possessing of +life. Our ship's flags looked like smiling guardians as they +fluttered above us, and all on board the 'White Wing' were happy. +There were about three hundred passengers. There were old and young; +some travelling on business, some for a place they might call their +home, some for pleasure, and a few for the improvement of their +health. There were entire families, and, in some cases, those of +three generations. How varied were the hopes that filled their +souls! how different the objects that led them forth over the deep +and trackless sea, exposing themselves to countless perils! + +"Evelina and myself mused thus as we sat on the deck at twilight of +the first day out, and watched the movements, and listened to the +various expressions that fell from the lips of the crowded +passengers. + +"She always had a bright gleam of religious, philosophical thought, +with which to illumine every hour of our existence, and radiate, +with heavenly joy, our every conversation. 'There are not more +dangers here than on land,' said she; 'to be true to our inner +consciousness, we must say that wherever we are we are exposed to +peril, and wherever we are we are protected from evil. I have known +a man to cross the ocean a hundred times, and fall at last at his +own door, and by it become maimed for life. There is no such a thing +as an accident. Every result has a legitimate cause. Everything acts +in obedience to undeviating laws of God. We complain when we fall, +but the same law that causes us to fall guides planets in their +course, and regulates every motion of every object. It is only when +we disobey these laws that evil comes, and every transgression +receives its own penalty. It is impossible that it should be +otherwise.' + +"We soon became acquainted with a number of the passengers, and +passed very many pleasant and profitable hours together. Evelina was +the light of every circle, and the days flew by on rapid wings. The +ship had made a rapid passage, and we were fast nearing our destined +haven. + +"One Sabbath evening a storm commenced. The wind blew a hurricane. +Everything on deck was lashed, and the sea rolled and pitched our +vessel about as though it had been but a feather on its surface. We +had all day expected the storm, and were prepared for it. As night +advanced the storm increased. The rain fell in torrents, and the +darkness was most intense. After a while, the lightning came, and +the thunder reverberated with terrific peals over us. There were +shrieks and wailings aboard our vessel, and many a brave heart +quailed beneath the terror upon us. + +"I cared not for myself. My chief concern was for my dear wife and +her father. We kept our state-room for a long time, but at length +deemed it prudent to leave it. As we did so, we heard an awful +crash, and many a shriek and hurried prayer. I myself began to fear, +as the mast and flying rigging went by us; but Evelina, even in such +an hour, had words to cheer us all. She seemed, indeed, more of +heaven than earth; and I cared not for my fate, provided we both met +the same. + +"The captain ordered the boats to be got in readiness, and it was +quickly done. Soon another crash, and another mast fell, bearing to +the raging abyss of waters another company of helpless men, women +and children. + +"I clasped my wife in my arms, and, amid the wreck and frantic crowd +of passengers, sprang to a boat. I placed Evelina in it, and was +just about to assist her father to the same boat, when a large wave +dashed over the ship and bore me alone over the wide waters. I +remembered no more until I opened my eyes, and the sun was shining +brightly all around me, and a young man was bathing my head, and +brushing back my wet hair, while some were standing by expressing +great joy. + +"I soon became conscious of my situation, and I asked for Evelina. +What a sadness filled my soul when I was told she was not +there,--that they had not heard of any such person! Human language is +weak with which to express the sorrow I then felt. Through all my +varied life I had had nothing that so crushed my spirit, and filled +it with a sense of loneliness which it is impossible to describe. I +ascertained that I was on board of a vessel bound to Boston; that I, +was found holding on a raft, almost insensible when found, and quite +so a few moments afterwards. For a long time no one expected that I +would recover my consciousness, but the constant efforts of the +passengers and crew were finally crowned with success, and I opened +my eyes. + +"I gave all the information I could respecting the fate of the +vessel, but thoughts of my wife, and surmisings as to her fate and +that of her father, often choked my utterance, and my words gave way +for my tears. + +"The next morning I was delirious, with a fever. My anxiety for my +wife, and the exposure I had suffered, brought my body and mind into +a very critical state. For several days I talked wildly. At the +close of the fifth, I became sane in mind. I was yet quite ill. That +night the ship entered Boston harbor. It anchored in the stream, and +the next morning it hauled up to a wharf." + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + +"I was a perfect stranger. The captain was attentive to my wants, +and made me as comfortable as he could. You will remember how neat +and quiet all appeared when, with my friend Jenks, you called on me. +All of the passengers took an interest in my welfare, and made up a +purse for me; but they could not remain long with me. They had been +long absent from home, and were desirous of seeing their families +and friends, or else they had business in this or some other place. +One of them introduced my friend Jenks to me; and, O, sir, he has +been, indeed, a good friend to one having so few claims on his +attention. He told me one night of you, and, agreeable to his +promise, he brought you to the cabin of the vessel. The rest you +know." + +Egbert had regained his strength to a great degree, and gave me the +close of his narrative while we were having a pleasant drive through +the country. A month had passed since we first met, and though many +of the passengers had been heard from, the names of Evelina and her +father had not been reported. + +When we reached our home, from our afternoon's drive, I took up an +evening paper, and the first paragraph I read was the following: + +"MORE FROM THE WHITE WING.-The Orion, which arrived at this port +this morning, brought fifteen passengers, rescued from the boats of +the 'White Wing.' Among the names mentioned in the above notice were +these: "Mrs. Evelina Lawrence and her father, of England;" and, at +the conclusion, was the following item: + +"The case of Mrs. Lawrence and her father is one of those that +loudly call for a bestowal of public sympathy and aid in her behalf. +She has lost a beloved husband,--one who, judging from the heavy +sorrow that oppresses her, and the sighs and tears that break her +recital of the events of their last hours together, was bound with +the closest bonds of soul affinity to her own spirit. They must have +been one, and are, indeed, one now, though to mortal eyes separated. +We commend her to the kind charities of those who would follow the +golden rule of doing unto others as they, in like circumstances, +would have others do unto them." + +Egbert noticed my interest in that which I was reading; indeed, it +would have been strange if he had not; for I could not suppress my +joy, and it found expression in an occasional exclamation. + +At length, I handed him the paper. + +"My God! my wife!" he exclaimed, and he actually danced with joy and +thankfulness. He would have rushed into the street, and by sudden +exposure have caused a relapse of disease, had not I taken him by +the hand, and forcibly, for a few moments, restrained him. So +excessive was his happiness that, for a short time, he was delirious +with joy. He laughed and wept by turns: at one moment extending +his arms, and folding them as if clasping a beloved form; the next, +trembling as if in some fearful danger. But this did not long +continue. He soon became calm and rational, and we called a carriage +for the purpose of going to the vessel on board of which he expected +to greet his wife and her father. + +My neighbor Jenks accompanied us, and, as we rode hastily along, my +mind reverted to the night when first I met Egbert. That eventful +evening came more vividly to mind as we found ourselves on the same +wharf, and the carriage door was opened, and we alighted on nearly +the same spot that we did at that time. + +Egbert leaped from the carriage, and at one bound was on the +vessel's deck. He flew to the cabin, and in a moment I heard the +loud exclamations on either side, "My Evelina!" "My Egbert!" Mr. +Jenks and myself followed below. An old gentleman met us, and, +though a stranger, he grasped a hand of ours in each of his, and +wept with joy as he bade us welcome. The cabin was witness of a +scene which a painter well might covet for a study. In close embrace +Egbert and Evelina mingled joys that seldom are known on earth. The +old man held our hands, his face raised, eyes turned upward, while +tears of happiness, such as he had never before known, coursed down +his features. The officers of the ship came hurrying in, and the +crew darkened the gangway with their presence. What a joyous time +was that! The evening was passed in recounting the adventures of +each; and even I had something to add to the general recital. It +appeared that the boat in which Egbert had placed his charge was +safely cleared of the wreck; and, after being floated about two +days, was met by an English ship bound to London. They, together +with about twenty others who were in the boat, were soon comfortably +cared for. At the expiration of a few weeks, they reached London, +and were there placed on board a vessel bound to Boston, at which +place they in due season arrived. The grief of Mrs. L. during all +this time I will not attempt to describe. The mind of my reader can +better depict it than I can with pen. Hope buoyed her up. And, +though she had seen him swept from her side into the waters where +waves towered up to the skies and sank again many fathoms below, yet +she did hope she might see him again on earth. + +In the silent hour of night, as she lay and mused of those things, +she thought she could hear a sweet voice whispering in her ear, +"Berty lives, and you will meet him once again." And, as if in +response to the voice, she said in her own mind, "I know he lives; +but it may be in that bright world where, unencumbered with these +mortal frames, we roam amid ever-enduring scenes." The voice again +said, "On earth, on earth." + +But now they had met. It was no mere vision now, and the truth +flashed upon her mind that that voice she had heard and thought a +dream was not all a dream. And then she mused on as she was wont to +do, and, after relating to us the incident, she said, "May it not be +that much of our life that we have thought passed in dreamland, and +therefore among unreal things, has been spent with actual +existences? For what is an 'unreal thing'? It would not be a 'thing' +had it no existence; and what is the 'it' that we speak of? Can we +not then conclude that there is nothing but what is and must have an +existence, though not so tangible to our senses as to enable us to +handle it or see it? What we call 'imagination' may be, after all, +more real than the hard stones beneath our feet-less indestructible +than they." + +Thus she spake, and her theory seemed very plausible to me, though +my friend Jenks, who was an exceedingly precise, matter-of-fact man, +could not see any foundation for the theory. + +It was a late hour when Mr. Jenks and myself passed to our homes. +The next day Evelina and her father were coseyly quartered at the +house in which Egbert had boarded. + +In the course of a a few weeks they arranged to go to the west, and +locate in a flourishing town on the banks of the Ohio, not many +miles above Cincinnati. + +Mr. Jenks and myself accompanied them to the cars; and, amid our +best wishes for their success, and their countless expressions of +gratitude to us, the train started, and in a few moments the +Disinherited was going to an inheritance which God had provided, and +which lay in rich profusion awaiting their possession. + +Our hearts went with them. We could truly say they were worthy God's +blessing; yet we had not need ask him to bestow it upon them; for +their very existence was a proof that he gave it to them. + + + + + + +THE SEASONS ALL ARE BEAUTIFUL. + + + + + + THE seasons all are beautiful, + There is not one that's sad,-- + Not one that does not give to thee + A thought to make thee glad. + I have heard a mournful cadence + Fall on my listening ear,-- + 'T was some one whispering, mournfully, + "The Autumn days are here." + But Autumn is not sorrowful,-- + O, full of joy is it; + I love at twilight hour to watch + The shadows as they flit,-- + The shadows of the falling leaves, + Upon their forest bed, + And hear the rustling music tones + Beneath the maiden's tread. + The falling leaf! Say, what has it + To sadden human thought? + For are not all its hours of life + With dancing beauty fraught? + And, having danced and sang its joy, + It seeketh now its rest,-- + Is there a better place for it + Than on its parent's breast? + Ye think it dies. So they of old + Thought of the soul of man. + But, ah, ye know not all its course + Since first its life began, + And ye know not what future waits, + Or what essential part + That fallen leaf has yet to fill, + In God's great work of art. + Count years and years, then multiply + The whole till ages crowd + Upon your mind, and even then + Ye shall not see its shroud. + But ye may see,--if look you can + Upon that fallen leaf,-- + A higher life for it than now + The life you deem so brief. + And so shall we to higher life + And purer joys ascend; + And, passing on, and on, and on, + Be further from our end. + This is the truth that Autumn brings,-- + Is aught of sorrow here? + If not, then deem it beautiful, + Keep back the intrusive tear. + Spring surely you'll call beautiful, + With its early buds and flowers, + Its bubbling brooks, its gushing streams, + And gentle twilight hours. + And Summer, that is beautiful, + With fragrance on each breeze, + And myriad warblers that give + Free concerts 'mong the trees. + I've told you of the Autumn days, + Ye cannot call them sad, + With such a lesson as they teach, + To make the spirit glad. + And Winter comes; how clear and cold, + In dazzling brilliance drest!- + Say, is not Winter beautiful, + With jewels on his crest? + Thus are all seasons beautiful; + They all have joy for thee, + And gladness for each living soul + Comes from them full and free. + + + + + + +SPRING. + + + + + +IT is early spring-time. The winter has passed with reluctant step, +and even now the traces of its footsteps are discernible on every +side. At noon of these bright days the sun looks down smilingly upon +the soil it seeks to bless with its cheerful, cheering rays. The +tiny grass-blades peep out, and stretch forth their graceful forms, +as if to thank the unknown source from which their enjoyments +spring. "Unknown," I said. Is it "fancy" that makes my soul withdraw +that word, and suggest that it may be that even that blade of grass +recognizes the hand that ministers to all its wants? I think not. I +think that what we term "fancy" and "imagination" are the most real +and enduring portions of existence. They are of that immortal part +that will live after crumbling column and the adamantine foundations +of earth have passed away, and lost their present identity in +countless forms of a higher existence. Are not all the forces of +nature unseen, yet are they not real? Most assuredly they are. But I +am talking of spring. I hinted at winter's tardy withdrawal. Look +you how that little pile of snow hides itself in yonder shady +nook,--right there where the sun's rays never come; right there, as +if ashamed, like a man out of place,--pity that it lingers. Here and +there, at the side of the brook, a little ice is waiting to be +dissolved, that it may bound away, bright and sparkling, over the +glistening pebbles. + +The farmer opens his barn doors that the warm, fresh breeze may +ramble amid its rafters. The cattle snuff the refreshing winds, that +bear tidings of green fields. The housewife opens door and windows, +and begins to live more without than within. + +Let us to the woods. How the old leaves rustle beneath our tread! +Winter bides his cold, wet hand underneath these leaves and +occasionally we feel his chilling touch as we pass along. But from +above the pleasant sunshine comes trickling down between the +branches, and the warm south wind blows cheeringly among the trees. +Didst thou not hear yon swallow sing, Chirp, chirp?--In every note he +seemed to say, "'T is spring, 't is spring." + +Yes, 't is spring; bright, glorious season, when nature awakes to +new life and forest-concerts begin. + +Up with the window, throw open the closed shutter, let the fresh air +in, and let the housed captive breathe the invigorating elixir of +life; better by far than all your pills and cordials, and more +strengthening than all the poor-man's plasters that have been or +ever will be spread. + +The bale and hearty youth, whose clear and boisterous laugh did the +old man good, as he heard it ring forth on the clear air of a +winter's night, has become satiated with the pleasures of +sleigh-rides and merry frolics, and welcomes the spring-time of year +as a man greeteth the return of an old friend from a long journey. +How his bright eye flashes with the joyous soul within him, as he +treads the earth, and beholds the trees put forth their buds, and +hears the warblings of the birds once again, where a few weeks since +winter brooded in silence! + +In town and country, the coming of spring changes the general +appearance of affairs. Not early nature, but men change. There is no +longer the cold and frigid countenance. Men do not walk with quick +and measured tread, but pass carelessly, easily along, as though it +was a luxury and not a task to walk. Children are seen in little +companies, plucking the flowers and forcing the buds from their +stems, as though to punish them for their tardiness. + +The very beasts of burden and of the field partake of the general +joy; as Thomson says, "Nor undelighted by the boundless spring Are +the broad monsters of the foaming deep From the deep ooze and, gelid +cavern roused, They flounce and tumble in unwieldy joy." + +In the town storekeepers obtain fresh supplies of goods; the +mechanic contracts new jobs; the merchant repairs his vessel, and +sends it forth, deeply freighted with the productions of our own +clime, to far distant, lands; and the people generally brush up, and +have the appearance of being a number of years younger than they +were a month since. + +In the country, the farmer is full of work. The ploughs are brought +forth from their winter quarters, the earth is opened, that the warm +sun and refreshing rains may prepare it for use; old fences are +repaired, and new ones made; the housewife brushes up inside and +out, and with the aid of the whitewash every old fence and shed is +made clean and pleasing to the eye. + +Welcome spring, a hearty welcome to thee! Touch the cheek of the +maiden, and make it as bright as the rose; with thy fresh air give +health to the sick and joy to the downcast. Thou bringest with thee +sweet-smelling flowers, and the birds of the woods carol forth thy +welcome. + + + + + + +A TEXT FOR A LIFETIME. + + + + + +ONE word for humanity. One word for those who dwell in want around +us. O, ye who know not what it is to hunger, and have naught to meet +your desire; ye who never are cold, with naught to warm your chilled +blood, forget not those who endure all these things. They are your +brethren. They are of the same family as yourself, and have a claim' +upon your love, your sympathy, your kindness. + +Live not for yourselves. The world needs to learn this lesson. +Mankind have to learn that only as they bless others are they +themselves blest. It was the fine thought of the good Indian, +Wah-pan-nah, that man should not pile up his dollars,--they may fall +down and crush him,--but spread them out. + +"There be dark spot on you brother's path,--go lay dollar there and +make it bright," said he. + +And since that suggestion came we have thought it over and over, and +have found it a text for a lifetime of goodness. Go place the bright +dollar in the poor man's hand, and the good you do will be reflected +in rays of gratitude from a smiling face, and fall on you like the +warm sunshine, to cheer and refresh and strengthen your own soul. + +There are in this world too many dollars "piled up," and on the +surface we see but the brightness of one. Were these all spread out, +what a wide field of radiant beauty would greet our vision! Instead +of being a useless encumbrance, a care, a constant source of +perplexity to one man, this wealth would make every man comfortable +and happy. It would perform its legitimate work, were it not chained +by avarice,--that canker-worm that destroys the fairest portions of +our social system. + +And there is a joy in doing good, and in dispensing the bounties +with which we are blest, that hath no equal in the household of man. +To know that we have fed the hungry, clothed the naked, wiped away +one tear, bathed in the sunlight of hope one desponding spirit, +gives to us a happiness that hoarded wealth, though broad as earth +and high as heaven, cannot impart. + +This is the true wealth. This the wealth that rust cannot corrupt. +There is no other real wealth in the universe. Gold and silver, +houses and lands, are not wealth to the longing, aspiring soul of +man. The joy of the spirit, which is the reward of a good deed, +comes a gift from God, a treasure worthy of being garnered into the +storehouse of an immortal being. + +There was one spot on earth where joy reigned. It was not in marble +palace; but in a low cot, beneath a roof of thatch. + +There was an indwelling sense of duty done; a feeling somewhat akin +to that which we might suppose angels to feel, when a poor, +earth-wearied traveller is relieved by them. + +That was a subject fit for a Raphael's pencil, as she, of form and +feature more angelic than human, sat beside that cottage door, and +her mild blue eye gazed steadfastly up to heaven, and the light of +the moon disclosed to mortal view her calm and beautiful features. + +Two hours previous, over a sick and languishing child a mother bowed +with maternal fondness. She pressed her lips to his chilled +forehead, and wiped the cold sweat from his aching brow. + +"Be patient, my child," said she; "God will provide." And why did +she bid him "be patient"? None could have been more so; for through +the long hours of that long summer day he had lain there, suffered +and endured all; yet not one sigh had arisen from his breast, not +one complaint had passed his parched lips. + +"I know it," said he. And the mother kissed him again, and again +said, + +"God will provide." + +Mother and son! the one sick, the other crushed down with poverty +and sorrow. Yet in this her hour of adversity her trust in the God +of her fathers wavered not; she firmly relied on Him for support, +whom she had never found forgetful of her. The widow and the +fatherless were in that low tenement, and above was the God who had +promised to protect them. + +Again she whispered in the lad's ear, "God will provide." + +The light of that day's sun had not rested upon food in that +dwelling. Heavily the hours passed by. Each seemed longer than that +which had preceded it. + +A rap at the door was heard. She arose and hastened to it. No person +was in sight; but in the moon's bright rays stood a basket, on which +lay a card, stating that it and its contents were for her and her +child, and that on the morrow a nurse and every comfort they might +want would be provided. + +She bowed herself beside it, and thanked God for the gift. Then with +a joyful heart she carried it within, and her child's eye sparkled +as he heard the glad news, that He who watcheth the sparrows had not +forgotten them. + +Let us return now to that thatched cottage. She, whose mild eye +gazeth up to heaven, whilst passing the door of the famishing mother +and child an hour previous, had heard the words with which that +mother had encouraged her dying son. + +With speed the maiden hastened to her home, and from her own limited +store carried forth that basket, and heaven-like bestowed the gift +unseen and unknown, save by Him who seeth and who rewardeth. The +deed of mercy accomplished, she hastened to her home; and now, as +she looks upward, how her eye beams with joy, and her heart breaks +forth in songs of gratitude to Him who made her the instrument of so +much good! + +Gold, with all its power, cannot bring joy unless dealt forth with a +willing heart like hers. The king in his palace, whose sceptre's +sway extends over vast dominions, hath no pleasures capable of +rivalling that which, by an act of charity, was brought to the soul +of that young cottage girl. + +Reader, whatever your condition, you can possess a joy like hers. If +you have not what men call wealth, with which to help the weak and +desponding, you have a smile of sympathy, a look of kindness, a word +of love. Give those, and you shall know what a blessed thing is +Charity. + + + + + + +NOW CLOSE THE BOOK. + + + + + + NOW close the book. Each page hath done its part, + Each thought hath left its impress on the heart. + O, may it be that naught hath here been traced + That after years may wish to have effaced! + O, may it be Humanity hath won + Some slight bestowment by the task now done! + If struggling Right hath found one cheering word, + If Hope hath in desponding heart been stirred, + If Sorrow hath from one lone soul been driven + By one kind word of Sympathy here given, + Then in my soul a living joy shall dwell, + Brighter than art can paint or language tell. + Yes, close the book: the story and the song + Have each been said, and sung. I see the throng + Of gentle ministrants who've led my pen + Withdraw their aid. I hear the word, Amen. + And now to you, who have been with me through + The "Town and Country," I must bid adieu. +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Town and Country, or, Life at Home and Abroad +by John S. 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