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diff --git a/old/53953-0.txt b/old/53953-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a6aefb8..0000000 --- a/old/53953-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7075 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXIV, No. 3, March -1849, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXIV, No. 3, March 1849 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George R. Graham - J. R. Patterson - J. B. Taylor - -Release Date: January 13, 2017 [EBook #53953] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, MARCH 1849 *** - - - - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net from -page images generously made available by Google Books - - - - - -[Illustration: WHY DON’T HE COME.] - - Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine - - - - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - VOL. XXXIV. March, 1849. No. 3. - Table of Contents - - The Naval Officer - Florence - The Dial-Plate - Unequal Marriages - The Icebergs - Love - Doctor Sian Seng - A Billet-Doux - Western Recollections - Extract - The Unfinished Picture - The Heart’s Confession - Christ Weeping Over Jerusalem - Human Influence - Honor to Whom Honor is Due - Egeria - History of the Costume of Men - The Adventures of a Man - Summer’s Bacchanal - The Plantation of General Taylor - Fancies About a Lock of Hair - The Precious Rest - Wild-Birds of America - The Pine-Tree - Gems From Late Readings - To My Little Boy - Review of New Books - Editor’s Table - Oh Have I Not Been True To Thee - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - - - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - * * * * * - - VOL. XXXIV. March, 1849. No. 3. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE NAVAL OFFICER. - - - BY WM. F. LYNCH. - - - CHAPTER I. - -It was just daybreak; the air was calm, and the whole face of nature was -shrouded in a light and silvery mist. Presently the mist became agitated -by a fitful breeze; rays of light, faint at first, but every moment -becoming brighter in their hue, penetrated it from the eastern horizon, -and at length gathering its folds, it prepared to follow the path of the -ascending sun. As it lifted, it disclosed a scene upon which the eye of -man delights to dwell. - -An island, clothed with luxuriant foliage and redolent with the perfume -of the tropics, lay sleeping on the crystal waters. On its southern -side, the unruffled waves of a sheltered bay, broke with a murmuring -sound upon a white and shelving beach. At the foot of this bay, -embowered in a grove, was a small cluster of houses, whose white-washed -walls, seen through the interlacing branches of the trees, many of the -last laden with their golden fruit, looked the fit abodes of charity and -domestic peace. The flickering airs, soft and fragrant as the breath of -beauty, fanned the pale and attenuated cheek of an invalid, who, seated -at the foot of a cotton-tree, looked wistfully to seaward. A boundless -expanse of ocean, its undulating surface checkered with the prolonged -shadows of detached and scarcely moving clouds alone met his anxious -gaze. - -Beside him, with a look as wistful as his own, but fixed on his wasted -features, stood a young and lovely female. Unconscious of her presence, -he seemed lost in revery, and the silence was for some moments -unbroken—for they were busied with the thoughts most congenial to the -nature of each—his of active exertion and the strife of men; while -hers, disinterested and pure, and true to the instinct of her sex, dwelt -only on _his_ hopes, _his_ prospects, and _his_ future happiness. With a -sigh, she broke the silence, and laying her hand gently upon his head, -she said, - -“Oh, Edward! why this anxiety to leave us? Why this yearning for the -sea?” - -“Mary, dearest Mary!” said he, looking up, “I knew not that you were -near. Sit down, dear girl, and I will tell you my little history. It -will be the best answer to your question, and your trustful nature -deserves implicit confidence. You know,” said he, as she complied, and -placed her hand in his, “you know that I am in the naval service of our -country, and that the captain of the ship to which I belong, sent me -ashore here some two months since, at the recommendation of the surgeon; -and you know, too, that your father, finding that I was connected with -some friends of his own in the United States, invited me to his house, -where, like a ministering angel, you have wooed me from the embrace of -death. This, save my unbounded gratitude and love, is all you know, and -unsuspicious of others as you are yourself confiding, hoping like an -angel, and believing what you hope, you have sought to learn nothing -more. - -“I have no parents,” he proceeded to say, “and of a large family of -children, I am the sole survivor. My father died when I was yet an -infant; in my fourteenth year I lost my mother, and in the intervening -time, one by one, my brothers and my sisters fell, all swept off by that -insidious destroyer, whose victims waste away, even while the cheek is -flushed and the eye brilliant with anticipations of renovated health and -years of enjoyment. Oh, Mary! that you could have seen and known my -sister—for she was near your present age, and in many things you much -resemble her.” - -“I should have loved her dearly, Edward?” - -“You could not have helped it, for she was one of the purest, gentlest -beings I ever knew.” - -“Describe her to me.” - -“That is impossible, for, graceful as a fawn and with spirits buoyant -and elastic, her features, at one moment gleaming with hope, and the -next, subdued in sympathy, were changeable as the aspects of the summer -cloud, but beautiful in all its changes—for the light it reflected was -borrowed from heaven.” - -“Hers, then, was the beauty of expression.” - -“Yes, of angelic expression, and yet her countenance was exquisitely -lovely in repose. It reminded one of an inland lake, which, when serene -and undisturbed, reflects the flowers and the foliage around it; but, -when agitated, the shadows on its surface, the tiny crests of foam and -mimic waves brattling on the shore, all its wild and shifting beauties -are its own. She died on an early summer’s morning, the dew-drop yet -sparkling on the blade which, while it bent, it fertilized; and the -whole earth, in one gush of fragrance, sent up its tribute to the mighty -hand that made it.” - -“Oh, Edward! it were happiness thus to die.” - -“Ay, dearest, it is only a spirit pure and spotless as your own, that -can realize that death has no terrors where life has no reproaches.” - -A pressure of the hand was her only reply, for his eyes were filled with -tears, and she felt too much moved to speak. After a slight pause he -proceeded. “In less than twelve months, my mother followed her to the -grave, and the day and the hour, the occasion and the scene, are deeply -graven in my memory; but,” he continued, observing her emotion, “I will -not distress you with the sad recital, although the sorrows of that -bitter hour were not without their solace—for, feeling that our loss -would be her gain, the showers and the sunshine, the alternate gloom and -brightness of the day without, were typical of our hopes and fears. My -patrimony was considerable, and my mother had named a distant relative -and seemingly attached friend as her executor and my guardian. - -“A few weeks found me under the roof of Mr. Thornton. The exchange was a -sad one. I had left the home of my infancy, where every familiar object -was associated with some kindly phrase or act of endearment, to become a -member of a proud aristocratic family, which traced its lineage from -England. I could have endured privations without repining, but I was -peculiarly sensitive of neglect, and was like the vine cast from the -trunk which had supported it, whose tendrils, unsustained and drooping, -are swayed to and fro by the wind, seeking for something whereupon to -cling. Repelled by the cold indifference of the family, my yearning -nature found the sympathy it needed in the friendship of Mr. Winchester, -who was employed as a private tutor for Mr. Thornton’s children. Above -all men I have ever seen, he united the wisdom of the serpent with the -simplicity of the dove. Placed under his tuition, I made rapid progress, -he was pleased to say, not only in the acquisition of knowledge from -books, but in that more difficult branch which teaches us to analyze our -feelings, and to know ourselves. You remember Mr. Hamilton, who left -here shortly after my arrival?” - -“Indeed, I do, and esteem him highly, for he is a most excellent man.” - -“Well, imagine him a little taller, a shade more pensive, somewhat more -retiring in his manners, and with an enunciation yet more distinct, and -you have Mr. Winchester before you.” - -“I see him—and with the character you give, feel that I could love him -too.” - -“Ay, that you would, for his meek exterior concealed a spirit -incorruptible as that of Brutus, and as benevolent as Howard himself. To -him I am indebted for all that I am or can ever hope to be. At that time -politics ran high; Napoleon, the great human vulture, was gorging -himself with the blood of nations, and the blood-red flag of England -claimed the empire of the seas. The discordant clamor of party strife -was loud and vehement, and the whole country seemed to vibrate with the -throes of political convulsion. Warped by his pride of descent, and -giving the tone to his family, at Mr. Thornton’s fireside, in all -political discussions, the cause of England was strenuously maintained. -It was here that, as I grew older, I derived the greatest benefit from -the counsels of Mr. W. A pure patriot, without a parade of zeal, he ever -upheld the cause of his country. Pointing out the distinction between -the governments of Europe and the one we had adopted, how the former -strove to maintain an idle and luxurious class in exclusive privileges, -while the other recognized no difference between man and man, he -ingrafted in me an attachment to our institutions as warm and enduring -as his own. But for him, I might have imbibed the alien feelings of the -family with which I was domesticated. - -“About the close of my second year under his tuition, news came of the -wanton attack upon, and inglorious surrender of the Chesapeake. At Mr. -Thornton’s table that day, much was said of the valor of the English, -and the craven spirit of the Americans. Mr. Winchester mildly but firmly -defended his countrymen; but his opposition provoked such a torrent of -abuse, and such violent denunciations of every thing pertaining to -America, that, interrupting Mr. Thornton in his loudest tirade, he -announced his determination of forever quitting a house which he -considered as a fit shelter only of foes and traitors. A violent -outbreak seemed inevitable, but his calm and lofty demeanor quelled the -rising storm; and, true to his word, he left the next morning. After his -departure, the last tie that bound me to the spot was severed, and I -applied to be sent to college. To my surprise, Mr. Thornton declined, -and threw out some vague hints of an unpaid bond and a threatened -lawsuit that might involve my whole estate. I then asked to be sent -elsewhere to school, but was again denied. I therefore determined, hap -what might, to leave the place, and make my way to one of the Atlantic -cities, where, in the sanguine spirit of youth, I felt sure of achieving -something. Any thing was preferable to the life there before me. I had -read of perilous escapes, and in my inexperience, confounding my -situation with that of some imaginary captive, and fearing a thousand -obstacles, I waited impatiently for a tempestuous night. It came at -last, wild and terrific to my heart’s content. - -“Throughout the day the weather had been variable. At one time the tops -of the trees were bowed down by fitful gusts, while at another the wind -gently soughed among the branches, or dying away calm, every thing would -droop with the oppressive heat. The clouds, low, detached and ragged, -seemed to hover over us. The bold and craggy tops of the mountains were -wreathed in mist, and the same humid vapor filled the chasms and swept -down the distant slopes. Even before the sun disappeared, his disc -became lurid; the air seemed to thicken and respiration was difficult. -The untended cattle went lowing to their pens, and the poultry, with -discordant noises, hurried under cover. About dusk, a dense bank of -cloud gathered in the north-west, and while the thunder muttered in the -far-off mountains, it slowly approached us, the lightning playing across -it in incessant flashes. Suddenly, like the smoke of artillery, a number -of jets were thrown out from its upper surface, and then a flash, -compared to which, those were as artificial fire-works which had -preceded it, blinded the eye, and instantly every animate thing shrunk -with dread as a most terrific crash pealed upon the ear. Then came the -whirl and the roar of a tempest. The spirit of the storm was abroad, and -Omnipotence seemed, “to ride on the wings of the mighty wind.” Huge -trees and massive fragments of rock were whirled about like gossamer in -a summer’s breeze. An avalanche of rain followed, the very flood-gates -of heaven seeming to have opened above us. - -“The long wished-for hour had now arrived, and bracing myself to the -desperate chance, I threw a change of raiment into a wallet I had -prepared, and hurried forth, preferring rather to encounter the battling -elements than abide with those I could not love. Breasting the driving -rain, I shouted with exultation at the prospect of achieving my own -fortune by my own exertions. Although ‘from cliff to cliff the rattling -crags among,’ I heard ‘the live thunder’ leaping, and the forked -lightning almost seethed the brain with its sharp and sulphurous fire. I -pressed on regardless of the storm and only fearful of pursuit. For some -miles the road, which ran winding among the hills, was overflowed, and -each indentation in the mountains had become the bed of a foaming -torrent. I was obliged to clamber the hill-sides, and spring from ledge -to ledge across the mad and plunging streams. But that I was in full -health, buoyant with hope, and of an elastic frame, I could never have -overcome the difficulties or survived the perils of that night. Once or -twice I nearly despaired, but the prospect of the unfeeling treatment to -which I would be subjected if I returned determined me to persevere. -After severe toil I gained the high-road, and threw myself down -exhausted. I had done so but a few minutes, when, borne upon the wind, I -heard a loud clatter, and now and then a shrill and piercing shriek. -Springing to my feet, I gazed anxiously up the road. The rain had -partially subsided, and a momentary luminous spot in the heavens, showed -the position of the moon; the thunder, no longer near, reverberated in -the distance, and the glare of the lightning, although less frequent, -was no less sulphurous and blinding. I could soon distinguish the tramp -of horses at full speed, and in an instant after, a carriage passed at -headlong velocity. The screams I had heard, satisfied me that there was -at least one person within, and I breathlessly hurried after it. - -“A short distance below, the road descended a hill and crossed a stream, -ordinarily wide and shallow, but now, doubtless, swollen and scarcely -fordable. My fears were more than realized, for to my dismay, I soon -found myself up to the armpits in the water. The screams had ceased, and -I could hear nothing to guide me. Suddenly, through the lurid gleaming -of the storm, I saw the carriage, which seemed to be entangled with -something, while the horses, rearing and plunging, madly strove to free -themselves from the harness. With some difficulty I swam to it; the -lateral pressure of the water almost bearing me under by its velocity. I -found that the carriage had taken against a prostrate tree, and that the -struggles of the horses would soon precipitate it over on its side. -Fortunately, I had my hunting-knife with me, and swimming round, -contrived to cut the traces and liberate the horses, but not without -receiving a severe kick on my right shoulder. Forcing open the door, I -found a female form within, but whether alive or dead, in the uncertain -light I could not tell. The water was nearly up to the seat, and rising -with great rapidity. Bearing the body up, I hesitated what to do. With a -bruised limb, and supporting a lifeless form, it would be madness to -attempt to swim. Feeling about, I discovered that the front panel was a -large one, and forcing it out, dragged the wet and dripping figure -through, and placed her on the driver’s seat, while I loudly called for -help. Almost simultaneous with my own, I heard voices shouting along the -road, and guided by my call, assistance was soon procured, and the lady -(who had fainted) rescued from her perilous position. - -“Mr. Stephens, a respectable merchant, was, with his wife, returning -from the springs, and had reached the village soon after the storm set -in. He had just alighted, and was holding forth his hand to assist Mrs. -S. to descend, when the horses, blinded by a flash of lightning and -terrified by the peal which succeeded it, ran off at full speed, and the -driver in his effort to recover the reins, fell to the ground. - -“Mr. S. expressed so much gratitude for my efforts, and so frequently -proffered his services to aid me if he could, that, melted by his tones -of kindness, I confided to him the secret of my flight and all my future -plans. He listened with deep attention, and endeavored at first to -persuade me to return to my guardian, but finding my repugnance -insuperable, he suggested a mode of enfranchisement at the bare mention -of which my heart fairly leaped for joy. He proposed that I should enter -the navy, a profession, he remarked, which, although little esteemed by -the country, would, he felt sure, if an opportunity offered, gain for -itself a high and imperishable renown. Informing my guardian of the -course intended to be pursued, he exerted his influence, and in a short -time procured me an appointment. - -“I made but one cruise previous to the war. Immediately after its -declaration, I was ordered to the frigate Constitution, then lying at -Annapolis. She was commanded by Captain Hull, who, with every officer -and man on board, was exceedingly anxious to get to sea before the enemy -should reach the Chesapeake in superior force. Our captain had twice -ineffectually written to the Secretary of the Navy, urging permission to -proceed to sea. At length he called up the officer of marines and said -to him, - -“‘Have you no business that calls you to headquarters?’ - -“‘None, sir,’ replied the officer. - -“‘Then you must make some,’ said the captain, and handing him a letter, -added, ‘you will start this evening so as to reach Washington early -to-morrow. When you get there, let it be your first business to call -upon the Secretary of the Navy and give him this letter, telling him at -the same time, that you will call in three hours for a reply. At the -expiration of the three hours, be sure to take your departure, and I -expect you to breakfast with me the morning after.’ - -“The officer strictly obeyed his instructions. When the Secretary had -read the captain’s letter, he remarked ‘I am very much occupied at -present, sir, but if you will call in two or three days, I will have an -answer ready for you.’ - -“‘Sir,’ replied the officer, ‘I am allowed but three hours in Washington -to see my colonel, and at two o’clock I am to start on my return.’ - -“‘Very well, sir,’ was the reply; and he took his leave. - -“At two punctually, he called again, and the Secretary, somewhat -fretted, said, ‘Really, sir, I have not had time to attend to Captain -Hull’s letter, can you not wait until to-morrow?’ - -“‘Under my present orders, sir, it is impossible.’ - -“‘Very well, say to Captain Hull that I will write to him by mail.’ - -“‘Excuse me, sir,’ said the officer, ‘when I assure you that the captain -will be bitterly disappointed if I do not bring something from you.’ - -“With a gesture of impatience the Secretary drew a sheet of paper toward -him, and writing a few hurried lines, handed the note to the officer, -who took his departure. It contained these remarkable words: - -“‘SIR,—You will proceed with the Constitution to New York, and should -you meet any vessels of the enemy, you will note it.’ - -“It was sufficient, and we immediately weighed anchor and stood to sea. -A short distance out, we encountered a squadron of the enemy, and the -chase that ensued has already become matter of history. Of the fatigue -we underwent, and the unsurpassed exertions we made, I can give you no -idea. For most of the time the wind was light, and occasionally it -subsided to a perfect calm. At such times the sun, fierce and fiery, -scorched us with the intensity of his blaze; while towing and kedging, -our crew toiled manfully and without a murmur: with the perspiration -streaming from their brows, no one dreamed of relaxation. Each one, -sleeping at his post, caught his meals as he could. At one time, the -nearest ship, being towed by all the boats of the squadron, was enabled -to gain fast upon us, notwithstanding our redoubled and almost -superhuman exertions. The surface of the ocean, unmoved by undulation, -and smooth as a mirror, reflected the black and threatening hulls of our -pursuers. Gradually, like huge, creeping monsters, they seemed all to -gain upon us, when, at the very crisis of our fate, a catspaw, faint as -a fleeting shadow, darkened a spot upon the water, and then disappeared, -leaving no trace behind; again, another, and another, imperceptibly -increasing in extent and force, until commingling into one, and rippling -the ocean with its breath, the light but glorious breeze came on. -Swinging the ponderous yards to meet its glad embrace, we thanked our -God that we were the first to feel it. The sails, late so listless and -inactive, first flapped exultingly, and then slowly distending, our -noble ship, in all her grace and pride and beauty, like a recruited -steed, renewed the race she had so nearly lost. With sail on sail, -packed wide and high, from the bulwarks to the trucks, each ship was -soon a pyramid of canvas. Behind us was captivity or death—before us -freedom, and perchance renown. Judge, then, with what thrills of delight -we soon perceived that we were leaving our pursuers. The wind freshened -as the night closed in, and early the ensuing day the enemy abandoned -the chase as hopeless. For sixty hours we had toiled unceasingly, and -human nature had been taxed to the utmost. - -“Cut off from New York, our commander determined to proceed to Boston. -Off Long Island we spoke an American vessel, and by her the captain -wrote to the Secretary of the Navy, acquainting him with his escape, and -informing him that he would proceed to Boston, where he trusted to -receive permission to cruise at sea. We reached the harbor late one -evening, by midnight we had commenced taking in provisions and water, -and in twenty-four hours were ready for sea. For three days beyond the -time we should have heard from Washington, we were kept in the most -anxious suspense. All hands were detained on board except the purser, -who, on the arrival of each mail, hurried to the post-office, in the -hope of finding the desired letter. On the third day there did come an -official letter, but it was addressed to a ward-room officer on the -subject of his pay. - -“It was then that Captain Hull took a resolution which evinced as much -wisdom as moral courage. He knew that the cruisers of the enemy swarmed -upon our coast, and he chafed with impatient desire to fairly encounter -one of them. He determined to put to sea without orders, and immediately -carried his purpose into execution. - -“We had soon the satisfaction to meet an adversary. It was one of the -ships belonging to the squadron which had chased us. Instead of -increasing we now sought to lessen the intervening distance, and as we -approached, each ship, like a combatant in the arena, partially stripped -herself for the conflict. Under reduced sail, leisurely, deliberately, -we neared each other. It was a moment of intense excitement. England had -so long styled herself the mistress of the seas, and the arrogance of -the claim was so lessened by her almost uninterrupted career of victory, -that the boldest and most sanguine among us admitted probability of -defeat. Yet there was no shrinking of the nerve, not one instant’s -hesitation of purpose. Our country had sent us forth, and in the hour of -peril she relied upon us. We knew that we might be defeated, but felt -that we could not be disgraced. The flag, with the proud vessel which -bore it, might sink beneath the waves, or with it, by one terrific -explosion, be scattered in shreds and fragments upon its surface, but -each one felt that it could never be struck to a single adversary. - -“I had thought before that I had some idea of a battle, but imagination -fell short of the stern and startling reality. Men, lately so calm, -collected, and seemingly almost impassive, were wrought to the highest -pitch of frenzy, and reeking with perspiration, and begrimed with -powder, as seen through the fire and the smoke, appeared like infuriated -demons. The ship, reeling like a drunken man, quivered with each recoil, -but there was no screaming, no shouting—the ministers of death were too -earnest for noisy exhibition, and except the stifled groans of the -wounded, and the brief, quick words of command, the human voice was -unheard. - -“You know the result. At the report of the last gun in that conflict, as -at the blast of the Israelite trumpets before Jericho, the walls of -British invincibility fell—like them, too, never to rise again. But, -dearest, I tire you.” - -“No, Edward, I love to listen to you. When I first read of that victory -I wept for joy. Now, although it is past, I tremble, while I rejoice, at -the danger you incurred; but tell me, did you escape unhurt?” - -“I received a flesh wound merely, but it proved irritable and difficult -of cure. In consequence, I was prevented from again sailing in the ship; -but my promotion was secured, and I congratulate myself on my present -position. The ship to which I am attached is smaller than the -Constitution, but she is well-manned and ably commanded. There is no -telling at what moment she may meet with an opponent; and you, dearest, -would not have me absent while my shipmates are battling for our -country.” - -“No, Edward, I will not be less patriotic than yourself; but we have so -shortly known and understood each other, that it is hard to separate so -soon, and when there is so much danger that we may never meet again; -beside, your impatience retards your recovery.” - -“Fear not, Mary, the fever has entirely left me, and my strength -increases daily—thanks to your gentle nurture, for, unseen, though -hovering near, you not only supplied my wants but anticipated every -wish.” - -“Speak of it no more, Edward; see, Alfred is coming to call us to -breakfast. I will take the path through the shrubbery and avoid him, or -he will have his jest at our expense when we meet at table.” Springing -from her lover’s side as she spoke, she lingered for an instant as she -gained the copse, and turned with a fond, confiding glance toward him, -but the sound of her brother’s footsteps checked the current of her -feelings, and she was out of sight in an instant. - -Edward Talbot was in his 22d year. With a fine figure, his frame -indicated more activity than strength. His hazel eye, undimmed by recent -illness, expressed decision of character, and his dark hair fell in -untrimmed luxuriance over his pale but manly features. - -Mary Gillespie was eighteen, and almost a woman. About the medium -stature of her sex, her light, elastic figure moved in unconscious -grace. Her silk-like chestnut hair shaded a neck of snowy whiteness; her -brilliant cheek, now white as a lily, now mantled with a blush, more -surely and more rapidly than words bespoke the current of her feelings; -while her deep-blue eyes, bathed in liquid crystal, and curtained from -the sight by their long and fringing lashes, rarely raised and as -suddenly withdrawn, struck the beholder with wonder and admiration. -Beautiful in person, sensitive in her feelings, and of a most confiding -and affectionate nature, she was a being formed for love. - -Mr. Gillespie was a merchant who had resided eight years upon the -island, and for the last three held the situation of American Consul. -The war having interrupted his business, he had been for some time -winding up his affairs preparatory to returning home. He was an -unpretending man, of practical good sense and sterling integrity. He had -been five years a widower. Left with two children he had devoted every -leisure hour to their education. But his son, now in his 14th year, -proved more intractable than the daughter, and increased his anxiety to -return and place him under the charge of competent teachers. - -Such was the state of things when Lieutenant Talbot was sent on shore -extremely ill. At first, in his province as consul, Mr. Gillespie had -procured for him the best lodgings that could be hired; but when he -heard his mother’s name, and found that through her the young officer -was related to an old and cherished friend, he at once had him removed -to his own house. - -It was not to be expected that, under such circumstances, two kindred -spirits should meet and not assimilate. It is no wonder that thus thrown -together, they should become mutually attached. They did love! love only -as those can do who, trustful in their natures, are uncankered by care, -and in their thoughts, their prayers, their aspirations, and their -dreams, they soon become each other's constant and abiding theme. - -The morning after the one with which this tale had opened, Mr. Talbot -threw open his casement, and stepping into the balcony, looked eagerly -toward the west. It was again calm, and the unclouded sun, just risen, -threw his unrefracted rays across the slumbering sea. It was Sunday, all -was silent, and not a vestige of a living thing was seen. Not a solitary -bird fanned the air, no roaming fish disturbed by its gambols the -mirror-like surface of the deep, but on the furthest verge of the -horizon, - - “As idle as a painted ship, - Upon a painted ocean.” - -floated a light and buoyant fabric, which alone, within the broad scope -of vision, proclaimed man as its architect. It was the Hornet, the -symmetrical Hornet, already renowned for a glorious achievement. - -In a few hours the sea breeze set in, which, cool and refreshing, is -sent by a merciful Providence to temper the heat of a tropical sun. The -ship was soon under a cloud of canvas, and it was a beautiful thing to -see her inclined to the breeze, dashing along with graceful speed, while -the light tracery of her rigging was reflected upon the sails which -looked snow-white in the glancing beams of the sun. As if instinct with -life, she bounded across the water, and soon dropped her anchor in the -bay. - -Captain Biddle, already distinguished for his gallantry, together with -several of his officers, dined with Mr. Gillespie that day. Before -midnight, they were again at sea, for there were enemies abroad, and -they felt bound to seek them. - -It were useless to dwell upon the parting interview of the lovers. All -that the gushing fondness of two such natures could impart was -interchanged. Hap what might, though distance should separate, and -circumstances debar their intercourse for months or years, they felt -that unswerving confidence which true and loyal breasts alone can feel. -It is true that they both felt much anxiety—the maiden in especial, for -her lover was exposed to far more than the perils of the deep. But, with -a faith early instilled by the precepts of a pious mother, she placed -her trust on High, and with more of hope than fear, looked forward to -the future. - - - CHAPTER II. - -For some weeks the Hornet sought in vain for a cruiser of the enemy. -Some valuable captures were made, and the vessels destroyed, and it was -determined to shift the cruising ground to the South Atlantic. - -As they approached the equator, the atmosphere became humid and -oppressive, and they were deluged with frequent rain, compared to which -the heaviest showers of our own more favored clime, are as the dew-drop -to the overflowing cistern. Often at night the sea would be brilliantly -phosphorescent, and the water as dashed aside by the advancing prow, -fell over in curls of flame, while, gamboling around in very wantonness, -myriads of porpoises, the dolphins of antiquity, sportively chased each -other, and darting to and fro, without design or order, checkered with -lines of light the dark, unruffled sea. - -The day on which they crossed the line was preceded by a night of -surpassing loveliness. Undisturbed and quiet as a sleeping infant, the -calm and placid ocean lay in beautiful repose, its very heavings, as if -moved by the modulation of sweet sounds, so gentle, as not to impair the -reflections of its mirror-like surface. - -Toward morning, a mist arose, which, becoming dense, settled down and -banked around the horizon. As the night waned, faint streaks of light -tinged the dark cloud; gradually the hues became brighter and more -expanded, the violet became purple, the purple reddened into crimson, -and suddenly, as from a bed of flame, the sun looked forth upon the -quiet scene. The serene sky, the placid ocean, the soft breath of the -morning, and the gorgeous sun, were all in keeping with the attributes -of their Maker; while the tiny ship, a mere speck upon the waters, -girdled with iron and prepared for strife, was a fit emblem of the -frailty and insignificance of man. - -The inconsiderate and the thoughtless were disappointed that the usual -ceremony of receiving Neptune was dispensed with on crossing the line; -but the Hornet was too well disciplined for such a disorderly -exhibition, and her commander wisely considered the custom of roughly -shaving the uninitiated as one more honored in the breach than the -observance. - -After crossing the equator, the atmosphere improved and became balmy and -pleasant, and _so_ rarified that the stars became visible at the very -verge of the horizon. The pole star, the lamp hung out in heaven to -guide the wanderer on the northern deep, although steadfast as faith it -maintained its post, gradually disappeared, and others, more brilliant -but less endeared by association, rose upon the view. High up in the -heavens, two luminous bodies, like fragments of the milky way, became -visible, while lower down toward the pole, another of darker hue was -seen. They were the wonderful Magellan clouds which, from their position -and immovability, are supposed by Humboldt to be the reflections of the -Cordilleras. - -The messmates of Talbot had soon perceived a marked change in his -demeanor: His hilarity was gone, and, avoiding his former associates, he -paced the deck or sat apart, wrapped in the visionary aspirations of a -lover. They all suspected the cause, but had too much regard for him to -wound his sensitive feelings by ill-timed jests and allusions. Indeed -their respect for him insensibly increased, for they perceived with -surprise that although completely absorbed in revery when he had no duty -to perform, yet he had become the most vigilant among them, and in -particular paid the most minute attention to the exercise of his -division at the guns and in the use of small arms. At such times, his -eyes sparkled with more than their wonted enthusiasm, and his very air -breathed some exalted purpose. - -“Take care, gentlemen,” said the captain one day to a party of officers -near him, “take care! Talbot is wooing glory that he may win a bride, -and if opportunity offers he may bear away the palm.” - -“Let him if he can,” was the reply, “we will not begrudge what must be -dearly earned.” - -Nearly in a line with the extreme southern limits of two continents, at -the confluence of two mighty oceans, lies Tristan d’Acuna, a high, rocky -and uninhabited island, its summit wrapped in clouds, and, except in one -place, the surf loud and continuous broke upon its shore. The wind was -fresh, and the tumultuous waves ran high, when through the mist the -Hornet gained a sight of the land. While the captain hesitated whether -to venture in, or lie-to and await more favorable weather, the cry “sail -ho!” was heard from aloft. - -“Where away?” was quickly asked by the officer of the deck. - -“Broad off the weather beam, sir,” was the reply, and the Hornet wore -round and stood toward the stranger. None but those who have experienced -it can form an idea of the thrill of delight with which each man on -board of a cruiser, in time of war, hears the cry “sail ho!” which -ensures the excitement of a chase, and the probability of an engagement. - -Long before the hull of the stranger was visible from the deck, her -spars and sails, enveloped in the mist, in their shadowy outline seemed -of gigantic size. Like a shapeless cloud rather than a thing of art, she -came down before the breeze, now and then the mist, in fantastic -wreaths, half concealing, half betraying her form and character. The -American hoisted her colors as an invitation to the stranger to declare -her nationality. Shortly after, the report of a gun came booming over -the water, and there was a shout of exultation among the crew of the -Hornet, as through the vapor they descried the ensign of St. George. The -commander of each vessel, however, was too good a seaman not to be aware -that the wind was too high, and the sea too rough, for a fair encounter. -Each one, brave himself, doubted not the valor of his adversary. With a -tacit understanding that they would meet when the gale abated, the ships -hove-to, in each other’s near vicinity. They rode out the night in -safety, each one carrying a light, to denote her position to the other. - -The next day it moderated, and at 1 P. M. the Hornet hoisted her jack at -the fore, as an intimation that she was ready for the encounter. The -signal was promptly answered, and the vessels filling away on opposite -tacks, exchanged broadsides as they passed. Immediately after, like two -knights engaged _à l’outrance_, each again wore round and stood directly -for the other, while from forward, aft, successively as they bore, the -guns were fired with singular precision. As they neared each other, the -scene became more and more exciting: Beside the boom of the cannon, the -pealing of the musketry soon became incessant, and the hurtling of iron -and lead was terrific. The atmosphere was soon thick and stifling, and -the crews were working their guns with the energy of desperation, when a -severe concussion, followed by a harsh and grating sound, told that the -ships were afoul. - -“Away! boarders away!” was the instant cry on board of the Englishman, -and a host of men, cutlas and pistol in hand, gathered on his -forecastle. - -“Stand by to repel boarders,” was the prompt response of the American, -and a forest of bristling pikes was arrayed against the assailants. Talk -of serried ranks and wedged battalions; of the compact square, and even -of the deep moat and frowning parapet! who would not charge upon either, -rather than breast that fretted line of steel, held by those -stern-visaged men! The enemy paused and faltered. - -By word and example, Talbot had encouraged his men to their utmost -exertion, and at the first call, had hurried with them to repel the -enemy; but, when that enemy hesitated, although but for an instant, he -shouted, “On them, men! on! on!” and rushed forward as he spoke, to -board them in turn. - -“Hold, men! hold! Back, Mr. Talbot, back, I command you,” shouted the -captain. “My God! he’s gone!” he added, as the two ships, lifted high by -a passing wave, fell apart, and the fore-mast of the enemy came down -with a frightful crash. The instant before, Talbot had sprung upon her -bowsprit, and the next, just escaping the mast as it fell, he was upon -her deck. - -Captain Biddle, although he had been firm as a veteran throughout the -fight, no sooner beheld the peril of his officer, than, trembling like -an aspen, he sprung into the rigging, and in a voice shrill and distinct -amid the uproar, called out, “Hurt but a hair of his head and I’ll sink -you where you lie.” - -In the meantime, Talbot had not been idle. Striking right and left, -parrying where he could, but not stopping to return a blow, he pressed -on, and in less time than it has taken to narrate this incident, had -gained the quarter-deck, cut the halliards and hauled the ensign down. - -Immediately on separating from the enemy, the Hornet ranged ahead, and -was prepared to throw in a broadside, but seeing the colors down, hailed -to know if they had surrendered. The reply was in the affirmative. - -The prize was immediately taken possession of, and Talbot was found -almost insensible, endeavoring to staunch the blood from an ugly wound -with the flag he had hauled down. - -So destructive had been the fire of the American that the prize was -completely riddled: She was therefore scuttled; and in a very short time -the Hornet was again prepared for action. - -The wound of poor Talbot was so severe as to leave no hope of his being -able to perform duty the remainder of the cruise. A merchant vessel that -was fallen in with was chartered as a cartel, and all the prisoners, -with a few of the wounded, including Talbot, were put on board of her, -to be taken to the United States. - -Under the judicious treatment of the medical officer who accompanied -them, he was fast recovering when they passed the island, where we first -introduced him to the reader. At his urgent request he was landed, the -cartel, after a few hours delay, proceeding on her course. - -Like the anguish of the parting, the glorious ecstasy of the meeting of -the lovers may be imagined, but cannot be described. - -“Dear Edward,” said the maiden, as soon as they were alone, “Dr. Holmes -has told me all, and you have more than realized my wildest and most -extravagant hopes.” - -“Say not so, Mary! indeed you should rather take credit to yourself, for -if I have been swayed by any other motive than love of country, it has -been to prove myself worthy of your rare affection.” - -“It was ever so with you, Edward—you first excite our admiration, and -then ascribe to others the fruits of your own good deeds.” - -“Nay, sweet girl, you wrong yourself and me. Tell me, what is the body -without the soul?” - -“An inanimate lump of clay—but why the question?” - -“Because to me you are what the soul is to the body—the life which -animates and the spirit which directs it—you are at once my inspiration -and my hope—the burthen of my thoughts, the aim and object of all my -aspirations.” - -“Hush, Edward, this cannot, nay, I would not have it to be true; let us -change the theme.” She laid her hand upon his mouth as she spoke—but -what maiden was ever yet displeased with the devotion of a favored -lover? - -In the course of their conversation, Talbot learned that Mr. Gillespie -had completed his arrangements, and was on the look out for a vessel to -convey himself and family to the United States. The former was of course -anxious to accompany them, and in the midst of happiness was, perhaps, -the most impatient of them all, for Mr. Gillespie would not consent to -his daughter’s marriage before she had seen her relatives at home: -Perhaps, too, he wished to inquire more particularly than he had yet -been enabled to do, into the character and circumstances of the man he -was about to receive as his son-in-law. He knew him to be brave and -intelligent, and of frank and winning manners, but he knew nothing -more—the captain of the ship, when he dined with him, having answered -his questions in general terms of commendation. - -They waited for a long time in vain. So ruinous had the war become to -American commerce, that for months not a vessel from the United States -had visited the island. - -Late one evening a schooner, named the Humming-bird, formerly an -American letter-of-marque, arrived, bringing intelligence of peace -between England and the United States. The owners of the schooner had -without delay applied for a commission to the Colombian minister, and -she was now equipped as a privateer under that flag. The commander of -her, having been drawn from his course by a vessel to which he had given -chase and captured two days previous, purposed proceeding immediately to -Nassau, New Providence. As from thence a speedy conveyance to the United -States could certainly be procured, and no Spanish cruisers were -supposed to be at sea, Mr. Gillespie offered such inducements to the -captain that he consented to take them as passengers, and gave up his -cabin for their accommodation. - -In less than sixty hours they sailed, with a light but favorable wind. -About 4 P. M. the second day, when they were nearly through the Mona -passage, it fell calm. Within the passage, from shore to shore, there -was not a ripple upon the water, and the light and buoyant little -vessel, without advancing a foot, rose and fell with the mysterious -undulation. A few miles ahead, without the passage, stretching from the -east toward the west, the dark and ruffled surface was relieved by the -white caps of the waves, whose tops were curling and breaking into -sparkling foam. It was the trade wind sweeping, unobstructed by the -land, toward the Great Bahama Bank. Several vessels were in sight, among -them a large one, coming down before the wind, but which, less than any, -excited their attention—for she seemed too burthensome for a Spanish -trader to the colonies. - -“Captain,” said Talbot, half an hour after, “unless I am very much -mistaken, that large stranger to windward is a man-of-war.” - -“Probably an Englishman.” replied the captain. - -“Scarcely, the canvas is not sufficiently dark, and the upper sails -roach too much; it is evidently a frigate, and now I think of it, can -hardly be a Frenchman, for they rarely cruise in this direction. Are you -sure that there are no Spanish cruisers among the islands?” - -“None so large as this,” answered the captain, “for the Isabella went to -leeward upward of a month ago.” - -“May it not have been a ruse?” asked Talbot. - -“Give me the glass,” said the captain, and he looked long and earnestly; -“I cannot make her out,” he said at length, “but do not like her looks. -Get out the sweeps, Mr. Long,” he added, addressing his lieutenant, “we -must have the Humming-bird out of this mill-pond, or her wings will be -useless.” - -The order was promptly obeyed, and the little vessel was soon moving at -the rate of three or four knots through the water; but the larger vessel -was in the mean time coming down at treble velocity. As soon as the -schooner began to feel the influence of the wind, the sweeps were laid -in, and all sail made to the northward, in the hope that the stranger -would pass without observing them. In this, however, they were -disappointed, for, as the latter was brought to bear abeam, they -observed with anxiety, that she edged away toward them. - -“I fear that we have been deceived in our intelligence,” said the -captain, in reply to a look from Talbot, as they noticed the suspicious -movement of the stranger. - -“For Heaven’s sake, conceal your misgivings from Mr. Gillespie and his -family while there is a hope,” asked Talbot; to which the captain nodded -assent, and proceeded quietly to make his arrangements to elude, if -possible, the grasp of his pursuer; for he now felt convinced that he -saw the Isabella. The best sailing of the schooner was by the wind; -instead, therefore, of keeping away before it, she was hauled close to -it, and steered N. N. E. bringing the frigate to bear forward of the -weather beam. - - [_To be continued._ - - * * * * * - - - - - FLORENCE. - - - BY HENRY B. HIRST. - - - PROLOGUE. - - An humble cottage, overgrown - With woodbine, stood beside a hill, - And nigh it, murmuring through moss, - Rippled a little rill. - - The hill was high and wore a crown - Of leafiness, whence, gazing down, - An eagle might behold the towers - And turrets of a town. - - And many a pleasant country cot, - Snowy, and peering through the green, - With, now and then, a rivulet, - Meandering, might be seen. - - But in the landscape, like a king, - A short half mile or more away, - A grim old castle stood, erect, - Baronial and gray. - - Around it lay an ample park, - With, here and there, a drove of deer; - A rude old Norman edifice, - Dark, desolate and drear! - - Perhaps it was the morning sun - Which made the ancient building smile, - But, nevertheless, a pleasant look - Was on the agéd pile. - - Perhaps it was with joy it smiled - That morn, the merriest of the year, - Which welcomed home its youthful lord, - Young Lionel De Vere. - - Perhaps the thought of earlier days - Flitted athwart its granite brain; - Perchance it dreamed it might behold - Those golden hours again— - - Those hours when, in the tournament, - Warriors, in glistering steel attired, - Tilted before young demoiselles, - Who blushed to be admired; - - Or when the forest echoes rang - With many a merry bugle-horn, - And stag and hounds, a baying rout, - Swept by some autumn morn. - - But whether it was the morning sun - Which made the ancient mansion smile, - Or other things, a pleasant look - Lit up the agéd pile. - - - PART I. - - She stood among her garden flowers, - The very loveliest lily there, - Beauty, bloom, purity and truth - Unfolding on the air. - - He paused among the trees and gazed, - And like a bark with sails unfurled, - His heaving heart went forth to seek - Another and a fairer world. - - All heaven he felt was in her eye; - Its sunshine glistened in her glance; - The air he breathed was elfin air; - His soul was in a trance: - - “Ah, spirit of some virgin saint, - Turn—turn those blesséd eyes on me, - And let me kneel and worship thee!” - Deliriously said he. - - She raised her eyes, her maiden cheek - Mounting the crimson tinge of dawn, - And, looking timidly around, - Stood, like a startled fawn. - - “Nay, do not fly,” exclaimed the youth; - “Remain; allow my thirsty eyes - To quaff thy beauty: I would drain - A draught of Paradise.” - - Wonder awaking in her face, - The maiden stood, with lips apart, - Drinking his voice, whose cadence stole - In harmony to her heart. - - And even as she stood he came, - And, kneeling, bade her fear no wrong; - While all the while the murmuring air - Moved musical with song. - - His words were not as other’s words, - His voice was like no other voice, - Somehow, she knew not why, it made - Her maiden heart rejoice. - - And from that moment all things grew - Lovelier with light, because of him, - And, like a cup of wine, her heart - Was crimson to the brim. - - “What shall I call thee?” asked the maid; - “How name thee?” “Clarence is my name,” - Returned the youth—“an honest one, - Though all unknown to fame. - - “And how shall I call thee?” quoth he. - “Florence,” replied the maid—“a mean - And humble village girl.” “But fit,” - Said he, “to be a queen!” - - Day after day, at eventide, - The stranger sought her, breathing words - Of passion, while her timid heart - Beat like a frightened bird’s. - - But not with fear, for every pulse - Was swayed by love, that, moon-like, rides - The empyrean of the adoring heart - And rules its purple tides. - - - PART II. - - Merrily through the town they went - A proud, chivalric cavalcade - Of knights and nobles and esquires, - In silken robes arrayed. - - And each sustained his high degree, - But foremost there, without a peer - In manly majesty of mien, - Rode Lionel De Vere. - - The ostrich plumes which flowed and waved - In silver clouds above his brow, - Were gray and lustreless beside - That forehead’s dazzling snow. - - The diamond broach which held the plume - Flashed in the sunlight, like a star, - Throwing its ever radiant rays - In rainbow hues afar. - - The ruby burning on his breast, - Blazing and blossoming as he turned, - Was fervid as his heart, which, fed - With honor, nobly burned. - - And as he passed, his lofty head - Bending in answer to the cries - Of loving vassals, nobler form - Never met woman’s eyes. - - A smile for one of mean degree, - A courteous bow for one of high, - So modulated both that each - Saw friendship in his eye. - - Onward he rode, while like the sound - Of surf along a shingly shore, - The murmur of a people’s joy - Marched, herald-like, before. - - Timidly, while before them pressed - The peasants, in a little nook - Two women stood—two timid things— - To snatch a hasty look: - - One, weak and old—an agéd dame— - December toward its latter day; - The other young and pure and fair, - The maiden month of May: - - Trembling with curious delight - She rose on tip-toe, gazing through - The mass of heads which, like a hedge, - Bordered the avenue. - - The sound of horns, which rolled and broke - Like summer thunder, and the crash - Of cymbals, while the hound-like drum - Howled underneath the lash; - - The toss of plumes, the neigh of steeds, - The silken murmur of attire, - As the proud cavalcade drew nigh, - Filled her young heart with fire. - - He came, her lord, the lord of all - Who gazed and gazed afar or near, - And as he bowed they hailed with shouts - Lord Lionel De Vere. - - A trouble flitted through her face— - A shadow, and before her eyes - She passed her hands, as if to check - Some terrible surmise. - - Nearer and nearer, while like one - Struck dumb she gazed, the noble came, - And as he passed the people flung - Their blessings on his name. - - One little cry—a feeble cry— - The name of “Clarence,” and she passed: - He heard it not, its tiny sound - Died in the clarion’s blast. - - - PART III. - - The cottage stood in solitude, - The woodbine rustled on the wall, - The Marguerites in the garden waved - In murmurs one and all; - - And, rippling by, the rivulet - Seemed sobbing, like a frightened child, - Who, wandering on, has lost its way - In some deserted wild. - - The day was waning in the west, - And slowly, like a dainty dream, - The delicate twilight dropped her veil - On fallow, field and stream. - - The purple sky was sown with stars - When Clarence came: she was not there, - And desolately frowned the night, - And stagnant was the air. - - But on the little rustic seat - Where they had often sat, there shone - A letter, and the noble name - Along it was his own. - - “Farewell,” it said, “that I exist - Breathing the word which is the knell - Of love and hope is not my will. - But God’s alone: Farewell. - - “Never more on this once loved spot, - Never more on the rivulet’s bank, - Shall we sojourn: my love, great lord, - Insults thy lofty rank. - - “Go, seek some fitter mate: for me, - Too poor to be thy wife, too proud - To be thy leman, grief, despair, - The death-bed, and the shroud.” - - He read appalled, amazed, aghast, - Stern as a statue, and the stone - Was pale Despair, its haggard look - Less awful than his own. - - A thought, and like a storm he dashed - Along the grassy walk: no spark - Shone from the cottage: all within, - Without, around, was dark. - - He knocked and knocked, but no one came: - He entered, and the silent room - Was vacant, and his darkened heart - Grew darker with the gloom. - - Next day the grim old castle stood - Neglected: whether its heart of stone - Was touched, I know not, yet I heard - The ancient mansion moan. - - Perhaps I was deceived; the wind - Went howling over woods and moors, - And round the castle, like a ghost - Stalking its corridors. - - - PART IV. - - The snow had fallen hour on hour; - The wind was keen, and loud and shrill - It whistled through the naked trees - And round the frozen hill. - - The country everywhere was white; - The forest oaks that moaned and pined - Wore caps of snow, which, bowing low, - They doffed before the wind. - - Twilight descended, and the air - Was gray, and like a sense of dread, - Night on the virgin breast of earth - Her sable shadows spread. - - Slowly, with wavering steps a man - Moved on a solitary moor, - With staff, and shell, and sandaled shoon, - A pilgrim pale and poor. - - Slowly, with trembling steps he moved, - Pausing, as if uncertain where - To take his way, when, faint and far, - A bell disturbed the air. - - And as with concentrated strength - He sought the sound, a little light - Shone flickeringly and glow-worm like - Through the ravine of night. - - A little light that with each step - Became distinct, until his eyes - Beheld a convent’s welcome walls - Between him and the skies. - - He reached the portal—rang the bell, - And as above him rose the moon, - Sank, like the storm: the portress found - The pilgrim in a swoon. - - They bore the wasted wanderer in: - Pallid but beautiful he lay, - A dream which seemed to come from heaven - Though clad in suffering clay. - - And when, long hours of anguish gone, - His eyes once more shone calmly blue, - Looks that seemed grievous memories - Dimmed their ethereal hue. - - His soul, which many days had walked - The ploughshares of consuming love. - Wrung by the ordeal, raised its eyes - Toward Him Who reigned above. - - He sought the chapel; at the shrine - Knelt, while his eyes were wet with tears— - God’s love in holy harmonies - Filling his penitent ears. - - Even as he knelt the solemn mass, - “ORA PRO NOBIS, DOMINE,” - Rose, like a dove on sun-lit wings, - Seeking the heavenly way. - - Concordant voices sweet and clear - Rang through the consecrated nave, - Discoursing melodies which rolled - And broke, wave over wave. - - As in an ecstasy he knelt, - Cheeks, lips and eyes alive with light, - Radiant, as if a saint, or Christ - Himself had blessed his sight. - - For in the voices one sweet voice - Swam, like a spirit’s, in his ears: - He could not speak, or move, or breathe; - While slowly trickling tears - - Ran down his cheeks, as, louder still, - The swan-voiced organ breathed its knell, - And on its cloudy height of song - Paused, trembled, moaned and fell. - - But as its echoes died away, - His spirit trod that golden shore - Where hope becomes reality - And sorrow is no more. - - He sought the abbess; on his knees - Unfolded, page by page, his grief; - While she, albeit cold and stern, - Wept, yielding to belief. - - And Florence came, while Clarence stood - In breathless silence far apart, - A thousand hopes and joys and fears - Conflicting at his heart. - - Throwing aside his pilgrim cowl - Clarence fell trembling at her feet: - “Florence,” he murmured, “loved and lost, - At last, at last we meet.” - - She stood in silence, with her eyes - Fixed on the youth—a heavenly calm - From out whose subsidence of sound - Came “Clarence,” like a psalm. - - And then he knelt and told his tale: - How he had loved in other lands, - And she he sought had faithlessly - Obeyed a sire’s commands, - - And left him desolate; how, when, - After long weeks of aching pain - A pale, heartbroken, weary man, - With fevered brow and brain, - - He sought his native land, and stood - Again within his castle halls, - But found that soothing Peace had flown - Forever from its walls; - - And how, when wandering in the woods, - Accusing God of all his wo, - Madder with memories of the Past - Than any fiend below, - - She, Florence, like an angel, rose - To calm his heart, and dry his tears, - And fill his brain with melodies - Stolen from statelier spheres. - - And how he sought to test her love, - And feared, recurring to the past, - That this, his eidolon of joy, - Might prove too bright to last. - - And so, in humble garb, in state - No loftier than the maiden’s own, - He sought her love, not for his lands - But for himself alone. - - And how he came and found her gone, - And since, month after month, in pain, - Had followed her from town to town, - With burning heart and brain; - - And how, when hope was gone, and life - Seemed like a land which lay behind— - The future like a desolate void— - How, when he most repined— - - When death had been a welcome thing, - Her voice, the concord of the spheres, - Had called his memory from her tomb - On which it lay in tears. - - She stood and listened with her eyes - And ears and heart—cheek, lip and brow - Serene with happiness which shone, - Like sunlight over snow. - - And with a breathless eloquence - Which, more than words or vows, exprest - Her boundless confidence, she hid - Her blushes in his breast. - - - EPILOGUE. - - One day, in early autumn time, - In spirit, I traversed the plain, - And sought De Vere’s ancestral towers, - And gazed on them again. - - They stood in green and glorious age; - The rooks wheeled round the ancient walls, - And peals of mirthful merriment - Peopled the castle halls— - - Loud laughs, which made the watchful deer, - With ears thrown forward, look and bleat - And seek a covert, while the sounds - Followed their pattering feet. - - The swallows, twittering in the air, - Seemed sharers in the general gladness; - The stares from oak and beach and elm, - Chattered in merry madness. - - Across the drawbridge, as I gazed, - A merry, laughing cavalcade, - With dogs in leash and hawk on hand, - Dashed madly down the glade. - - Among them, stateliest of them all, - Sat one whose broad and ample brow, - Though white with time, was full of life - As lichen under snow. - - And by his side, with smiling eye, - And swelling breast, in robes of green, - Rode one, round whom the nobles prest - As round a loving queen. - - And after, hand on hip, two youths - Rode gayly onward, side by side, - Returning with admiring love - Their parents’ glance of pride. - - While in the distance, like a sire - Who sees at Christmas festival - His happy children laughing round, - Smiled the baronial hall. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE DIAL-PLATE. - - - BY A. J. REQUIER. - - - All rusty is the iron grate - That girds the garden desolate, - But there it stands, the dial-plate, - A thing of antiquated date, - Right opposite the sun. - The wild moss and the fern have grown - Upon its quaint, old-fashioned stone, - And earthy mounds about it strown - Seem each to say, in solemn tone, - “A race is run!” - - Of yore, in vernal beauty smiled - This spot of earth so drear and wild, - And you might chance to see a child, - Up-scrambling on the gray stones piled - Around the dial-plate; - Then might you hear his laughter ring - Clear as the chime of bells in spring, - When, like a pompous little king, - He strutted on that queer old thing - In mock estate. - - Long years have circled slowly round - Upon that wheel which hath no sound; - The urchin has in manhood found - A beauteous maid, and they are bound - By Hymen’s silken tie; - There stand the couple, side by side, - The bridegroom and his dainty bride, - The sunbeams from the dial slide - Deep in their cells beneath the tide— - As deep Love’s sigh! - - Comes tottering age with thin, white hair, - And that same youth is standing there! - But now his head is almost bare, - And twinkles in his eye a tear, - Fresh from his withered core; - Gone are the loved ones of his breast, - Gone to their everlasting rest, - Grim Death has robbed the old man’s nest, - And they are now his mouldering guest - For evermore! - - Ye pilgrims on the shores of Time! - Of every age and every clime, - Like flowers ye spring up in your prime, - Like them ye fade at vesper chime - In twilight of the tomb; - Oh! pluck the roses while ye may, - Each instant heralds Life’s decay, - Mark well the dial’s fleeting ray, - There is a world beyond the clay— - Beyond its gloom. - - Old father Time expects his fee, - Look how he rubs his hands in glee, - A mighty pair of scales hath he, - To weigh Earth and Eternity, - “As misers count their gold;” - From earth he plucks each minute-pin, - And down the other he drops it in— - Take heed! the weigher soon must win - He stares upon you with a grin— - Your days are told! - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: W.P. Frith Addison - -THE BRIDAL NIGHT. - -Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine] - - * * * * * - - - - - UNEQUAL MARRIAGES. - - - BY CAROLINE. H. BUTLER. - - -“Sister, are you determined, then, to marry Annette to Mr. Eccleson?” -asked Mr. Goodman of his sister, Mrs. Doily. - -“Certainly I am, brother,” answered the lady. “In every respect it is a -most advantageous match for her; indeed, John, I assure you that I look -upon an alliance with the Eccleson family as one of the most desirable -things which could possibly happen, and so does Mr. Doily.” - -“I do not agree with you,” said her brother; “and I fear in the end, you -may have reason to change your present views.” - -“And why so, brother?” returned Mrs. Doily. “It seems to me you are -always looking upon the dark side! Now do tell me, John, what reasonable -objection you can possibly have to Annette’s marriage—I am sure I see -none—and, of course, no one can have her happiness more at heart than -her own mother! Is not Mr. Eccleson very rich, and nearly allied to some -of the very first families in the city? His age surely can be no serious -objection—indeed, it is all for the best, for a man stands still, while -a woman grows old; and fifteen years hence, depend upon it, no one will -think him fifteen years her senior. Then he is very agreeable, and -certainly uncommonly good-looking!” and with the air of one who feels -satisfied that they have the best of the argument, Mrs. Doily -complacently swung to and fro in her easy rocking-chair. - -“Yes, Jane, he is all these—and, you may add, too, as proud as -Lucifer!” said Mr. Goodman. - -“He has reason to be proud!” put in Mrs. Doily. - -“Perhaps he has,” answered her brother, “and you will find that his -pride will not allow him to acknowledge willingly any connection with a -dry-goods retailer!” - -“Ridiculous, brother—how foolish you talk! Pray, then, why should he -offer to marry Annette, if he looks upon the connection as something to -be ashamed of?” said Mrs. Doily, getting almost angry. - -“Why? why because he has fallen in love with Annette’s pretty face; he -means to marry _her_, not her family, and he trusts to his future power -over her, and to a woman’s devotedness to her husband, right or wrong, -to wean her away from all her earlier ties!” - -“John, you really talk very strangely!” exclaimed Mrs. Doily, almost -ready to cry. “What possesses you to run on in this way, just as if my -dear Annette could ever be brought to give up all her old friends for -strangers. I do wish you would not talk so—it really makes me nervous!” - -“Well, my dear sister, I may be mistaken, and for your sake, and for -Annette’s sake, I hope to God I am! I call myself a pretty good judge of -character, and if I err not, Mr. Eccleson has so much pride, arrogance, -perhaps, would be the better word, for it is not the pride of a -high-minded, honorable man, as will make him callous what ties he rends, -or what sacred altars he may trample down to serve his own ambitious -views. Besides, Jane, I never yet knew any true happiness to result from -unequal marriages; and I tell you honestly, that were Annette my -daughter, I would sooner see her the wife of an honest young tradesman, -who has his own fortune and standing to build up, than the wife of Penn -Eccleson, were he ten times richer than he is!” - -“Oh, yes, John, were Annette _your daughter_!” said Mrs. Doily, forcing -a laugh. “Yes, I know, old bachelors and old maids are always most -wonderful patterns of parental prudence! but with all your prejudices -you will allow one thing, I hope, that Mr. Eccleson is far from being -either a selfish or a mercenary man!” - -“I deny the first,” interrupted Mr. Goodman. - -“For he refuses to receive any fortune with Annette; true, we could not -give her much—five or six thousand dollars, perhaps—but even that is -something; and I am sure his refusal to accept of it is very noble. It -is Annette, and Annette alone he wants.” - -“True, very true—it is Annette he wants, and not a penny of the -retailer’s money—there shall be no obligation of that nature to bind -him to the family of the future Mrs. Eccleson!” exclaimed Mr. Goodman, -starting up angrily from his chair. “Jane, Jane, I protest against this -marriage!” and seizing his hat and cane, he withdrew, leaving poor Mrs. -Doily bathed in the tears she was no longer able to restrain—tears of -vexation and anger, at what she deemed the willful obstinacy of her -brother. - -If what Uncle John said was true, it was certainly yet to be proved, -for, perhaps, no marriage in the eyes of partial, hopeful parents, ever -promised a fairer prospect of happiness to trusting girlhood than that -so soon to be consummated. - - * * * * * - -Penn Eccleson belonged exclusively to the monied aristocracy. His -grandfather and father before him, had both commenced life with a -determination to be rich—richer—richest—and what the former had -accumulated from small beginnings and careful savings, were as carefully -and judiciously applied by the son, until little by little the broad -foundation of future wealth was successfully established. - -In the days of their youth, when the freshness of their young lives -should have been given to better and holier ends, the parents of Penn -Eccleson looked forward only to the aggrandizement of themselves and -children, through the potent influence of money; and to this end they -toiled and delved in the service of Mammon, with a bondage almost equal -to that of the gold-seeking maniac amid the mountain fastnesses of -California, denying themselves all the luxuries, and most of the -comforts of life to swell the hoard of avarice, and feed their -ill-directed ambition. - -As years took their flight, step by step the Ecclesons gradually emerged -from the obscurity of a narrow cross-street in the lower part of the -city, to the possession of one of the most elegant establishments in the -fashionable region of —— Square. The most _genteel_ schools were -selected for their children, who were expressly forbidden to form any -friendships with their little school-mates, save those whose parents -could at least boast of a carriage, and thus, their heads early filled -with conceit and pride, the little Ecclesons formed as disagreeable a -trio as one would care to see—for assuredly there is nothing more -unpleasing, than to behold the beautiful simplicity of childhood lost in -the supercilious airs and artificial graces of the fine lady! - -The Ecclesons were regarded at first in no very favorable light, in the -quarter they had chosen for their debut into high life, and occasionally -their pride suffered severely. But with a pertinacity worthy a higher -aim, they firmly stood their ground, and upon the strength of their fine -dinners, and their splendid parties, were, in the course of a few years, -not only tolerated, but received with favor into those circles they most -coveted. Their only son, meanwhile, was traveling in Europe, with a -_carte-blanche_ in his pocket for any expenses he might choose to -indulge, and the sage advice of worthy Polonius engrafted on his mind, -in the sense, I mean, with which Mr. Hudson translates Shakspeare, that -is, “to sit up all night to make himself a gentleman, and take no pains -to make himself a man.” - -Time rolled on. Their daughters made highly eligible matches, their son -returned elegant in person, polished in manners, and then it was time -for the old people to die. - -Doubtless it would have been a satisfaction to them to have witnessed -their own sumptuous funerals; to have known how daintily their rigid -limbs were draped in the finest of linen, and upon what soft, downy -cushions within their narrow bed their heads were pillowed. It would -have been a splendid pageant for their pride—the richly emblazoned -coffin—the pall of velvet sweeping to the ground—the hearse, with its -long shadowy plumes—the high-mettled horses curbed to a solemn pace, -yet tossing their heads and manes as if nobly spurning from them the -trappings of fictitious wo in which they were forced to act a part—the -stately equipages which follow their dust to the “City of the Dead”—and -then their own epitaphs; it would have amazed them to have known how -many virtues of which they themselves were ignorant, that finely -chiseled marble bestowed upon them. - -The old gentleman remembered each of his daughters and their families -handsomely in his will, and then bequeathed to his son the residue of -his large property, including the fine mansion in —— Square. Penn -Eccleson might therefore be considered by speculating papas and mammas a -most eligible match. Nature had also been most lavish in her personal -gifts, while Fortune, as we have seen, had already secured him her -favors. - -But young Eccleson seemed in no hurry to take a wife, and he had nearly -attained his thirtieth year ere he began seriously to look about him. At -this time he accidentally saw Annette Doily at the Opera, and became -instantly a victim to love at first sight. It must be owned his ardor -was somewhat cooled, upon ascertaining that this beautiful young -creature was—nobody! that is, she was only the daughter of a mere -shopkeeper, who dealt out tapes and bobbins, and sold cambric by the -yard. This fact, for a time, was sufficient to keep his ardor in check, -but upon being thrown again into her presence, it broke forth with -renewed violence. He gave himself no rest until he had found a way to -make her acquaintance, and thus led by the little god, the haughty Penn -Eccleson, who walked the earth as though he were lord of all, became a -frequent visiter at the house of Mr. Doily, and a suitor for the hand of -his daughter. - -Annette was, indeed, a lovely young creature, whose seventeenth summer -had scarcely dawned over her innocent, happy life. I would fain describe -her, as her image comes up before me in the dream of the past, but my -pen is unable to trace the indescribable charm which dwelt upon her -countenance, or the artless grace which pervaded all her movements. And -these were the least traits which endeared her to her friends, for never -was there a heart more affectionate and confiding, or a disposition so -guileless. What wonder that the polished manners and insinuating address -of Eccleson should have gained her heart, and that with all the fervor -and truthfulness of a first love, she blushingly consented to be -his—grateful, too, for the preference he had yielded a simple child -like herself. - -Mr. and Mrs. Doily were proud of their daughter, and proud of the -conquest she had achieved. In the alliance they saw an immense -advantage; it not only placed their beloved Annette at once in the -highest circles of rank and fashion, but to Mr. Doily, the benefit to -his business, arising from a connection with the Eccleson family, would -be incalculable. He already fancied himself turning his back upon the -counter, and established among the bales and boxes of a large wholesale -house—perhaps an importer—a ship-owner; while Mrs. Doily, with the -true instinct of a mother, forgetting all self, rejoiced that her two -younger daughters would be ushered into society under the patronage of -their wealthy brother-in-law. - -Uncle John was the only one who predicted aught but undivided happiness -from the union. - - * * * * * - -Had the cloudless heaven which dawned upon their wedding morn, and the -bright sun which burst in gladness over them, but typified their future -lot, how blest and happy would it have been. - -Eccleson preferred to be married in church, and a gay retinue attended -the bridal pair to the sacred edifice wherein their solemn vows were to -be registered. As side by side they stood in the holy chancel, all eyes -turned admiringly upon them—she so charming, yet so unconscious of her -loveliness, as with her little hand nestled in his she received the holy -benediction of the priest, while as he bent his lips to her pure brow, a -softness rested upon the features of the bridegroom, which rendered his -beauty almost godlike. - -The ceremony over, the two sisters of Eccleson, proud, haughty dames, -advanced and coldly saluted the pale cheek of the fair bride, and -honored the sadly happy mother with a stately bow. Eccleson touched his -lips to the proffered cheek of Mrs. Doily, and then receiving the -weeping Annette from the arms of her parents, bore her exultingly to the -carriage, as if eager to point the barrier henceforth to be raised -between _her_ and _them_. - -The new married pair were absent two or three months on a bridal tour, -and then returned to the city—their house in the interim having been -newly and magnificently furnished to the tune of thousands, under the -supervision of Mrs. Dash and Townlif, the sisters of Eccleson. But -Annette pined to embrace her mother; not all the gilded baubles which on -every side met her eye, not all the splendors of which her husband -proudly proclaimed her the mistress, could for a moment quell the -yearnings of her affectionate heart; and scarcely bestowing a glance -upon the magnificence which surrounded her, she begged the carriage -might take her to her parents and sisters. - -Poor Annette! she was now to receive her first lesson from her haughty -lord. - -“No, Annette, you must not think of it,” replied Eccleson, carelessly -loosing the arms twined so fondly round his neck, “you are very tired, -love, and I cannot consent to your further fatiguing yourself.” - -“Indeed, dear Penn, you are mistaken, I am not in the least tired; O, -pray let me go home, if only for an hour!” said Annette, with her little -hand upon his shoulder, and her large, dark eyes bent beseechingly upon -his. - -“I tell you, Annette, I cannot suffer you to go into P—— Street -to-night; beside, love,” he added, “it pains me to hear you speak of -going _home_, as if this were not your home, your _only_ home, Annette.” - -There was a meaning stress upon the word “only,” which, however, Annette -did not observe, so crushed was she by the disappointment his refusal -caused her. She hesitated a moment, and then once more flinging her arms -around him, she said, - -“Dearest husband, I must go—do not refuse me. Only think, it is three -months since I have seen them—three months, Penn, since I have embraced -my mother. I know they are pining to behold me once more, for I was -never away from them even for a day until I became yours, dear Penn; I -am sure I shall not sleep unless I see them to-night.” - -“Nonsense, Annette,” replied Eccleson; “you are no longer a child, I -hope, to be thus sighing and whining after your mother; really I am -quite ashamed of my little wife! Come, I will myself show you to your -dressing-room; you have not yet seen the splendid diamonds I have for -you, nor the elegant _trousseau_ my sisters have prepared. Come, -Annette,” and encircling her slender waist with his arm, he would have -led her from the room. - -Tears stood in Annette’s beautiful eyes. - -“Dearest Penn, will you do me a favor? If you object to my going home -to-night, then let the carriage drive round into P—— Street, and bring -my mother here.” - -Eccleson drew himself up haughtily. - -“Absurd, Annette—I shall certainly do no such thing. In the morning I -shall not object to your visiting your parents, provided you take an -early hour ere we may expect _my_ friends to call upon you; but the -truth is, the less frequent you make your visits in P—— Street, -Annette, the better I shall be pleased.” - -“What do you mean?” exclaimed Annette, with a startled look upon the -countenance of her husband; “indeed I do not understand you, dear Penn.” - -“Well, my dear girl. I will endeavor to explain myself more clearly,” -answered Eccleson. “You are, of course, aware that by your marriage with -me, your position in life has wholly changed; you are now raised to a -sphere greatly above that from which I took you; and as my wife will -henceforth move in none but the highest and most distinguished circles -of the city; and therefore, dearest Annette, for my sake as well as for -your own, it will be desirable that you forget all old associations as -soon as possible.” - -“I do not understand you even now, I think,” said Annette, smiling -sadly. “No, I am sure, dear Penn, I do not take your true meaning—for -it cannot be you would have me sacrifice my parents to my new position, -to renounce all the fond ties of home! that is not what you mean?” she -added with an appealing look. - -“In a certain sense that _is_ my meaning, love,” answered her husband. -“I shall offer no objections to your visiting your excellent parents -occasionally, or as your parents of receiving them into my house; but, -my sweet Annette, you must study to control your wishes for a very -frequent repetition of these family meetings. It may seem impossible to -you now, but believe me, dearest, you will soon find so much that is -novel and delightful to occupy your thoughts, that you will cease to -regret that which appears to afflict you so much at present.” - -With her little hands clasped upon her bosom, and her eyes gazing almost -wildly into his, did Annette listen to the words of her heartless, -selfish husband. But there was no resentment, no anger visible in her -sweet face; with a sigh which would have moved any heart but his, she -said, - -“I am grieved to hear you speak so, dear Penn; nothing can ever make me -forgetful of the ties of nature; you yourself would despise me, if, -through the allurements of wealth and fashion, I could be brought to -forget those who gave me being. You know you would; say so, dearest -Penn—you only wanted to prove me, did you?” and casting one arm fondly -around his neck, with a sadly sweet smile she bent her lovely eyes upon -him. - -“Annette, we will not talk of this more at present,” answered her -husband; “enough that if you love me, you will, by and bye, better -understand and _do_ my meaning.” - -The first night Annette passed under her husband’s roof was a sleepless -one. Her chamber, in its luxurious adornments, might have received a -princess—but little did she heed it. The beautiful hangings of pink and -silver which swept around the bed—the rich counterpane of white satin -which enveloped her lovely form—the downy pillows cased in the finest -lace—nor all the splendors which surrounded her, had power for a moment -to divert her saddened thoughts, or stay the tears of wounded affection. - -But hope, bright hope is ever the blessing of youth as of age, and with -the morning dawn gladdened the heart of the young wife with its peaceful -influence, and whispered that her husband meant not the cruel words he -had spoken, and that all would yet be well. - -At an early hour the carriage was at the door, and Annette was borne -once more to the arms of her parents. She hoped, but dared not ask her -husband to accompany her, and it was with a heavy sigh and a starting -tear that, after handing her into the carriage, she saw him once more -ascend the marble steps, and then, as the carriage drove off, kissing -his hand to her, re-enter the house. - -In the fond welcome of home Annette lost the sorrow which already -touched her young heart. As she viewed each dear familiar spot, her -marriage seemed but a dream. From room to room she flew with the -gladness of a bird—the kitchen—the nursery—the dear old school-room, -all felt her light footstep now rapidly sweeping the keys of the piano -as she glided past—now chasing the little kitten from “mother’s” -work-basket—now releasing her pet canary from its wiry prison, to perch -upon her finger—and finally seating herself upon a low cushion at the -feet of her mother, with the shaggy, sleepy head of old Rover in her -lap, she prepared to answer some of the many questions poured upon her. - -And what a proud, happy mother was Mrs. Doily at that moment—laughing -and crying at the same moment as she looked upon her dear, darling -Annette. How many affectionate inquiries she had to make about her new -son-in-law—what plans she laid for the future—why did not Mr. Eccleson -come with her? But she knew he would soon—and Annette must stay to -dinner; yes, the carriage must go back without her, she had been away -from them so long they could not spare her to-day; and Mr. Eccleson -would come to dinner—it was lucky, for they were going to have boiled -turkey and oysters, and the nicest, fattest pair of ducks she ever saw. -But Annette reluctantly excused herself—they were to receive their -wedding visits, and she must go—some other day, soon, very soon she -would come. And kissing them all a dozen times, she sprung into the -carriage and returned home with a lightened heart—for it could not be -that her husband would willingly deprive her of so much enjoyment as -that one brief hour had given her. - - * * * * * - -It is needless to trace, day by day, and hour by hour, the thralls which -gradually tightened around the kind, loving heart of Annette, who -passively yielded herself to the selfish demands of her husband. - -By the haughty relatives of Eccleson she was received either with formal -courtesy, or with that condescending air of patronage, the most keenly -cutting to a sensitive soul. She would have loved them, poor girl, if -they would have suffered her love; but her advances were always -chillingly repelled—they wished her to feel the vast difference which -existed between a shopkeeper’s daughter and their “almighty dreadful -little mightinesses.” - -Eccleson loved his young wife as dearly as it was in his nature to love -any one, save _self_—and all _but_ his pride, would have sacrificed to -her happiness. To a gay round of parties, _soirées_, the opera, -theatres, and concerts, he bore her night after night, until any less -gentle nature than Annette’s would have been lost in the giddy whirl of -fashion. Her dresses, her jewels, her equipage, out-rivaled all others; -she was the belle of the brilliant circle in which she moved; but she -pined in her gilded prison, and longed to lay her aching head upon her -mother’s bosom. - -The very fact that her husband looked upon her relatives as inferior to -himself, marked the galling dependence of her situation. She was his -wife, but fettered by bonds which ate into her soul. Almost wholly was -she now debarred from the society of her own friends—for she could not -see them insulted, and no better than insult was the haughty bearing -which Eccleson assumed toward them, and therefore she preferred they -should think her the heartless thing she seemed, than by persisting in -her claims, subject them and herself to renewed contumely. - -Better would it have been for Annette had she possessed more firmness of -character—a _will_ to do as she pleased—a determination to have her -rights respected. But she was by nature too gentle to wrestle with the -unfeeling hearts around her, and therefore yielded herself a passive -victim. Or better, perhaps, would it have been, had her bosom covered a -marble heart, and that, callous to all the tender ties which can make -life desirable, she should have walked through life that mysterious -anomaly—a beautiful woman without a soul! - -But it was not so. - -The step of Annette gradually lost its light elastic tread—her cheek -grew pale—her eyes no longer reflected the innocent gayety of a happy -heart, but bent low their drooping lids as if to hide their weight of -sorrow—the bright smile which lent its charms to her speaking -countenance faded sadly away. In less than two years after her marriage -with that proud, haughty man, poor Annette was dying—dying of a -broken-heart—of crushed and blighted affection! - -Too late to save her did Eccleson see his error. He saw that he had -drawn too strongly upon her gentle, pliant nature, and that barred from -the light and sun of her childhood’s home—shut out from the kindly -sympathies of parental love, like some beautiful flower of the forest -torn from its genial bed, she was to fade and die at ambition’s altar! - -To restore her, if possible, and bitterly repenting his cruelty, -Eccleson now did all in the power of mortal to stay her angel flight. He -brought her parents around her—he surrounded her bedside with the most -skillful physicians, and lavished upon her all the comforts which wealth -could purchase. He took her home and restored to her the treasured -associations of her early life. - -Poor Annette was grateful—deeply grateful for this too long deferred -kindness; and now that in this reunion life seemed again to present so -many charms, she would have desired to live had her Heavenly Father so -willed it. But it was too late. The barbed arrow had penetrated too -deeply her innocent bosom to be withdrawn. With her hand clasped in that -of her repentant husband, and her head pillowed on her mother’s breast, -her gentle spirit took its flight. - -Gentle reader, this is no exaggerated story I have given you. It is but -another life-drawn sketch of the evils which too frequently arise from -unequal marriages. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE ICEBERGS. - - - BY PARK BENJAMIN. - - -[This poem was composed after reading a vivid description of the passage - of a ship through the magnificent fields of ice in Hudson’s Bay, by - Ballantyne.] - - Beautiful are the Icebergs! gorgeous piles, - White, green, gold, crimson in the flashing rays - Of the round sun. Along the waves for miles - They rise like temples of remotest days. - - Or like cathedrals, churches, columns grand, - Grander than all that modern Art can claim— - The gilded fabrics of some Eastern land, - The mighty monuments of Roman fame. - - Our vessel sails among them like a bird - Of darkest form, and plumage turned to brown, - Beside their lustre, as they lie unstirred, - Yet threatening to careen and topple down. - - Strange, splendid, massive, fanciful, grotesque, - Of shapes as various as Invention drew— - Gothic, Corinthian, Grecian, Arabesque, - Perfect or shattered, age-renowned or new. - - Builded upon the ice-fields, stretching vast - Into mid-ocean, like a frozen shore - Which skirts a continent, unknown to past - Or present time and shall be evermore. - - Cities and towns girt round with crystal walls, - And filled with crystal palaces, as fair - As Boreal Aurora, when she falls - Brilliant from heaven and streams along the air. - - No sound disturbs the stillness of the scene - Hushed in eternal slumber, calm and deep; - To break the spell no voices intervene, - The very waters share the death-like sleep. - - No fragment severs from the solid mass, - No torrents from the hills translucent flow, - But all is rigid, while we slowly pass, - As glacial mountains in a world of snow. - - No avalanche impends, but leaning towers, - Like that of Pisa, seem about to rush - In ruin downward, though for years as hours - They still may stand, nor fear a final crush. - - Ye icebergs! held by adamantine chains, - Nor moved from your foundations by the gales - Which Winter, hoary tyrant, ne’er restrains, - But sends, relentless, where his power prevails— - - Ye are stern Desolation’s home and throne, - Fixed on the boundaries of human life; - The lofty watch-towers of the Frigid Zone, - Locked in securely from the ocean’s strife. - - I look upon you with deep awe, and feel - That all my generation will decay - Ere Cold shall cease your ramparts to congeal, - Or Tempest hurl you from your base away! - - * * * * * - - - - - LOVE. - - - BY CHARLES E. TRAIL. - - - The winds are tranquil on the heaving deep; - And from her azure throne Night bendeth down, - And to old Ocean’s brow transfers her crown - Of peerless beauty. All things are asleep!— - Save Love, who doth his ceaseless vigils keep - In my fond heart, where to thine image, now, - He kneeleth, breathing many a passionate vow, - And earnest prayer, filled with affection deep. - Like pious pilgrim at his sainted shrine, - His dearest treasures, and most precious things— - Devotion, constancy and truth he brings, - And lays them humble offerings upon thine, - Inspired with trusting hope that thou, who art - All gentleness, wilt smile, nor bid him to depart. - - * * * * * - - - - - DOCTOR SIAN SENG - - - OR THE CHINAMAN IN PARIS - - (FROM THE FRENCH OF MERY.) - - - (_Concluded from page 128._) - -[Illustration] - -“I am,” cried I, falling at her feet, “a simple mortal, who loses his -senses before your beauty.” - -“Get up! doctor, get up,” said the _danseuse_, with a countenance of -severity suddenly assumed—“no nonsense before your god-daughter! You -forget yourself—she will tell a thousand stories when we get home. Have -you never seen the ‘Terrible Children of Gavarni?’ They are all spies, -these little innocents!” - -I got up from my knees in confusion, and excused myself as well as I -could. Her anger seemed to cool. She gave me her hand, and drawing a -deep sigh, said, - -“If I had all these beautiful things in my drawing-room, I should -consider myself richer than the Sultana Valida.” - -“This evening, Mademoiselle, my Chinese parlor shall be transferred to -your hotel.” - -“Well then, doctor, I will go and prepare for it. I hope you are in -earnest, for the fun of the thing, even if it were only to shame the -Parisians by your generosity. By the bye, wouldn’t you like to sketch my -left foot also? What will you do with one foot without the other—don’t -be modest—have the match to it!” - -“Mademoiselle, I dared not ask you—” - -“Ah! I am always generous—I don’t do things by halves.” - -“What kindliness and grace! Mademoiselle, it is not this miserable -collection I should offer you. I would I could place at your feet the -pagoda of the suburb Vai lo ching, which is of porcelain, with tiles of -massive gold!” - -“That would suit me exactly, _particularly the tiles_!—Is my foot -placed right?” - -“My design is completed, Mademoiselle; my gratitude for your kindness -will never end—may I call to-morrow to visit you?” - -“To-morrow—dear doctor, to-morrow is an unlucky day! I dance to-morrow, -and must practice for five hours.” - -“The day after, then?” - -“The day after? that’s Saturday—I always dine with my mother on -Saturday—Sunday I shall be free as air. Suppose I take you to -Versailles on Sunday? we can eat a hare at a country inn, and drink -milk. You will accept my invitation will you not?—agreed then. Oh! how -delighted I shall be to get into the fields and inhale the fragrance of -the flowers. Sunday, then, dear doctor, my carriage shall be at your -door at twelve o’clock; I am as exact as a Breguet watch—adieu!” - -We have no women in China—it is the only thing our ancestors forgot to -invent! If Mademoiselle Alexandrine were to appear at Pekin she would -take the empire by storm! You can form no idea of that divine -creature—graceful as a bird—speaking as melodiously as she -sings—springing as she walks—doing a thousand delicious things in a -moment, and throwing at you sweet and flashing glances, like the -twinkling of a star. - -In quitting my parlor, she left a void which made me nervous. It was -necessary to do something not to fall a prey to melancholy. I hurried my -servants to the four corners of the street for porters, and in about an -hour my room was cleared—before dinner my beautiful _danseuse_ had -received every thing. What a sweet night I had! I had the copy of each -foot in either hand! and I said to myself, at this moment she is -blessing me—she praises my generosity before the altar of Tien—in her -eyes a single man exists! and that is me!—for her the rest of the world -has disappeared! - -With what impatience was Sunday expected—that Sunday which promised me -such happiness! I wanted to break all the clocks about me, because they -seemed joined in a conspiracy against me, to lengthen out Saturday! -Notwithstanding my impatience the hours rolled round, and on Sunday, an -age after the clock struck eleven, it announced mid-day. - -I stood in my balcony and devoured every carriage with my eyes. At six -o’clock I had seen all the carriages in Paris roll by—and I was still -alone! Alone! when one has been promised a _rendezvous_! There is in -this deception the very delirium of despair! - -As soon as it was proper I ran to visit Mademoiselle de St. Phar. The -porter, hardly concealing a smile, said, “Mademoiselle de Saint Phar has -gone to the country.” - -“When will she return?” asked I, with deathlike visage. - -“After Easter or Christmas,” answered the porter. - -As I came away I heard loud laughter in chorus from the whole family of -porters. - -No news of Mademoiselle de Saint Phar! Every night at the opera—but no -_danseuse_. Her name no longer appeared in the bills—it had disappeared -from the ballet as her person had from her hotel. - -Could I abase my dignity as representative of the Celestial Empire by -causing search to be made for a _danseuse_? What would the grand -secretary for foreign affairs have said of me! I could only suffer in -silence. So I did suffer—and hold my tongue. - -Forty days after that fatal Sunday I was walking along a great street, -whose name I forget, and having a habit of reading signs as I pass -along, what was my astonishment to read the following: - - “CITY OF PEKIN!” - - Chinese Curiosities at fix’d prices. - -In taking a glance at the window, I recognized some of those I had -formerly owned. So I stepped into the shop, resolved to repurchase them -if the price were not too high. An involuntary exclamation escaped me! -the shopkeeper was a young woman—in short, Mademoiselle Alexandrine de -Saint Phar! - -I was thunderstruck, and as immovable as one of my clay compatriots at -my side: but the _danseuse_ smiled charmingly, and without interrupting -her embroidery work, she said with a _sang froid_ sublime, - -“Ah! good morning, dear doctor—you are very good to favor us so early -with a visit—look around and see if you cannot find something here to -your taste. Your god-daughter has the small-pox—she asks for her -god-father every day—the dear little Dileri!” - -I crossed my arms upon my breast and shook my head—a pantomime which I -have remarked in a drama at the Theatre Ambigu means “what infamy!” - -Mademoiselle cast a sidelong glance at me—shrugged her shoulders, and -biting off a scarlet thread with her teeth, said— - -“By the bye, dear doctor, I am married now—I have been a wife fifteen -days—Madame Telamon, at your service. I will introduce you to my -husband—a very handsome man—you would scarcely reach to his waist even -if you raised yourself upon your toes. Hold! here he is!” - -I saluted her hastily, and left the shop furiously angry, the more so -that I was obliged to conceal my rage. A single glance I gave toward the -husband—real or false—sufficed for me to recognize the pretended -decorator at the opera, who came to my box to invite my judgment upon -his Chinese kiosque. That I had been the victim of a regular conspiracy -was very evident—resignation was my only resource. - -A fortnight afterward I assumed a disguise, and had the weakness to go -and promenade before the shop in the evening twilight, to catch a last -glimpse of the unworthy object of my idolatry. - -The colossal husband was brushing the dust from a mandarin in porcelain, -and I heard him murmur, - -“If that Doctor Sian Seng should attempt to set his foot inside my door -again, I’ll choke him, pack him in straw, and sell his carcass to the -doctors for fifteen louis!” - -Oh no! I shall never see this beautiful monster again; I have the -resolution of a man and of a philosopher; I will fulfill my mission to -the end, and will again make myself worthy of you, oh! holy city, which -the silver moon illumines so caressingly when from the top of Mount -Tyryathon she hangs like a lantern of silk from Nanking! - -In Paris there are physicians who devote themselves entirely to specific -diseases; there are some who treat only infants at the breast; others, -after weaning; others who prescribe only for those of sixty and above of -it. Bills are stuck up at the corners of all the streets, and -advertisements in the newspapers, proclaiming a thousand infallible -receipts for the six hundred maladies which the celebrated Pi-ké has -found to germinate in the human body. They have discovered amongst other -curious things in physics, how to put a new nose upon faces -unfortunately deprived of that ornament, and to elongate it when too -short. They make teeth of ivory for old men—hair for the bald—legs for -those who have lost them—eyes for the blind—tongues for the dumb—ears -for the deaf—brains for fools—and have wonderful methods to -resuscitate the dead. But they forgot to invent one remedy—a cure for -disappointed love! In China we know nothing about love; that passion was -first discovered in France, by a troubadour called Raymond—for five -hundred years it has ravaged fearfully. It is estimated that eleven -millions seven hundred and thirty-eight persons have fallen victims to -it, through assassinations, languishing death, and suicide, caused by -this scourge of the human race—that amounts to double the number of -victims of cholera in Asia since the reign of Aurengzebé. The French -government have never taken any means to stop the progress of this -epidemic, on the contrary, it pays largely toward the support of four -royal theatres, where they celebrate the power of love and another -mortal disease called champagne. Mr. Scribe has made a fortune of five -hundred thousand francs a year, by celebrating the delights of love and -champagne for the governmental theatres. - -In leaving the shop where my _Chinoiseries_ were sold by Mademoiselle -Alexandrine de Saint Phar, I had another violent attack of love; and you -cannot imagine how I cursed that rascal Raymond. Having vented my rage -where it was so well deserved, I began to think seriously about a cure, -and I walked about the streets searching at every corner for some -advertisement of a remedy; useless trouble! I went to the Hospital for -Incurables, and asked the doctor there whether he had not some patient -afflicted with this malady, so perfectly unknown in our harems; but he -only shrugged his shoulders, and turned his back upon me. My head burned -like fire—my heart beat violently—my eyes glazed. The phantom of -Mademoiselle Alexandrine danced before my eyes continually with -fascinating grace, my ears were filled with her silvery voice—alas! I -lived only in her! - -“Physician cure thyself,” has said the wise Menu—this thought suddenly -occurred to me. Since the French doctors have forgotten to invent a cure -for love, let us find a remedy; and we will give a Chinese name to this -grand consolation for suffering Europe! - -If I could live for a week without thinking of Mademoiselle Alexandrine -I should be saved! It was impossible to remain in my lodgings, every -thing there reminded me of her, the faithless one! Besides, solitude -never cures the wounds of love, it only festers them. Visits to the -country are still more dangerous. The streets, boulevards and theatres -are filled with women, and the species too often reminds one of the -individual traitress; still it is necessary to live a week in total -forgetfulness of the ungrateful fair. - -Fo has inspired me; let me render thanks to Fo! Paris is filled with -monuments, many of them very high; I chose four from among them—the -tower of Notre Dame, the Pantheon, the Column Vendôme and the tower of -St. James; by the payment of a few sous, one is permitted to ascend -these towers, which are kept by a tractable porter. I resolved to pass -some days in going up and down the stairs of these monuments and towers -without taking rest, only, to vary the monotony of this continual ascent -and descent, I jumped into a cabriolet occasionally at the Place -Vendôme, drove to the Depôt of the Railroad to Versailles, and traversed -the distance to that royal city five or six times, with my eyes shut. -When evening came I returned home, and, after a slight repast, went to -bed and slept soundly. - -In my dreams I imagined that huge giants poised me in a swing, hung over -the moon on a golden nail, and the fright I had in such an alarming -position drove the phantom of Alexandrine from the boundless space in -which I undulated between the Pantheon and the fixed stars! - -The eighth day the porters of the four towers closed their doors against -me, saying that I would wear out their stairs! My cure not being -complete, I took to the road to Versailles, and hiring a carriage by the -day, drove first on one side of the river, and then on the other, for -five days longer, with the most salutary fatigue—at the end of a -fortnight my remedy triumphed. - -In looking back upon my endless routine of dark stairs—of dreamy -swingings—and the ceaseless rumblings of my carriage, I perceived in -the hazy distance the fleeting image of the false Alexandrine, and it -appeared as if my passionate love were like the tale of a past age, or -of an extinguished world! - -A single instant I was recalled to the sensible recollection of her. In -looking over my cash, I observed the enormous void caused by the -expenditure of the 3700 francs at Garbo & Gamboi’s. The spirit of -Chinese ingenuity and enterprise inspired me with a happy thought. I was -upon the eve of recovering my lost francs! I inserted an advertisement -in all the journals of the day, as follows: - - RADICAL CURE FOR - DISAPPOINTED LOVE, - IN FIFTEEN DAYS?!! - _Consult from 12 till 2 o’clock_, - DOCTOR SIAN SENG, - _Rue Neuve de Luxembourg_. - _No Cure, no Pay_: - -I did not expect such success as attended me. What a city! what a -people! How quickly do new opinions become popular! - -The first day I had 300 visits for consultation at 20 francs each. The -second I was obliged to seek at the Prefecture of Police four gend’arms -as a protection! They took my office by assault. At length I hit upon a -plan of giving advice to classes of twelve at a time, which in some -measure reduced the crowd. - -The week following I gave public lectures at the Athenæum, at five -francs the ticket. Mr. Lefort told me the fashion would not last long, -and that I should “make hay while the sun shone”—a proverb Menu forgot -to make!—besides, there was danger that the prefect of police would -close the monuments. I therefore entered into a contract with the porter -at the Tower of St. James, to receive all my patients who subscribed for -a fortnight. - -The two trains to Versailles were filled with victims with closed eyes! -I was told that if I would ask the minister for a patent, that he would -probably grant me a pension—as they did to Mr. Daguerre—of six -thousand francs a year. - -My best reward, however, I found in the unanimous gratitude of my -relieved and happy patients; they wanted to strike a gold medal in my -honor!—unheard of enthusiasm! - -Five of my most inveterate cases, aged from twenty to fifty years, -struck with an infatuation for the vaudeville, of which I relieved them, -became great proselytes to my doctrines, and are determined to prosecute -it on their own account after my departure—they even propose to -purchase the Tower of St. James by subscription, and add two hundred -more steps to the ascent. - -Ti-en has given to the world no malady without its cure; he has placed -the water-lily by the side of the pimento—the wood to make the sluice -beside the torrent of Kiang-ho. It is for man to discover the remedy. -Ti-en knows always what he does—and _we_—we do what we know not! - -My mind is now calm; my heart is light, as is every thing which is -empty. I shall now go and take my leave of the Minister for Foreign -Affairs, and endeavor to correct the errors in diplomacy I have made, -since I have been possessed by the foot of Mademoiselle Alexandrine de -Saint Phar! - - DOCTOR SIAN SENG. - “A true copy.” MERY. - - * * * * * - - - - - A BILLET-DOUX. - - - BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD. - - - Is your soul at home to-day, - Eulalie? - And if it be, - May mine come in and stay, - Eulalie? - Or has yours gone out to play, - Eulalie! - And if it be, - Will it be long away, - Eulalie? - - I know it is the willfulest of things, - Eulalie! - But if it be - Too gay to shut an hour its frolic wings, - Eulalie, - When it alights, so tenderly it sings, - Eulalie, - That as for me, - More joy than some that longer stay it brings, - Eulalie! - - And I would not have it fettered for the world, - Eulalie! - For if it be— - Ah! that lip, with laughing scorn I see it curled, - Eulalie! - Its wings would lose their light if they were furled, - Eulalie! - Then not for me, - No fetter be on them for all the world, - Eulalie! - - If my soul, on calling, “not at home,” is told, - Eulalie, - I would make free - To wait till yours came back, tired and cold, - Eulalie! - And then it will be glad its wings to fold, - Eulalie, - And I should see - How long I might the glorious truant hold, - Eulalie! - - They say that more domestic and more tame, - Eulalie, - It ought to be! - But if Heaven gave it wings, were you to blame, - Eulalie? - Ah, no! to tie a Peri were a shame, - Eulalie! - And they might see - It always carried joy where’er it came, - Eulalie! - - * * * * * - - - - - WESTERN RECOLLECTIONS. - - - THE ILLINOIS RIVER AND THE OZARK MOUNTAINS. - - BY FAYETTE ROBINSON. - -Every one knows of the Illinois River emptying into the Mississippi at -Alton, and of the fertile champagne country it waters. All are familiar -with the traditions of the hardships undergone in its discovery by the -good fathers Hennepin and Marquette; of the stirring wars of the -Illinois, Potawatamie and Peoria Indians, and of the recollections of -that cordon of military posts by which France united Detroit with the -great point d’appui of Fort Chartres, built near where Trinity now -stands, but of which scarcely a trace remains, except a portion of the -curtain and bastions. These are the associations which rise in the mind -of most persons at the word Illinois, which to me, however, is -suggestive of another train of ideas. In a south-western direction from -the point of confluence of the Gasconade and Missouri Rivers, extends a -broad chain of mountains, of which little except the name Ozark is -known. Many streams which elsewhere would be esteemed large rivers roll -from its valleys northward into the Osage, and in a southern direction -into the Arkansas. After crossing two-thirds of the state of Missouri, -this ridge passes through the north-west county of the State of -Arkansas, and thence reaches across the country of the Cherokees and -Chactas far into Texas. Through the passes of this range many important -rivers flow, among which are the Arkansas, Red and Canadienne. There is -a striking peculiarity in this mountain range—that all the waters -flowing from it, either northward or southward, are clear as crystal, -while all the other streams of the country are foul and turbid. On one -of these streams, the Neosho, stands the lonely post of Fort Gibson, and -twenty miles below is another river called the Illinois. This is not a -large stream, measuring certainly not more than a hundred miles, but is -one of the most picturesque imaginable. Flowing between two ridges of -the Ozark, it winds like a serpent around the bases of the mountains, -which now tower in immensity, clad to their very summits with huge -pines, or again gradually decrease in size until they spread into rich -and luxuriant prairies. The road from Fort Gibson to Fayetteville, in -Arkansas, is along this stream, which it crosses more than a dozen -times, and thus enables the traveler to behold all the wonderful -beauties of the scenery. Words cannot describe it adequately. I have -often in fording the river, which may at many places be done without -wetting the saddle-girths, looked up the bed. Smooth and transparent as -glass, rolling over pebbles of silex and crystal, it looks like a band -of silver beneath the arched boughs of the aspen and gigantic walnut -trees, while the immediate banks were fringed by the long-leaved willow -and cane. Not unfrequently a single glance would reveal to me, when lost -in admiration at the quiet beauty of such a scene, another of a far -different yet equally pleasing style. The current would quicken—small -islets would appear, scarcely more than a rood in breadth, against which -the waters would leap and lash themselves into fury. The current would -quicken yet more, and in the distance a rugged mountain would be seen. -Against the base of this the waters would rush and whirl into eddies -over the seething surface of which wild-fowl almost constantly floated. -The low grounds on the river abounded with the sloe or scuppanon, and at -distances of every mile or two, natural vineyards, bearing a large, -rich, luscious grape, without a particle of the musky flavor which -characterises almost all the American _uvæ_, were seen. So immense were -these vines that they ran from tree to tree, masking every thing with -their foliage, and displaying their grand clusters over the barren limbs -of the stunted oak or hickory. I have called the Illinois a beautiful -river, and have spoken of the lucidness of its water—I can give an -illustration of the latter which is most apropos. Several years since I -was stationed on the bank of this stream with a small detachment of men, -and without any other officer. In the long August days, when the -prairies were burned, and scarcely a breath of air was to be had in the -forests, I used to while away many weary hours upon the banks of the -river either fishing or bathing. One day I amused myself with an Indian -lance in killing the fine buffalo-fish, which I could see distinctly in -the translucent waters. I had _posed_ myself on the bow of the boat in -pursuit of one peculiarly large fish which shot up the stream with the -rapidity of an arrow. The soldier who sat at the stern of the boat, a -very active and nervous man, (he was killed, poor fellow, at the -storming of Taos, in New Mexico,) drove the boat after the quarry with -scarcely less rapidity. At last I had overtaken him, the boat hung above -him, like a gigantic leaf in the atmosphere, which could scarcely be -distinguished from the water below. Poising myself, I drove the lance -into the fish, and a second afterward, to my amazement, was floundering -ten feet below the surface of the water, and probably yet twenty from -the pebbly bottom. I would have sworn the water was not more than four -feet deep, and scrambled out I know not how, for I could never -swim—not, however, until I had upset the boat and made poor Orndorf a -sharer in my calamity. The clearness of the water, surpassing any thing -I have ever seen, is only approached by the one spring near Fort -Fanning, in Florida, upon which so much inquiry has been expended. I -would myself pronounce it the famous fountain of health for which De -Leon sought so long, were it not that every human being who drinks of -its transparent waters, unless craftily qualified, dies with that most -loathsome of all diseases, the ague and fever. - -The first white man who ever trod in the valleys of the Ozark was the -famous Fernando de Soto. About the year 1539 or 1540, this gallant -soldier, capitan-general of Florida, and a marquis, made a voyage to his -commandery, for the purpose of conquering it. Sailing from Havana he -landed at the bay of the Holy Spirit, now called Tampa, Hillsborough, -Honda, etc., and occupied an Indian village not far from the mouth of -the Manittee River, and just opposite the present post of Fort Brooke. -The old ruins are still visible there, and the trace of an aqueduct or -canal which appears at some distant day to have connected the waters of -the great interior lakes with the gulf. People say the ruins are the -remnant of an old Spanish fort; but half a glance will satisfy any one -that all the Spanish troops ever in North America could not have -constructed that aqueduct, which to all appearance is old as the city of -Seville. The ruins belonged evidently to some older race, and are very -curious though they have nothing to do with De Soto. - -De Soto marched through Florida across the country of Apalache Indians, -with whom he had a fight, across the Mississippi toward Mexico. De Soto, -first of Europeans, saw the Mississippi, and crossed it somewhere near -Memphis, if the account given by old Biedma, his historian, of -topography be true. Thence he now passed through the now State of -Arkansas, crossing the Ozark Ridge, passing over the Red River, and -marching along the false Wachita until he came to the famous Rio Grande, -since famous for the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma, and -celebrated by the Mexican poet,[1] Ho Axe de Saltillo. De Soto did not -reach New Spain, but was forced to retrace his steps, died, and was -thrown by his soldiers into the Mississippi, to prevent the natives from -mutilating his remains. It was a fitting tomb for so great a man. Any -one who wishes to read all the items of this great march may find them -in old Biedma’s strange book, in the _vidas de los Conquistadores_, or -as those books are somewhat rare, in the Compendium of Discoveries until -1573, by Conway Robinson, Esq., of Richmond, Va., a person who devotes -himself for amusement and relaxation to digging out the gems of strange -old books most persons would think it hard work to read. - -De Soto first looked on these Ozark Mountains and a weary time his -men-at-arms, in coats of mail and chain armor, must have had to climb -them. They were then, as they were until very recently, uninhabited, and -the home of all kinds of wild beasts known on the continent. The black -bear, the cougar, catamount, deer and elk, were found among its ravines -and the glades at their foot, and even now old beaver-dams attest the -existence of those bestial republicans on almost all the minor streams -which run into the Illinois. The land is barren, except upon the -immediate bank of the river, and the mountains seem masses of pebbles -similar in character to those over which the river runs. Strangely -enough gigantic pines grow upon the mountains, the dark foliage of -which, seen even in the sunlight, looks, compared with that of other -trees, like the shadows cast by what Schiller calls - - Fliegende Wolken, Segler des Luft, - -over the earth during a windy day of March. The table-land, however, at -the top of what I may call the secondary hills, is covered with what are -called black-jacks, the ugliest and most ungainly of all things on the -surface of the earth, not excepting the Mexican cactus, which is like no -other thing animal or vegetable, except the porcupine. The hills seem -vast masses of limestone, with the granite occasionally showing itself. -I have no doubt of the richness of the soil in mineral wealth, copper -being everywhere apparent, and the Ozark Mountains evidently connecting -themselves with the Sierra Madre and Cordillera of Mexico. Some day the -gold-hunter will deform this beautiful land, the vast groves and of -timber which crown its mountains will fall. Worse than all, the -picturesque Illinois will be deformed and forced to pass through some -series of plank troughs in the gold-washing establishment of Messrs. -Jones, Smith & Co. - -In 1837 these mountains were uninhabited. One road wound among the -intricacies of the mountains between Fort Gibson and the village of -Fayetteville. After leaving the Methodist Mission of Prospect Hill smoke -was scarcely seen by the traveler until he had entered the limits of -Arkansas. There were a few hunting and bridle-paths, leading in a -direction parallel to the road, which were frequented exclusively by the -smugglers engaged in the nefarious business of selling whiskey to the -Indians. Since then a mighty change has taken place. On the removal of -the Cherokee Indians west, the North Carolina band selected these hills -as most like their old homes and established themselves among them. -Hamlets grew up in the valleys and farms were opened; so that in a short -time the intelligent Cherokee citizens, second to no agricultural class -in the world, followed in their train, and large plantations were -opened. One of these colonists, the well-known chief, Bushyhead, has a -magnificent estate comprising a prairie and grove of about one thousand -acres, which has none to surpass it in the country. A wooded knoll rises -at the back of his house, to the heighth of about 250 feet, and on a -calm summer-day the ripple of the Illinois may be heard in the distance -through the forests and green corn-fields. The writer has often partaken -of his hospitality, and has been a witness of the prosperity and -happiness of his whole household, Indian and Negro, (he has many -slaves.) This happiness would be without alloy but that the Indian -always knows he is but a tenant at will of the soil he stands upon, and -looks back, perhaps with regret, to the days when his forefathers -wandered in savage independence on the shores of the Atlantic. On the -other side of the Neosho River the mountains are higher and wilder, and -even now desolate; and in the year 1840 I crossed that portion of the -ridge on duty, and have a strange tale to tell of it. - -After a furlough of some years, I returned in 1840 to the west, and -after reporting for duty to the headquarters of the department, was -ordered to join a squadron of my regiment then stationed on the Red -River. The navigation of the western rivers was then most uncertain, and -I was ordered to cross the intermediate country by land instead of -trusting to the tortuous navigation of the Arkansas, emphatically one of -those streams of which John Randolph said, “they were dry in summer and -choked up with ice during the winter.” - -The old officers of the post told me I might easily have my orders -changed by applying to the general, and advised me to do so, as my route -lay through a peculiarly wild and desolate country. They told me what -they had heard of the Ozark Mountains, of the precipices and torrents, -the almost impassable _resacas_, _etc._ I was, however, an old _coureur -des bois_, and all this but stimulated me to attempt the passage. Fort -Gibson lay at the head of navigation at that time, though steamboats -have since passed far above the Cape Farewell of 1840. Similarly -situated was Fort Towson, on the Red River; between the two lay the -country of the Cherokees, Chactas, and Chichasas, and many formidable -rivers, such as the Canadienne, the Verdigris, and the whole of the -southern tributaries of the Arkansas. To cross this country with all its -difficulties on the first Wednesday in April, 1810, I left Fort Gibson, -with no equipage, or what Cæsar calls _impedimenta_, other than one pack -mule, loaded with provisions, and a servant, like myself, mounted, who -rejoiced in the name of Barny. I often wonder what has become of him, -and whether, like Latour d’Auvergne, first grenadier of France, he may -not have “died on the field of glory,” during the Mexican war. - -As my orders contained no recommendation to make the journey with -peculiar rapidity, and as I was aware that nothing awaited me at Fort -Towson but the monotonous existence of a subaltern, I loitered along the -road systematically, as a veteran colonel _en route_ to reinforce a -militia general, and on Sunday lay by on the banks of a picturesque -stream, whiling away time with my rod and angle, which Isack Walton -recommends as “fosterers of meditation, and gratitude to God for having -made so many fine fish for man’s especial benefit,” and which I was too -old a soldier to be without in the North American wilderness. Monday -broke upon me cold and chill, and wearied even by my voluntary halt, I -set out to continue my journey. There had been during the night a mist -and sleet, so that the prairie, which on the day before had looked like -a garden covered with periwinkles, the beautiful wild indigo, and the -sensitive-plant, was now become a glacier. I rode on, therefore, wrapped -in the cape of my dragoon cloak, and scarcely noticing what passed -around me. Few persons except half-breeds had ever crossed the prairie -in this direction before, and having to depend merely on general -direction for my course, it is not surprising that I became lost. Any -one ever lost in the north-western prairie is aware that when once -astray, every attempt at correction makes matters worse, and what with -the uniformity of the whole face of the country, at nightfall I was -utterly bewildered. I was forced to encamp on the bald prairie, -sacrificing to my comfort the solitary tree which I afterward learned -was a land-mark. It made a very bad fire, being filled with sap, but -sufficed to broil a rasher of bacon which, with a cup of coffee -transformed into what the Spaniards call a _gloria_ by a glass of “old -corn,” constituted my supper. The sleet had by this time disappeared, -and the cattle hobbled and allowed to wander at will, fared better than -I, on the young prairie grass, which they relished not a little after -their dry provender at Fort Gibson. Tuesday came fair and bright, and -far in the distance I saw one of the Ozark’s peaks rising tall and -solitary in just the direction I had not been marching on the day -before. To it I directed my course. - -The country soon became broken, and on each side of me rose rough hills. -I knew at once I would be forced to cross the ridge, and set manfully to -the task. As I progressed the scenery became every mile more grand, and -I began to be thankful for the accident which had led me into the -bewildering maze. - -I have stood on tall mountains, having threaded the Alleghany, and -looked on the boldest peaks of wilder lands. Above rose a tall peak with -half precipitous sides, its base skirted with a dense growth of the -Osage orange. This strange and peculiar tree merits a more minute -description. It belongs, I believe, to the same genus with the box-tree -of our forest, for from its limbs and leaves, when broken, exudes a -milky gelatinous humor, not unlike that of the fig and India-rubber -plant. Its leaves are smooth and glazed and so precisely like those of -the Florida orange that the two cannot easily be distinguished. It bears -a large fruit in character similar to the balls of the sycamore, but -which becomes during the process of decay a noisome pulp, and is said to -be a deadly poison. The size of the fruit is about that of the -cocoa-nut, divested of its husk, and the heighth of the tree about -thirty-five feet, with thick, gnarled limbs, covered with long, straight -spines, like those of the honey acacia. By the Canadian colonists of -Arkansas and the French of Louisiana it was called the _bois d’arc_, -from the fact that of this the Natches and Opelousas made their bows. -This beautiful growth is now rapidly disappearing, it having been -discovered that it furnishes a dye of a brilliant yellow, long a -desideratum in the arts. During the last few years many cargoes have -been sent to France, and the cutting it has, like the procuring of -log-wood, become a distinct and important branch of industry. Many -stories are told of this tree which would make us believe it exerts an -influence scarcely less baleful than that of the fabulous Upas tree of -Borneo, popular superstition attributing to it the deadly disease of man -and brute known as the “milk sickness.” - -The base of the peak before me was skirted with thickets of this -beautiful tree, intermingled with the dog-wood, then in the glory of its -flower, and three or four varieties of the acacia and Canadian redbud. -Here and there on the very hill-side were expanses grown up with the -tall green-cane and the beautiful Mexican oats. Through such a growth I -commenced my ascent, and soon passed by the sinuosities of an Indian -trail into an expanse of cupriferous volcanic rock, almost without any -other growth than the red-root, or Indian tea. Passing through this, I -came into a belt of tall pines, reaching far above the crest of the -peak. No engineer could have constructed a glacis with a more regular -inclination than this portion of the mountain displayed. At last I stood -upon the crest, and a prospect opened before me I have never seen -surpassed or equaled. I was on the very backbone of the ridge, and -before me lay a succession of peaks, gradually descending into the bosom -of a vale perhaps ten miles wide, while beyond this happy valley rose -another ridge, parallel, descending gradually as the one on which I -stood had become elevated. A clear, cold stream ran at the foot of the -peak on which I was, and amid the stillness of a calm spring day I -distinctly heard the murmur of its ripples. Down the bleak hill-sides of -the other ridge I could trace more than one silver line which marked the -descent of tributary rills. I could have remained long on that bald -mountain-peak, but was warned by the descent of the sun to proceed -downward. Taking the horses by the bridle, for I committed the care of -the pack-mule to poor Barny, I began carefully to follow the pathway, -and was ultimately enabled to reach the base in spite of sundry falls of -the heavy pack, which, in spite of discipline, wrung hearty curses from -poor Barny’s over-burdened heart. I encamped at the foot of the peak, on -a branch of the Boggy, or _Bogue_, itself a tributary of the Red. - -After many days of painful travel, precisely similar to the one I have -described, except that the western ridge was more difficult than the -eastern, I reached the prairie through which the Red River runs. On the -summit of several of the peaks I had found large springs and pools of -water, and in the valleys the streams expanded into beautiful lakes. In -some of these valleys were grand groves of the wild-plum, and a variety -of other growths, among which was the iron-wood and box-elder. The -cotton-wood, so common northward, has disappeared. At last I arrived at -Fort Towson. I had missed the direction, and to reach a point about one -hundred miles from Gibson, had traveled three. Twenty miles after -leaving the latter post, I had seen the smoke of not one hearth till I -reached the yellow water, about ten miles from Fort Towson, yet during -all this time I had been in a small labyrinth of mountains, surrounded -on all sides by the dense population of the Cherokee and Chickasa -nation, the Opeloulas of Louisiana and Western Texas. - -I afterward was informed that the Indian path I had more than once -passed was a portion of the great Delaware trail which crosses the whole -American continent, from Erie, in Pennsylvania, to California, and which -marks the migration of those American Gitanos from the homes where the -white man found them to the chief seat of the tribe on the Missouri -River, to the outposts on the Red River and on the Pacific. Along it -they still go, and not unfrequently two of their well-armed and gallant -braves will fight their way through hordes of hostile and degenerate -Indians of the prairie. It will be found always to cross the streams at -the most fordable point, and he who strays from it to avoid travel, will -generally find that the longest way round is the nearest way home. After -my arrival at Fort Gibson I did not regret my mistake, which had made me -acquainted with so beautiful a country; and I hope my reader is weary -neither of the Illinois River or the Ozark Mountains. - ------ - -[1] C. F. Hoffman, of New York. - - * * * * * - - - - - EXTRACT. - - - BY HENRY S. HAGERT. - - - So die the young, ere yet the bud has burst - Its leafy prison-house—perchance, ’tis best— - The flower may pine and perish with the thirst - For dew and moisture, but the dead will rest, - Heedless of storm and sunshine; on their breast - The modest violet at Spring will bloom, - And speak their noteless epitaph—the west - May blow too rudely in an hour of gloom, - But still it clings to thee, lone tenant of the tomb. - - It clings to thee! ’Twas a most lovely creed, - That taught within a flower might dwell the soul - Of a lost friend—wronged one, does it not breed - Within thee quiet thoughts of a green knoll, - Bedecked with daisies, though no sculptured scroll - Be there to tell thy virtues? O! ’Tis sweet - To know that when the dews from heaven have stole - Down to the earth, those penciled lips shall meet, - The cold sod of thy grave and love’s long kiss repeat! - - Then gird thy loins with patience—from the crowd - Be thou a willing exile—but if Fate - Hath otherwise decreed it, if the proud - Should sneer upon thee, or the rich and great - Laugh at thy misery, do thou await - The coming of that hour which shall decide - The issue of the game; and then, with state, - Wrapping thy robe around thee, do thou glide - Away to thy long rest and sleep in regal pride. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE UNFINISHED PICTURE. - - - BY MRS. JANE C. CAMPBELL. - - - CHAPTER I. - - O God! to clasp those fingers close, - And yet to feel so lonely! - To see a light on dearest brows, - Which is the daylight only! - ELIZABETH B. BARRETT. - -I was sitting one morning in the library of a friend, looking over a -valuable collection of works of art, made during a five years residence -abroad, and listening to his animated description of scenes and places -now become familiar to every one who reads at all, through the medium of -“Jottings,” “Impressions,” and “Travels,” with which the press abounds. - -Among the paintings were small copies in oil from Corregio, Guercino, -Guido, and Rafaelle. There was a head of the latter, copied from a -portrait painted by himself, and preserved in the Pitti Palace. With the -slightest shade of hectic on the cheek, and the large unfathomable eyes -looking into the great beyond, it was truly angelic in its loveliness. -No wonder the man for whom nature had done so much, and who delighted in -portraying the loftiest ideal beauty, no wonder he was called “divine!” - -“Here,” said my friend, lovingly holding forth one of those inimitable -creations, the beauty of which once seen, haunts us for a lifetime, -“here is the far-famed ‘violin-player,’ the friend of Rafaelle. By the -bye, I must tell you an anecdote I heard while abroad. There were two -gentlemen sight-seers looking at pictures in the Vatican; one called to -the other, who was at a short distance from him, ‘come, look at this, -here is the celebrated violin-player.’ ‘Ah!’ said his companion, -hastening toward him, ‘Paganini!’ I give you the story as I heard it -related for truth, and as a somewhat laughable example of traveled -ignorance.” - -On one side of the room in which we were conversing, stood a picture -apart from all the others, which soon engrossed my entire attention. A -young man was represented reclining on a couch, and wrapped in a robe -falling in loose folds about his person. His countenance bore the traces -of suffering, but his dark eyes were filled with the light of love, and -hope, as they looked up into the face of a young female bending -mournfully at his side. On the head of this female the artist had -lavished all the _love_ of genius. With the sunny hair parted on the -fair forehead, and the rich braids simply confined by a silver -arrow—the dark eyes from which the tears seemed about to fall—the -half-parted lips quivering as if from intense devotion—oh, it was -transcendently lovely! The rest of the figure was in outline, but as -vividly portrayed as some of those wonderful illustrations by Flaxman, -in which a single line reveals a story. - -“How is this,” said I, after gazing long and earnestly upon it, “how is -this?—why is the picture unfinished. And who was the painter?” - -“The tale,” replied my friend, “is a sad one; and if you are tired of -looking at pictures and medals, I will relate it to you.” - -“Not tired, yet I should like to hear the story to which this picture -imparts an unusual interest.” - -“You remember Paul Talbot, who left here some years ago to pursue the -study of his art abroad.” - -“I do, but that young man—sick—almost dying—I thought the face a -familiar one; but can that be Paul?” - -“Alas! yes—he is dead!” and my friend dashed away a tear as he spoke. - -“Dead!” repeated I. “Paul Talbot dead! when did he die?” - -“Not long before my return. Poor fellow! he endured much, and his career -was an exemplification of what a man of untiring energy can accomplish -under the most adverse circumstances. - -“Soon after the birth of Paul, his father died, leaving little, save a -mother’s love and a stainless reputation to his infant son. - -“Mr. Talbot was a man of refined taste, and had collected round him -objects of which an amateur might be justly proud—and thus from -childhood had been fostered Paul’s love for the beautiful. - -“Well educated and accomplished, Mrs. Talbot undertook the tuition of -her child, and by giving lessons in drawing, painting miniatures on -ivory, and small portraits in oil, kept herself and her boy above the -pressure of want. Carefully she instilled into his tender mind those -lofty principles of rectitude, of uncompromising integrity, and that -child-like trust in the goodness of an overruling Providence, which -sustained him through all the trials of after years. - -“How holy, how powerful is the influence of a mother! The father may do -much, but the mother can do more toward the formation of the mind, and -the habits of early childhood. Exercising a power, silent, yet -refreshing as the dews of heaven, her least word, her lightest look, -sinks deep into the hearts of her children, and moulds them to her will. -How many men have owed all that has made them great to the early -teachings of a mother’s love! The father, necessarily occupied with -business or professional duties, cannot give the needful attention to -the minor shades in the character and disposition of his little ones, -but the mother can encourage and draw out the latent energies of the -timid, can check the bold, and exert an influence which may be felt not -only through time, but through eternity. - -“It was beautiful to see Paul Talbot standing by his mother’s side, with -his childish gaze fixed upon her face, while receiving instruction from -her lips, and to hear him as he grew in years, wishing he was a man, -that he might be enabled to supply her every want. - -“‘You know,’ he would exclaim, while his fine eyes was flashing with -enthusiasm, ‘that I will be an artist; and, oh, mother, if I could, like -Washington Allston, be a painter-poet; could I but paint such a head as -that we saw in the Academy, and write such a book as Monaldi, then, -mother, I would gain fame; orders would crowd upon me—and then—then we -would go to Italy!’ - -“Go to Italy! of this he thought by day, and dreamed by night; and to -accomplish this was the crowning ambition of the boy’s life. - -“He was willing to toil, to endure privation and fatigue, could he but -visit that land where heavenly beauty is depicted on the canvas, where -the marble wants but the clasp of him of old to warm it into life, and -where the soft blue of the sky, and the delicious atmosphere brooding -over the glories of centuries gone by, make it the Mecca of the artist’s -heart. - -“But amid all these dreams of the future, all these ambitious aspirings -of the gifted youth, death cast his dark shadow over that peaceful -dwelling, and the mother, the guardian angel of the fatherless boy, was -borne away to be a dweller in the silent land. - -“With what passionate earnestness did he call upon her name. How did he -long to lie down by her side. His mother! his mother! she had taught his -lisping accents their first prayer; she had watched over his little bed, -and moistened his parched lips when he was ill with fever—so ill, that -his mother’s watchful tenderness was all, under God, that saved him from -the grave. As he grew older, she had spoken to him, not like the boy he -was in years, but like the man to whom she would impart her thoughts, -and with whose mind of almost premature development, she might hold -converse, and feel herself understood. And now, in his fifteenth year, -when he was thinking of all that he could, nay, of all that he _would_ -do for her, his mother had died! Who can wonder that the boy pined, and -sat upon her grave, and longed for her companionship, and wept as if his -heart must break. - - - CHAPTER II. - - Then all the charm - Is broken—all that phantom-world so fair - Vanished, and a thousand circlets spread, - And each misshapes the other. - COLERIDGE. - -“Abstracted in his habits, quiet and sensitive, from his reveries in -dream-land, the orphan woke to find himself the inmate of a new home. - -“Mrs. Winter, the only sister of the late Mr. Talbot, was wholly unlike -her brother. With little taste for the elegancies of life, except so far -as she thought their possession would give her importance in the eyes of -others, with no sympathy for any ambition save that of acquiring money, -she looked with no very favorable eye on her brother’s orphan. Dazzled -by the prospect of a carriage, a town and country-house in perspective, -she had married a man of sixty, when she was barely sixteen, and could -never forgive her brother for not falling in with her scheme of catching -the rich heiress, who, she avowed, waited but the asking to change the -name of Miss Patty Pringle, for the more lofty-sounding title of Mrs. -Percy Talbot. But Percy Talbot preferred the portionless Isabel Morton, -and the monotony of a counting-room, to the bank-stock, real estate, and -soulless face of Miss Patty Pringle. Hence there was little intercourse -between the brother and sister, and when the younger Talbot sought the -shelter of his aunt’s roof, she animadverted with great bitterness on -the folly of people gratifying a taste for luxuries beyond their means, -and encouraging boys without a shilling to spend their time in reading -books and daubing canvas. - -“Nor could Mrs. Winter refrain from talking of stupidity, when Paul sat -quietly at his drawing, while her own sons were making the house ring -with their boisterous mirth. The boys, catching the spirit of their -mother, ridiculed Paul’s sketches, and with the petty tyranny of little -minds, subjected him to every annoyance, and taunted him with his -dependent state. The proud, sensitive boy, writhed under such treatment, -and determined on leaving the relatives who had neither tastes nor -sympathies in common with his own. - -“When at the age of twelve years, he hung over the landscape he was -trying to imitate, and from which no boyish sports could lure him; when -he saw the sketch grow beneath his touch, and look more and more like -the original, until in the exultation of his young heart, he exclaimed, -‘I knew that I could do it if I did but try,’ he unconsciously displayed -that perseverance of character without which no one can hope to attain -eminence. And now that same energy was employed in seeking means to gain -a livelihood without being subjected to the bitterness of insult. - -“He succeeded in obtaining a situation in a dry-good store, and in -compensation for his services, received his board and a scanty salary. -True, he had but little, but that little was his own; he had earned it, -and a proud feeling of independence was his, when purchasing the scanty -stock of drawing materials with money obtained by his own exertions. And -so passed a few years, during which he diligently devoted himself to the -business of his employer through the day, and to reading and drawing at -night. - -“The long cherished hope of visiting Italy had never been abandoned, -although the many obstacles in the way seemed almost insurmountable. But -now a bright thought occurred to him; ‘I will give up my situation; I -will hire a room with the money already saved, and devote myself -entirely to the pursuit of art. I shall paint a picture—it will be -placed in the exhibition—and then—’ Talbot paused, and his cheek -glowed, and his heart-pulse quickened as he looked into the future. - -“The resolution once taken, he was not long in carrying it into effect; -and day after day saw him at his easel, laboring with patient assiduity, -and flattering himself that his picture would not pass unnoticed. - -“When the day of exhibition arrived, Talbot walked nervously up and down -the gallery where the pictures were hanging, every now and then glancing -at his own, with the small ticket appended announcing it for sale, and -pausing to observe if it attracted attention. But it had been placed in -a bad light, directly beneath two brightly-tinted landscapes, and so low -down that you were obliged to put one knee on the floor before it could -be examined. Poor Paul! no one gave more than a passing glance to what -had cost you weeks of patient labor, and the papers passed it by with -merely announcing its name and number on the catalogue. - -“What a rude dashing down of all his hopes was here! What a fading of -the air-built castles he had taken such delight in building? The land of -promise had receded from his view, and the shores of Italy were as a -far-off vision seen in the dimness of deepening twilight. Oh, what a -sinking of the heart follows such disappointments! A goal is to be -won—the aspirant rushes eagerly to the race—hope lures him on—he -grows weary, oh, how weary—courage—the thrilling sound of fame’s -trumpet-peal is ringing on those heights afar—courage—one more -struggle and the prize will be his own! One more struggle—and hope -fades from his sight—and the last faint echo of fame’s music dies upon -his ear—and a dull lethargy seizes on his mind—and the pulses of his -heart grow still and cold as the waveless, tideless surface of a deep, -dark lake! Happy he who can shake off the despondency attendant on times -like these, and, like the bird momentarily driven back by the storm, can -plume his wings and dare a nobler flight. - - - CHAPTER III. - - Look not mournfully into the Past. It comes - not back again. Wisely improve the Present. It is - thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy Future, - without fear, and with a manly heart. - LONGFELLOW. - -“The spirits of youth are elastic, and after great pressure will -naturally rebound. ‘Hope on, hope ever,’ is a maxim seldom forgotten -until age has chilled the blood and palsied the powers of life. After a -few days spent in brooding over the present, Paul again looked forward -to the future, and determined to seek some other avenue by which he -might gather up a little, just a little, of the treasure which others -possessed in such abundance. His fondness for literature suggested the -idea that his pen might be employed with more profit than his pencil, -and the periodicals of the day appeared to offer a wide field for -exertion. But emolument from such sources was precarious at best. All -who held an established reputation in the world of letters were -contributors to the various popular publications, and Paul Talbot wanted -the “magic of a _name_” to win _golden_ opinions from the Press. -Sometimes he met with those who were more just, and more generous, and -thus encouraged he toiled on, hoping even against hope, that his desires -would yet be accomplished. - -“With many misgivings, and a fear that he had mistaken his vocation, he -had taken his ill-fated picture to a place where engravings were kept -for sale, and left it with the shopkeeper, promising to pay him one half -the money for which it might be sold. How discouraging to see it week -after week in the window, until it began to look like a soiled fixture -of the establishment. No one would ever buy it, that was certain, and if -they would not purchase this his best work, how could he ever hope to -dispose of others of less merit, which were standing round the walls of -his little room? Alas, no! but when once in Italy—then he would paint -pictures such as he dreamed of in imagination. For the present, with -weary frame and throbbing brow, he must Labor on. - -“There are few but know - - ‘How cruelly it tries a broken heart - To see a mirth in any thing it loves.’ - -And who that has ever walked forth on a particularly bright morning, -when he was nursing a deep sorrow, or was weighed down by the pressure -of misfortune, but felt annoyed by the light, and noise, and -cheerfulness around him? Those vast tides of human life what are they to -him? He is but a drop in a wave of the mighty ocean—but a pebble thrown -upon the sand—a broken link in the great chain of the Universe. Thus -felt Paul, as on one of the loveliest days of laughing June, he wended -his way to the office where he had left a manuscript to be examined by -the publisher. - -“‘How can those people look so smilingly,’ thought he, while glancing at -the well-dressed groups on the side-walk. ‘And those children, how noisy -they are—and see that carriage with its liveried attendants—pshaw!’ -Now Paul was not envious, and he was particularly fond of children, but -the feeling of loneliness in the crowd was oppressive, and with another -half audible pshaw! he turned into a quieter street. - -“The smiling face of the great man who employed so many subordinates in -his large establishment, somewhat reassured the desponding youth, and -after a little preliminary talk about encouraging native talent, a sum -was offered, which, though small in itself, was just then a god-send to -the needy Paul, who with many thanks bowed himself out of the -publisher’s presence. One ray of light had dawned on his darkened path, -one beam of hope had shed its warmth upon his heart, and how differently -now looked the scene through which he had lately passed! With buoyant -step he went on. He, too, could smile,—the darling little ones, how -delighted he was to see them looking so happy—and the poor blind man at -the corner must not be forgotten! Like the child who plays with the -kaleidoscope, and every moment sees some new beauty, so Paul toyed with -the many-colored hues in the rainbow of Hope, grouping them together in -the most beautiful and dazzling forms. - -“It was destined to be a red-letter day in his book of life. As he -passed the print-shop he saw that his picture was gone from the window. -It had been sold, and a companion-piece ordered by the purchaser. ‘Oh -that my mother were living!’ sighed Paul—‘oh that my mother were -living, we might yet go to Italy!’ - -“Again the painter laid aside his pen and resumed his pallet. The one -order was executed, the money transferred to his slender purse, and even -now he began to think how much might be put aside for his darling -project. - -“‘Could I but obtain enough to pay for my passage—once there, in that -delicious climate, I could live on so little. Oh that some one would buy -this,’ he continued, taking up a small picture on which he had bestowed -unusual care, ‘it is worth more than either of the others. I shall leave -it with the kind Mr. Barry; how generous he was in refusing the -commission I promised him for the last one he sold.’ - -“Mr. Barry, at whose print-shop Paul had left his first picture, had -kindly drawn from him the story of his life, and felt deeply interested -in the young artist’s changing fortunes, but, like many other -generous-hearted men, he was always forming schemes for the benefit of -others, which his means would not permit him to accomplish. - -“The kind man had just reared a goodly super-structure of greatness, -upon a rather sandy foundation, for his young protégé, when Paul entered -with the new work fresh from his easel. - -“‘Why, Talbot,’ said he, cordially grasping the painter’s hand, ‘this is -capital! and I consider myself a tolerably good judge. When younger, I -was in the employ of a picture-dealer, who pursued the profitable -business of making old pictures look like new, and the still more -profitable one of making new pictures look like old. You stare, it is a -fact, I assure you. To a Madonna, that had been bought for a trifling -sum, I had the honor of imparting a time-worn tinge, which so took the -fancy of an amateur, that he paid two hundred and fifty dollars for it -at auction. But I never could endure cheating, so I left the picture -manufactory, and commenced the sale of prints on my own account.’ - -“‘Do you think there is any chance of selling this Landscape?’ inquired -Paul. ‘I will take fifteen dollars for it.’ - -“‘Why, Talbot, you are foolish, it is worth at least fifty.’ - -“‘Ah, no one would give me so large a sum for a picture; fifty dollars! -that would almost take me to Italy.’ - -“‘Well, well, my dear fellow, it is said, Providence helps those who -help themselves, and you are sure to be helped in some way or other. I -was thinking about you this morning, and wrote a note of introduction to -Mr. C., who is a great patron of the Fine Arts. I have told him of your -desire to go abroad, and how you are situated—’ - -“‘Nay, nay, my kind friend,’ interrupted Paul, ‘this looks too much like -begging a favor, remember I cannot sacrifice my independence, even to -secure the accomplishment of my most ardent wishes.’ - -“‘You are wrong, Talbot, you do not solicit him for aid; he has a taste -for art, and if he give you money, you return an equivalent in your -picture, so that the obligation is mutual.’ - -“Paul was persuaded, and, bearing his friend’s letter, bent his way to a -fine-looking house, a long way from his own abode. Upon ringing the -bell, he was informed by the servant that the family were at dinner. -Leaving the letter with the waiter, he desired him to hand it to Mr. C., -and say that Mr. Talbot would call to-morrow evening. The next evening -Mr. C. was engaged, and on the next, when Paul was ushered into the -drawing-room, and his name announced, he received a stately and -patronizing bow from a short, stout gentleman, who stood with his back -to the fire, conversing with three or four more who were seated near -him. - -“‘Take a seat, sir,’ and the short man waved his hand toward the -intruder, and resumed the conversation thus momentarily interrupted. - -“Paul grew nervous, and taking advantage of a pause he rose, and bowing -slightly, advanced toward Mr. C. for the purpose of speaking. The latter -began first—‘I have looked over Mr. Barry’s letter, young man, and -hardly think it will be in my power to assist you.’ - -“‘I came not seeking assistance, sir,’ replied Paul; ‘my friend Mr. -Barry thought you might perhaps wish to add another picture to your -collection, and, as I purpose going abroad, assured me that you would -cheerfully give a few lines of introduction to your young countryman.’ - -“‘Well, well, we will see, we will see, but all you young men have taken -it into your heads that you must travel, and this makes so many -applicants.’ - -“‘Applicants!’ the word stung Paul to the quick, and again bowing to Mr. -C., he left the apartment. Once in the free air of heaven, he gave vent -to his suppressed feelings, and vowed that should be his first and last -visit to a patron. - -“Barry was indignant when he heard the non-success of his young friend. -‘Why, Talbot, that man’s name is bruited abroad as a most liberal patron -of Art, a fosterer of early genius, an encourager of native talent—how -I have been deceived!’ - -“‘Never mind, my dear friend, you will sell the picture to some one -else, and I will conquer yet.’ - -“And Paul Talbot did conquer. When another year had gone by, he stood -with the hand of his friend Barry clasped in his own, returning the warm -‘God bless you,’ fervently uttered by the old man in that hour of -parting. - -“In a wild tumult of feeling, half joy half sorrow, he stood upon the -deck of the vessel, and watched the shores of his native land as they -faded in the distance. - - ‘The sails were filled, and fair the light winds blew, - As glad to waft him from his native home.’ - -And now he is on the ocean—the waves are dashing against the ship and -bearing him onward—whither? To the land of his hopes. To the land of -his dreams. Why each moment does he grow sadder and sadder? Why, as the -crescent moon rises serenely in the heavens, does he press his eyelids -down to shut her beauty from his sight? - -“‘Oh that my mother were here! Great God! yon moon is shining on my -mother’s grave!’ - - - CHAPTER IV. - - Wilt thou take measure of such minds as those, - Or sound, with plummet-line, the Artist-Heart? - MRS. NORTON. - - Its holy flame forever burneth, - From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth; - Too oft on Earth a troubled guest, - At times deceived, at times opprest, - It here is tried and purified, - Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest! - It soweth here with toil and care, - But the harvest time of Love is there. - SOUTHEY. - -“Paul Talbot is in the city of wonders. Ivy-girdled ruins of the -time-embalming Past are lying in the distance. Lofty cathedrals, rich in -votive offerings of surpassing magnificence, surround him on every side. -Stately palaces, their long galleries filled with the noblest works of -the mighty minds of old, are baring their treasures to his gaze. The -‘dew-dropping coolness’ of the marble fountain, breathes new vigor into -his frame. He is excited—bewildered—‘dazzled and drunk with beauty,’ -and for weeks Paul wandered about Rome and its environs, half forgetful -that his lot was still to struggle and to toil. - -“When roused to action, he threw himself heart and soul into his art, -and the consequence was a long and severe illness, brought on by that -absorbing devotion which often kept him at his pursuits until the -morning dawn peering into his room reminded him that he was weary and -overtasked. For months he lay wasted by sickness, helpless at times as a -feeble child, but nature triumphed over disease, and he wandered once -more beneath the blue sky, and felt the kiss of the balmy air upon his -pallid cheek. - -“With a return to health, Paul returned with renewed ardor to his task, -until the picture on which he had long and earnestly labored was at -length completed. He had chosen for his subject a scene representing the -Hermit Peter exhorting the people to join the crusaders. Standing in the -midst, with one arm outstretched, and the other raised to heaven, was -seen the enthusiast. On either side, were grouped mailed knights and -stalwart forms, the tillers of the soil. One gentle lady, like the -weeping Andromeda, was clinging to her lord, and a villager’s wife held -up her child for his father’s last fond kiss. So animated and life-like -was the figure of the preacher—so eager and intense the emotion -betrayed by the assembled multitude—that you listened to hear the -eloquence that roused all Europe, and sent prince, peer, and peasant to -rescue the holy sepulchre from the hand of the Infidel, to cast down the -crescent of Mohammed, and to raise the cross of Christ. - -“And now came that fame for which the young painter had toiled, and to -which he had looked forward as his highest guerdon. Crowds were daily -drawn to his _atelier_, and artists who had themselves won a world-wide -renown, bestowed their warmest praises upon the ‘Hermit’ of Paul Talbot. - -“The following winter Paul passed in Florence, and there his picture was -purchased by a Florentine merchant, at a price which relieved the artist -from fear of pecuniary embarrassment. Paul was requested to visit the -house of the merchant, and select the most fitting place to display the -work of which the fortunate possessor was so justly proud. He went, and -in the picture-gallery of the wealthy Florentine was opened a new page -in the artist’s book of life. - -“Poets and painters have ever an eye for beauty in women; and when -Carlotta D. entered the apartment, leaning on the arm of her father, -Paul started as if one of the bright visions of his ideal world stood -suddenly embodied before him. The lady, too, was for a moment -half-embarrassed—for the fame of the young painter had reached her -ears, and, womanlike, she had been wondering if report spoke truly when -it ascribed to him the dark clustering locks, and the lustrous eyes of -her own sunny south. - - ‘Love’s not a flower that grows on the dull earth; - Springs by the calendar; must wait for sun— - For rain; matures by parts—must take its time - To stem, to leaf, to bud, to blow. It owns - A richer soil, and boasts a quicker seed! - You look for it and see it not: and lo! - E’en while you look the peerless flower is up, - Consummate in the birth!’ - -“Was it strange that Paul and Carlotta, both worshipers of the -beautiful, with souls alive to the most holy sympathies of our nature, -was it strange that they should love? - -“Paul had hitherto lived for his art alone. Painting was the mistress he -had ever wooed with intense passion, but now another claimed his homage, -and he bowed with a fervor little less than idolatrous at woman’s -shrine. Such a love could not long remain concealed. The father of -Carlotta, a vain and purse-proud man, hoping by his wealth to obtain a -husband for his daughter among some of the haughty but decayed nobility, -frowned on the artist, and forbade him his house. In secret the lovers -plighted their troth, and parted, not knowing when they should meet -again. - -“Paul left Florence with the resolve to win not fame alone, but wealth. - -“At Rome he was enrolled a member of the Academy of St. Luke, under -Overbeck—the spiritually-minded Overbeck—who himself the son of a -poet, has enriched his art with the divinely poetical conceptions of his -own pencil. At Munich, one of his pictures was shown by Cornelius to the -king of Bavaria, and purchased by that munificent patron of art at a -price far exceeding the painter’s expectations. At Vienna a similar -success attended him, and he returned to Florence after an absence of -six years, with fame, and wealth enough for the foundation of a fortune. - -“From Carlotta he had rarely heard, but he knew her heart was his, and -he had that faith in her character as a true woman, which made him -believe that no entreaties or commands of her father would induce her to -wed another. And Paul was right—Carlotta D. still remained unmarried. -In her the budding loveliness of the girl had expanded into the fuller -beauty of the woman, but Talbot was sadly altered. The feverish -excitement—the continued toil—the broken rest—the anxiety of thought -to which he had been subjected, undermined his health, and planted the -seeds of that insidious disease, which, while it wastes the bodily -strength, leaves the mind unimpaired, and the hope of the sufferer -buoyed to the last. The father of Carlotta finding that neither -persuasion nor coercion could make his high-souled daughter barter her -love for a title, consented at last that she should become the bride of -the artist; but many said the wily Florentine had given his consent the -more readily, because he saw that Paul would not long be a barrier in -the way of his ambition. - -“Paul Talbot had buffeted the adverse waves of fortune; he had gained -renown in a land filled with the most exquisite creations of the gifted; -he had won a promised bride. Whence, in that bright hour loomed the one -dark cloud that blotted the stars from the sky? Could it be the shadow -of the tomb? Was death interweaving his gloomy cypress with the laurel -on the painter’s brow? Oh, no, no—he was but weary—he only wanted -rest, and his powers would again be in full vigor. Then, with Carlotta -at his side—with her smile to cheer him on—he would aim higher, and -yet higher in his art. - -“And the young wife was deceived. Although a nameless dread, a dark -prescience lay heavy at her heart, she yet thought the bright flush on -the cheek of Paul a sign of returning health. How tenderly and anxiously -she watched lest he should fatigue himself at his easel, and how gently -she chid, and lured him from his task into the open air of their -beautiful garden. - -“One of the days thus passed had been deliciously mild, and, although -mid-winter, in that heavenly climate where flowers are ever blooming in -the open air, each breeze was laden with the heavy odor of the orange -blossom, and the fainter perfume of the Provence rose. Stepping lightly -from the balcony where Paul and she had been seated watching the -piled-up masses of crimson, of purple, and of gold that hung like regal -drapery round the couch of the western sun, Carlotta pushed aside the -opening blossoms of the night-jasmine which intercepted her reach, and -gathering a handful of rose-buds, carried them to Paul. He took the -flowers from his wife, and looking mournfully upon them, said, ‘When we -cross the waters to visit my native land, we will take with us some of -your precious roses, beloved, and beautify my mother’s silent home; and -now,’ he continued, twining his arm round her waist, and leading her to -the harp, ‘sing me that little song I wrote while yet a student in old -Rome.’ Pressing her lips upon his brow, Carlotta seated herself, and -sung the song, which she had set to music. The air was soft and -melancholy, and the sweet tones of the singer were tremulous with -emotion. - - Fill high the festive bowl to-night, - In memory of former years, - And let the wine-cup foam as bright - As ere our eyes were dimmed with tears. - - Pledge, pledge me those whose joyous smile - Around our happy circle shone, - Whose genial mirth would hours beguile, - Which, but for them, were sad and lone. - - Those hours, those friends, those social ties, - They linger round me yet, - Like twilight clouds of golden dyes, - When summer suns have set. - - Then fill the bowl—but while you drink, - In silence pledge all once so dear, - Nor let the gay ones round us think - We sigh for those who are not here. - -“‘My dear Paul,’ said his wife, smiling through the tears with which, in -spite of her efforts to repress them, her eyes were suffused, ‘this sad -song should be sung on the last night of the year, the night for which -it was composed. It should be sung while the student-band of artists -stood around, each holding the flower-wreathed goblet from which he -might quaff in silence, while his heart-memories were wandering back to -fatherland. Let me sing,’—she paused on seeing the deep melancholy -depicted on her husband’s countenance—‘nay, forgive me for jesting, -love, I know with whom are your thoughts to-night, and will not ask you -to listen to a lighter strain.’ - -“A month went by winged with love and hope. Paul found himself growing -weaker, but he looked forward to a sea-voyage as a sure means of -restoring him to health. Carlotta was hastening her preparatory -arrangements, willing to leave her home, willing to brave the perils of -the deep, in the belief that old Ocean’s life-inspiring wave would prove -the fabled fountain of youth to her beloved. She had never seen -consumption in any of its varied and sometimes beautiful forms. She knew -not that the eye could retain its lustre, that the cheek could glow with -more than its usual brightness, that the heart could be lured by a false -hope, until, like a red leaf of the forest, dropping suddenly from the -topmost bough, the doomed one fell, stricken down in an unthought of -moment by the stern destroyer. - -“One morning, when Paul had remained much longer than usual in his -apartment, Carlotta sought him for the purpose of whiling him abroad. - -“He was lying asleep on a couch, where he must have thrown himself from -very weariness, as one of the brushes with which he had been painting -had fallen from his hand upon the floor. His wife softly approached. She -stooped and kissed his lips. He opened his eyes, smiled lovingly upon -her, and pointed to the picture. - -“‘You have made me too beautiful, dearest; this must be a copy of the -image in your heart.’ - -“‘Ah, I have not done you justice, you are far more lovely, my own wife, -yes, far more lovely—my mother—my mother—’ repeated Paul, dreamily. -It was evident his thoughts were wandering. - -“‘You are exhausted, dear love; but sleep now, and I will watch beside -you.’ - -Carlotta knelt down and laid her cheek on his. Afraid of disturbing him, -some minutes elapsed ere she again raised her head and turned to look -upon the sleeper. She took the hand that hung listlessly by his side. It -was cold, and she thought to warm it by pressing it to her lips—to her -cheek—to her heart. She bent her ear close to the sleeper—there was no -sound; she laid her lips on his—oh, God! where was the warm breath? A -horrible dread came over her, and unable from the intensity of her agony -to utter any cry, she sunk down and gazed fixedly in her husband’s face, -realizing the heart-touching thoughts of the poet. - - ‘And still upon that face I look, - And think ’twill smile again, - And still the thought I cannot brook - That I must look in vain.’ - -“And thus were they found by her father, who was the first to enter the -apartment. Paul quite dead—Carlotta lying to all appearance lifeless at -his side—and before them the unfinished picture. - -“When the fond wife was restored to consciousness, and felt the full -weight of that misery that was crushing out her young life, her reason -became unsettled. It was very sad to see her wandering from room to room -as if in search of some lost object, often stopping to unfold, and then -folding again, the garments prepared for their journey. She would -frequently rise with a sudden start, walk hurriedly to the window, and -stand for a long time in an attitude of fixed attention, then mournfully -shaking her head to and fro, would slowly resume her accustomed seat, -and in a low voice repeat ‘not yet—not yet—Paul still lingers in -Rome.’ Carlotta remained in this melancholy state during the time I was -in Florence, but a letter received since my return home informs me that -after a short interval, in which reason resumed her sway, the sufferer -calmly departed, coupling the name of her beloved with the rest and the -bliss of Paradise. - -“The wretched father was filled with self-upbraidings. But for him, he -said, Paul Talbot might have been living, and his daughter living, happy -in each other’s love. He spoke truly. To gratify his ambition, Paul had -overtasked the powers of life. The frail shrine was consumed by the -flame which for years had been scorching and burning into the heart and -soul of the artist. Too late had he obtained his reward. Too late had -Carlotta’s father consented to her union with Paul. Too late had the old -man found that by his daughter’s alliance with a man of genius, a -greater lustre would have shone upon his house than could ever be -reflected from his glittering hoard.” - -Here ended my friend’s narration, and while with him I lamented the fate -of genius, I could not forbear blaming the conduct of the wealthy -Florentine. Nor could I help thinking, that too often the golden ears -betray the ass, while wisdom, virtue, talent, constitute the only real -greatness. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE HEART’S CONFESSION. - - - BY HENRY MORFORD. - - - Little that moves the pulse of youth and joy - My wayward heart bends downward to confess; - Little of virtue, without some alloy - To make my good deeds vain and valueless; - Though the world pass me, trusting and deceived, - Though sunny smiles glitter where frowns have been, - There is a spirit in my bosom grieved, - Before whose eyes I may not draw the screen; - And here, when I am sad, she folds her wings - To warble of lost hopes and past desires, - My heart-strings loosen as the spirit sings, - And cooling tears drop on my wasting fires. - - And then I know that I have turned away - From the proud picture that my fancy drew, - That I am passing further every day - From my own standard of the good and true; - We go not to the grave as we arise - From childhood’s slumbers, in the outward face, - And the soul, looking out from human eyes, - Becomes corrupt and bitter in the race. - I deemed that I should pass into my age - As I began, warm, generous and kind, - And pausing here upon life’s second stage, - I turn and look upon a cankered mind! - - I have o’erstepped my bound—I have passed by - The goal that none may pass and yet be pure, - The pole star has grown glimmering to my eye, - And meteors have become my spirit’s lure— - So from one failing step we come to tread - Paths that in early youth we swore to shun, - So, from the blue sky shining overhead, - The whispering angels leave us, one by one. - I have past by the goal; ’tis hard to pause, - And, but for pride, I should shake hands with Vice. - Trample on Virtue’s desecrated laws, - And with my own dishonor pay the price. - - Wo to us, when our pride becomes our truth - And hollow-hearted selfishness our trust, - With age’s avarice creeping over youth, - And clothing all things in corroding rust! - Pride is frail hold on virtue, yet ’tis all - That binds me to one deed of human hope; - Let me forget my pride and I shall fall - So low contempt will lose me in its scope! - How long shall this frail pride support my name? - How long ere malice o’er my head shall creep. - And touch me with the fangs of his dark shame, - And lure me, with his serpent eyes, to sleep? - - I know not that I shall forget my kind, - Nor shame the form I owe to human birth; - I know not but the foaming of my mind - May leave a legacy of good to earth; - But I am saddened when I think that all - Of the world’s plaudit flows from my deceit, - And that the eyes that love me would recall - Their pleasant looks, could they but trace my feet! - The heart’s confession bears the curse of years, - To be without a pure thought at my side, - And if I fall lament me not with tears, - But think that time has shorn away my pride! - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: Painted by C. L. Eastlake R. A. Engraved by W. - E. Tucker - -CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM.] - - * * * * * - - - - - CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM. - - - BY JOSEPH E. CHANDLER. - - [SEE ENGRAVING.] - - -“How beautiful upon the mountain are the feet of those that bring glad -tidings,” is the language of elder Scripture, and how often has the -heart of man responded to the truth of the declaration, as the eye has -caught the earnest smile and noted the lightness of feet that -distinguish the bearer of pleasing intelligence. - -The great poet of nature hath, in the spirit of the above comment, -remarked that the bearer of unwelcome news has “but a losing office.” -And thousands of those who have been messengers of good to the great, -the wealth-possessing and honor-conferring among men, have found -themselves ennobled and sometimes enriched, for the simple narrative of -an event in which they had no share, and of which they knew little more -than the report which they had received from others and delivered where -it was greatly desired. - -We know that the text of Scripture which we have placed at the beginning -of these remarks has allusion to tidings of greater joy, of more -gladness, than all the bulletins of battles and statements of victories -which the hastened dispatch bearer has ever conveyed to the awaiting -monarch—more lovely and more desired than messages of love and tokens -of reciprocation which the herald of man’s affection and woman’s deep, -late-told love ever conveyed. The triumph of the conqueror of armies -must be short and partial—the love of the most devoted perishes, at -least with the object, if it is not quenched by its own fitful sallies. -But the glad tidings which hasten and beautify the feet of those who -come over the mountain of our offences is of life-long endurance, and -enters into the eternity for which it prepares. - -There is a picture in this number of the Magazine to which we are -alluding, and to which we mean to refer when we talk of messengers of -glad tidings. We know that the common reader will look at the title, -and, if he recollects the narrative, he will be startled at the idea of -“glad tidings,” when sorrow and tears were on the face of the messenger, -bodings of terrible afflictions were in his mind, and their nearness was -being foretold. - -Are these glad tidings? Do such messages make beautiful the bearer? Can -we rejoice at the overwhelming evil that is to befall the “City of -Peace,” and sweep away the temple of the Most High, and give to famine, -to violence, to dishonor and to death the sons and the daughters of the -people of God? - -But if these evils were the consequences of crimes, if the destroyer -were but an instrument in the hand of omnipotent love to waste the -destroyed, and to be himself the object of a similar wrath, that the -“peace” which the great messenger was to bring on earth might have an -abiding place, in consequence of the terrible things which he only -foretold—surely the feet of such an one are beautiful. He _brings_ -salvation, while he only _foretells_ destruction; he makes the wrath of -man, which he prophecies, the instrument to produce that love and peace -of which he is the real author. - - * * * * * - -There had been much confusion in the city in consequence of reports -brought to the principal ecclesiastical and civic officers, of the -unusual proceedings of citizens at a short distance beyond the place, -where palm branches had been strewn in the highway, and garments spread -out, upon which the hoofs of the rider’s animal were to tread—tokens of -remarkable respect, which seemed to look treasonable to the foreign -power, that directed the political affairs, and to the native priests -who directed the spiritual concerns—the forum and the temple were -agitated; the viceroy and the high-priest each started at such evidences -of neglect of fealty. Rome and Jerusalem both felt that there was an -antagonistic power operating, if not directly against, at least -incidentally hostile to them; and Rome and Jerusalem—the conqueror and -the conquered—joined in efforts to suppress the evil. Each would have -crushed the power of the other, but both would unite to repel a power -that was hostile to both. Each would have bruised the mailed arm of the -other, but both trembled at what would have healed the breast of each. - -There had been a scene of triumph—but He who had been the object of the -huzzas of the multitude that thronged his way with tokens of -obedience—_head_ obedience, with little of _heart_ in the offering—he -had sat unmoved by outward demonstration of feeling for the acclamations -of those who thronged his path. Another mission was his—another triumph -was desired—another evidence of popular feeling was to be experienced, -and in a little time he separated from the multitude, and ascending the -mount, at whose base he had stood, he sat down with the four or five -that were with him, and gazed abroad upon the outstretched scene below -them. - -It was a beautiful evening. Behind them the dust which had not yet -subsided since the people had thronged the roads with songs of triumph, -was reflecting the light of the declining sun. Beneath them was the -Valley of Jehoshaphat, the terrible seat of _judgment_ and dread; and -beyond was the beloved city, stretched out in the repose of the evening -sun, which was reflected by numerous gorgeous domes; and the busy hum of -business came up to the quiet summit of Olivet, as if to bear to those -who rested here the story of man’s heedlessness of his life’s great end. - -They were Jews that thus looked out, the leader and the followers, -Hebrews of Hebrews, and they loved the land of their birth and the city -of their nation’s boast. Every affection of the human heart was enlisted -for the beautiful towns and sacred edifices, and all the outspread -loveliness of the country’s hills and valleys; and as the sun seemed to -pour surpassing splendor upon the place, and as youth and beauty went -forth to seek their pleasures, and age toiled upward toward the temple -for the evening sacrifice, and all that was seen, and all that the heart -suggested, appealed to the patriotic affection of the four—they looked -to see whether the loveliness of the scene would not light up an -unwonted smile upon the face of their Master, who was looking intently -upon the city. - -But there was no smile. The deep thought that rested on his brow, and -the tear that glistened in his eye, showed that the past and the future -were with him. That all the blessings which had been pronounced upon -Jerusalem, and all the promises made in her behalf, all the sins which -she had committed, and which God had pardoned, and all the negligence -against which she had been warned, and for which pardon had been -presented; all her thoughtlessness now, and all the uncomprehended -miseries which were in her path, were in one group in his mind—and the -sound of the destroyer and the desolation of the conquered stood before -him—the famine that wasted the people and the fire that destroyed the -temple were there, and as he remembered how He would have sheltered them -from the consequences of their own follies, and how they despised his -love; how he would have shielded and comforted the sons and daughters of -that city of his love, but they refused, _He wept_—wept human -tears—wept tears of earthly fondness, that came bursting up from his -heart—deep agony marked his face when gathering the recollection of all -the promises which had accompanied their probation, the glories by which -they had been invited to goodness—he exclaimed, “But now they are -forever hidden from thine eyes.” - -What a mission was that the Master assumed—what an experience was that -of his intimate followers. The many listened to his heavenly doctrine -and love—many were astonished at the miracles that marked his public -ministry, that made the temple and the wayside _clinics_ where his -divine skill was exhibited, and drew the people from their synagogues -and altars, to offer at the street corners the sacrifice of enlightened -hearts and the homage of soul admiration. But these, the favored few, -the elders and chosen ones of his little flock stood with him in the -terrible moments, when the office of his mission was not exercised on -others, but came to be ministered on himself—three of them witnessed -the tears at the grave of a friend—they saw with trembling awe the -glory of his transfiguration with Moses and Elias—and now these stood -there solemn, trembling witnesses of an agony of affliction that wrung -tears for others from Him who could look down upon the garden that was -to be the scene of a trial which human eyes could not witness and -live—who could look forward to the hall of infamy that was to witness -his mockery, to the winding way of sorrow in which he was to bear his -cross, and upward to the eminence where the work was to be consummated. -The tears were not for himself. He wept for the misery of those who -should procure the agonizing passion. - -The artist has chosen this moment for his picture. It was a bold -thought—but it was a good one—what the pen records may not the pencil -illustrate, and is not the lesson of that most instructive hour brought -closer home to the heart by the representation of the scene which the -sacred historian describes? How well the artist has executed his task is -not for us to say. Indeed such a picture is in its conception so full of -suggestion, that we may safely leave to the painter’s professional pride -the finishing of his work according to the canons of his art. The moment -that we recognize the subject, the moment we catch the time, the place -and the office, we lose sight of all that the pen has written or the -pencil attempted to delineate, and acknowledge that our hearts, our -fancy have taken hold of all and borne us back to the awful hour—we do -not pause to look at features or position on the canvas, but at once we -kneel in imagination at a distance from the consecrated group, and as -Olivet and Sinai and Calvary meet the eye, and the temple gleams in the -light of the setting sun, we inquire what is the thought, the high, -mighty thought that swells upward in the heart of the Master there? -Alas! who shall know? Who could conceive? Eternities are in his mind, -and all the vast concerns of angels and of men are before him; and yet -for one city, one erring city, one little spot upon the great map of the -universe, he fixes his eyes, and over its fate he weeps tears of earthly -sorrow—weeps not that one stone of the temple shall not be left upon -the other—weeps not that all the monuments of his nation’s glory shall -be wasted, and that the ploughshare of the infidel shall upturn the -sacred soil. Not for these did he weep—but that those children of the -Father, whom he “would have gathered as a hen gathereth her chickens -under her wings,” should be destroyed by the sword, and the virtue of -the daughters of his people should be the derision and spoil of the -conqueror. They were human tears—but divine sympathies! - -And in that scene of wounded love, when the foreseeing, or the -foredwelling of his higher nature made the _present_ of his human -exposure terrible—in that hour of sympathy and sorrow, the favored and -the _intimate_ were his companions. Theirs was not yet the gift of -foreknowledge—they lived only in the present, and knew only of the -past. Little indeed could they comprehend the agony of the Master, as -they could not foresee the cause. Their highest gift was _faith_—they -could believe—they could confide—they could listen with silent -assurance—and however contradictory might appear the words of the -Teacher and the circumstances of the times, they had learned from -rebukes and experience to trust to the former. And as they follow with -their eyes the mournful bend of the Master’s gaze, as they melted before -the weeping of the sinless and loving, they bowed in meek assent to the -terrible _anathema_ foretold, and, not being authorized to give, or to -proclaim it, they meekly sighed the _maranatha_, and left the work to -God. - -You see some of the multitude pressing up _toward_ the Master, but not -_upon_ him. You see, too, in the distance, woman with her face set -toward Him to whom her heart is given. Woman following but not -approaching. The first evidence of personal suffering would have brought -her to his side—the first chance of offering homage would have taken -her to his feet. It is woman, too, in her beautiful office—her heart is -with the Master—it is good for her to stand where she may be called. He -may not indeed speak to her, but virtue might go forth from him and -bless her—and so she had brought with her a little child. It seemed not -meet to her that she should seek Jesus and her child not be led to him. -She had indeed heard the Master say, in regard to some others, “suffer -little children to come unto me,” and how did she know, standing afar -off though she might be—standing in awe and reverence—how did she know -but when his moment of bitter sorrow had passed away, the Master might -turn and smile on her—and take her little child in his arms and bless -him—so had he done to others—and so she was willing to await, willing -to stand and see what the Lord would do. - -But in the immediate scene of tears and solemn wailing woman is not -found. Where are those that followed his steps? Where are those who -ministered to his wants? Alas! the scene was not for such hearts. It was -the last sacrifice of national feeling; humanity acknowledges the -claim—for mental mortal agony at events to come there was no -consolation. - -It was for woman to make beautiful her mission by her implicit faith; it -was for woman to minister to his _physical_ wants; her humility would -find a delightful office when she bathed his feet with her tears, and -her faith had comforting expression when she wiped them with the hairs -of her head. Woman’s care provided the household comforts which humanity -needed, and woman’s piety sat self-abased, yet gathered strength at the -Master’s feet as he opened the oracles of truth. Woman wept for him as -he bore his cross upward to Calvary; and woman lingered at the foot of -that cross when others had fled; and it was woman that came earliest to -kneel at the sepulchre. Where service was to be performed, where faith -was to be tried, where physical wants were to be supplied, and physical -suffering assuaged, there woman was to be found. But where the agony of -mental passion was to be endured; where the unspeakable and the -incomprehensible were to be exhibited, woman was not. Her mission of -faith and love required no such exercise, her feelings demanded no such -purification. - -We have done. The picture which we give is suggestive, and we hope that -it will suggest more to others than we have been able to express; -because to such a scene as the artist represents, when the heart or -fancy enters it is lost in amazement. A thousand thoughts crowd, less -for utterance than for existence, and we feel that when there is more -than earthly love, more than earthly interest, the idea must be more -than human, and expression will be infinitely short of the conception. - - * * * * * - - - - - HUMAN INFLUENCE. - - - BY MARIE ROSEAU. - - - Oh! deem not thou canst lightly err, - And none may bear its weight but thee: - There’s none on earth who stands alone, - None so devoid of sympathy, - But that each fault will wing a dart - To pierce some gentle, feeling heart. - - Oh! say not that no sin of thine - Will cause another, weaker one, - To fall, or stumble by the way— - By following _thee_ his soul undone— - Drawn to the very depths of shame: - Then on whose head shall rest the blame? - - Oh! say not thou art far too weak - To help some brother poor and frail, - Whose footsteps falter by the way— - Whose burthened strength begins to fail— - Thy words of hope may sooth his grief, - Thy hand, though weak, may bring relief. - - Perchance some weary spirit mourns, - In bitterness of grief e’en now, - That thus in bonds, by error wrought, - So strong a soul as thine should bow— - That _thou_, of all the world shouldst stray - From wisdom’s straight and pleasant way. - - Perchance e’en now thy many faults - Stand in some wand’ring brother’s road, - That but for _thee_ his feet would tread - The path of wisdom and of God— - Who, but for _thee_, or for thy sin, - A victor’s glorious crown might win. - - Oh! none there are whose deeds and words - May not exert an influence wide, - There is no hand that hath not strength - Some wand’rer from the way to guide: - No voice with tones too weak to bless - Some hapless brother in distress. - - * * * * * - - - - - HONOR TO WHOM HONOR IS DUE. - - - A TALE OF OLDEN TIMES. - - BY MRS. LYDIA JANE PEIRSON. - -Grenada had fallen. The miserable remnant of a once powerful nation, -driven from the cities of their glorious empire, hunted by an untiring -zeal to destroy, crowded at length into their chief stronghold, the city -of their regal power—the birth-place and the sepulchre of a long race -of puissant monarchs—had endured all the miseries of siege, of famine, -and of slaughter; had endured with an invincible determination to die -rather than yield; and they had died by the sword, by hunger and thirst, -by despair, by pestilence; and their rich and magnificent city had been -sacked, plundered, ravaged, made the prey of soldiers, greedy for spoil, -thirsting for the blood of an infidel foe, exasperated by resistance, -and maddened by fanatical zeal. Grenada had fallen; the Moors were no -longer a nation of the earth. Ferdinand and Isabella, weary of war, and -satiated with conquest, were reposing in state at Santa Fe, or San -Felipe, with every demonstration of triumph, every show of thanksgiving -to the God of battles. The days were divided between the most gloriously -marshaled tournaments and the most magnificent religious processions; -the nights were devoted to the masquerade and the mass; the whole world -seemed vocal, now with strains of triumphant martial music, now with the -no less lofty Te Deum, or Gloria in Excelsis. All was joy and gladness, -triumph and gratitude. The temporary palace was shining like the fabled -palace of Aladdin, builded of the gold and gems of the genii world. In -all the apartments the magic of regal magnificence was displayed in the -taste of the most approved style of art. Tapestries of regal blue and -Tyrian purple, broidered and fringed with scarlet, green and gold, in -the inimitable style of the artists of Babylon, swept from the lofty -ceilings to the velvety carpels of the marble pavements which were rich -with tufted work of flowers of every hue, while in the recesses of the -windows, where the tapestries were looped aside with cords of the -richest dyed and braided silks, entwined with strings of glittering -gems, and heavy with tassels of feathery silk and drops of gold and -diamonds, were placed beautifully enameled vases of the porcelain of -Italia, supporting branches of artificial flowers and fruits of immense -value. From the daisy, with its petals of pearl and eye of platted gold, -to the rose of Damascus, formed of flashing rubies, and dewed with -purest diamonds; from the rich clusters of grapes of amethyst, to the -golden pear and nectarine, beryl and sardonix. Doors opened upon -seemingly interminable vistas of trees and flowering shrubs, -intermingled with candelabras of gold, wrought into the semblance of -tall plants, bearing flowers of crystal and purest porcelain of every -delicate tint, each of which was a lamp, burning perfumed oil, and -giving out rich fragrance with its mellowed light; while birds of every -clime, from the stately pea-fowl to the minutest lady-bird, admirably -imitated in enameled gold and precious stones, were fixed upon elastic -sprays, swaying to every breath, and chirping forth melody from little -organs, played upon by their own tremulous motions, and so perfect was -the workmanship that their forms and notes were hardly to be -distinguished from those of the real birds that walked or flew amongst -them in the gay parterres. - -Amid all this enchantment moved groups of richly habited men and women; -dons and cavaliers, in their blazing military costumes, and dark-eyed -donnas, in soft silks, rich velvets, and transparent muslins of India, -ornamented with brilliants, plumes, or flowers, each as her fancy -dictated. Some were dancing to lively music, some listening to soft -melodies and songs of love; some were grouped around the beautifully -imitated trees, on which ripe fruits of every clime seemed to hang in -nature’s wild profusion; some clustered around statues, which presented -baskets and trays of the choicest viands; others again rested beside -fountains which threw up jets of perfumed wine, which, as it descended -in drops, displayed rainbows of inimitable splendor, painted by colored -lights arranged for the purpose, while here and there a youthful couple, -walking apart, and apparently unconscious of all the surrounding -splendor, betrayed the tender topic of their sweet communings. - -Could discontent and heaviness of heart exist amid all this wealth and -splendor and apparent happiness? or do all these fail to satisfy the -yearnings of the immortal mind? In a retired part of the gardens, where -a few dark evergreens clustered over a natural spring of living water, -stood a man apparently forty years of age, plainly habited in rich black -velvet, which displayed to the best advantage a form of manly mould and -exquisite symmetry. His beaver lay beside him on the turf, and his noble -head thus exposed, displayed the perfection of nature’s statuary. His -high and expansive forehead, strongly marked and delicately moulded -features, dark, piercing and restless eyes, bespoke genius to conceive, -energy to prosecute, perseverance to complete achievement of lofty -daring. But there was an expression of melancholy around his perfect -mouth, and his dark brows had acquired a contraction which proved that -he was familiar with disappointment, and the contumely of inferior -souls. Wrapped in deep thought he seemed, except that from time to time, -as he lifted his eyes and glanced up the vista, there flashed from their -dark depths the impatience of a mighty spirit, baffled of its aim, -chained in its flight, and misunderstood in the darkness of surrounding -ignorance. A figure, elastic with the buoyancy of joy, advanced toward -him, a warm hand clasped his, and a glad voice exclaimed, “Courage, my -friend, she has consented to see you, to listen to your plea, to weigh -your arguments, and decide upon your claims to patronage. Courage, I -say, for if she listen to you, she will espouse your cause.” A light, -intense, but momentary, flashed over the face of the dark-browed man, as -he pressed the hand of his messenger, exclaiming, “Thank you—to me you -are, indeed, San Angel!” - -Gradually the gay groups disappeared from the scene of magnificent -enchantment; the lights went out one by one, like stars at the approach -of day; the voices of melody ceased amongst the pavilions, and in the -echoing halls, and silence seemed resuming her natural empire over the -night. - -In a retired apartment of the royal palace sat Isabella of Castile, with -her two young daughters. The beauty of the queen was of a style to -command respect rather than admiration, obedience rather than love. -Majesty was in her form and mien, pride sat on her brow, and in her -tones and gestures lived an authority which none dared question or -disobey. Well was it for herself and those around her that she was -governed by the nicest principles of honor; that her whole life was -swayed by the most fervent and conscientious devotional feelings; so -that as a queen, as a wife, and as a mother, she was above reproach. - -Her eldest daughter, the Lady Isabella, inherited with her mother’s -name, a large portion of her personal and mental qualities; but while -one was a woman and a queen, the other was a young princess, proud, -impatient of control or contradiction, and delighting in magnificence -and admiration. Her younger sister, the Lady Joanna, though she had a -fine form and regular features, with the dark, languid eyes of her -country, was destitute of that grace and vivacity which is the great -charm in woman’s character. The warm blood never gave a living glow to -the dark olive of her complexion, and it was seldom that the deep -fringes of her eyelids were lifted sufficiently to allow those with whom -she conversed to mark the beautiful and flitting shadows of the deep and -sweet emotions of her loving spirit. - -“Oh, mother!” cried the young Isabella, her whole person radiant with -the spirit’s light, “oh, mother, what a glorious thing it is to be a -queen’s daughter; to live in such magnificence, to be an object of -admiration and worship, to listen while gay and noble cavaliers extol -one’s beauty and accomplishments; but, mother, it is my highest glory -that I am _your_ child, your namesake, and like you in mind and person. -Oh, how my heart swelled last night as I heard men speak of the truly -royal Isabella of Castile. But, mother, I am not quite as noble-souled -as you, for I heard them tell that in your girlhood, when the -discontented nobles and people would have placed you on your brother’s -throne, you utterly refused to consent to his being deposed, and only -allowed yourself to be declared his successor. I could not have been so -moderate; oh, I long to be a queen like you.” - -“A queen!” murmured Joanna, who occupied a cushion at her mother’s feet, -“a queen,” and her voice was low and sweet as the murmur of a guitar, -when its strings are moved by the orange-scented breeze alone. “I would -be queen of one loving heart alone. I ask no kingdom beyond a quiet -home, with one to love me, dearly, truly, unchangingly, as I could love -again. Oh, mother, I am weary of all this noise and show; my heart grows -sick, as I mark these glorious things, and feel that they are spoils of -war, relics of a fallen power, trophies of a victory achieved by -bloodshed, fire, famine, and pestilence. Do not frown, dear mother, my -queen; but I cannot help thinking of the loving hearts, and beautiful -women, and tender babes that perished in Grenada. They were infidels, -but they had human hearts; they loved, and were beloved, and, oh, what -bitter sundering of holy ties was in that devoted city. I cannot rejoice -in such dreadful victory; I dare not thank our merciful Father in Heaven -that he has permitted our armies to inflict such a vast amount of -misery, not only on our armed foes, but on their helpless and innocent -families.” - -The queen’s countenance was troubled; she regarded her daughters -alternately. “Alas! my children,” she said at length, “I foresee -unhappiness for you both. Isabella’s spirit will never be satisfied with -power and grandeur; and your heart, Joanna, will never be filled with -the love for which alone it asks. It is possible to be beautiful, -honored, and a mighty queen, and yet be very miserable—oh, very -miserable! Leave me now, my children, for the hour of audience is at -hand; and I am to listen to a strange suitor and weigh a mighty -project.” - -Queen Isabella sat in her private audience-chamber, surrounded by her -nobles. There was a shadow on her brow deeper than the shade of business -cares; and it was remarked by her counsellors that every article of the -spoils of the fallen Moors had been removed from her apartments. - -Presently San Angel and his friend, Columbus, were ushered to the royal -presence. The great adventurer wore the same plain habit of black -velvet, but appeared infinitely more noble in that dress than did any of -the embroidery-decked cavaliers in the royal presence. Columbus was no -stranger to courts and princes, yet as he bent his knee before Isabella -of Castile, he felt to pay her the homage of the soul, and she thought -that she had never until then looked upon true greatness. - -“Rise,” she said, “and speak what you have to say.” - -He stood before her calm, collected, and with the air of a man having -full confidence in himself; and his speech, which at first was -hesitating and low, soon flowed in a torrent of strong eloquence, -betraying the tide of the deep spirit which thus poured out its -speculative treasures. - -“Madam,” he said, “you behold me, a native of Genoa, a suitor to your -majesty for aid, not to prosecute an idle enterprise to attain for -myself gay baubles, or the yellow gold that lies like a heavy chain upon -the souls of its votaries, but to prosecute a great and glorious -enterprise, of the success of which I am morally certain, and which will -be an inestimable benefit to the whole world, and add, if it be -possible, new honors to the name of Isabella of Castile. Madam, the -teachings of science, as well as my apprehension of the goodness and -wisdom of our bountiful Creator, have led me to a firm conviction that -all the unexplored surface of this vast globe is not, cannot be, a -barren waste of waters. I know that there are vast islands, probably a -great continent, sufficient to balance the lands that now compose the -world, lying away in the western ocean. These unknown lands I would -discover and explore. Or even if such do not exist, as we know that the -earth is globular in form, I shall at least discover a passage to India -through the western ocean, and so add a glory to the crown of Castile -which shall eclipse the lustre which recent navigators have given to -Portugal. This is the age of naval enterprise and great discoveries; let -the most important exploit of this age live with the name of Queen -Isabella on the historic page forever and forever. - -“Madam, I know that I am no idle dreamer, no speculative theorist; I -seek to confirm by actual discovery the truths which reason and religion -proclaim to my mind as indisputable. And yet I have found no soul -capable of understanding mine; no rich prince or noble willing to risk a -few thousands for an incalculable benefit to the whole world through all -the years to come, and a fame which shall live until the sun burns out -in the great temple of the blue ether. You will ask why I, a citizen of -Genoa, a rich and powerful state, find it necessary to solicit the aid -of foreign powers. I have said I find no souls capable of understanding -mine. The great ones of my dear native city have pronounced me a framer -of illusive theories. I would have won for her an imperishable honor; -she would not receive it at my hand. Filled with sorrow and indignation, -I then turned toward Portugal, encouraged by her recently acquired -reputation as a patron of adventurous navigators. Her great ones -listened to my suit, amused with hopes, and delayed to give me a -definite answer; and while I waited and strove to convince them of the -rationality of my speculations, they treacherously drew from me all my -grounds of belief in the existence of another continent, my intended -method of discovery, with the direction I meant to steer, and all the -information I could give concerning my projected voyage; and, indeed, -madam, you will find it hard to believe such infamy, they fitted out a -fleet secretly, which sailed, failed of its object, encountered storms, -and returned, asserting that they had done all that navigators could do, -and that my theory is false and futile. Thus I have been cheated out of -three years of my existence, while my ardent soul is burning out its -habitation. Then I thought of England. I sent my brother to lay my -project before her royal Henry. Years have passed, and yet he has not -returned. Madam, I know that the lands of which I have spoken do exist. -I know that I am able to search them out in the world of dark waters -which has wrapped them from our knowledge since the world began. I know -that I can reach them, for God has raised me up and endowed me as his -instrument to affect these great discoveries, and he will preserve my -life, and guide me by his almighty power. I have petitioned your august -consort, but he is occupied by other matters, or swayed by those who -would prevent me from achieving that which they dare not undertake -themselves, who would withhold from me the honors which they have not -courage and ability to achieve for themselves. On you, therefore, -illustrious madam, now rest my ardent hopes. Surely amid all this -magnificence, the small sum necessary for my outfit would not be felt. -And in the event of my success, which I deem certain, would not the vast -and rich territory thus added to the dominions of Castile and Aragon, -bring millions of revenue for every hundred expended on my expedition. I -beseech your highness, listen to my plea; I am like a strong eagle, -longing to scale the pinnacle of a lofty mountain, but bound by a heavy -chain in a dark and miry valley, I am wearing out my life in a vain -effort to spread my shackled pinions to the glorious sunlight. Let your -royal bounty remove these shackles, give me the means, and say to me go, -explore the ocean, discover new worlds, and take possession in the name -of Isabella, the illustrious queen of Castile. Let me go, in pity to my -restless spirit. Let me go and win everlasting honors for myself and the -age, and for my royal patroness.” - -Queen Isabella had listened with evident interest, her dark eyes -flashed, and her cheeks burned with excitement. She extended her -beautiful hand to the suppliant. “I grant your prayer,” she said; “I -will furnish funds for your voyage. This display of magnificence is not -at my command. It belongs to our nobles, our churches, our officers and -soldiers. You behold here the spoils of the vanquished, which must -reward the vanquishers. It is possible to be poor in the midst of regal -splendor. But I have jewels which are at my own disposal, which add -nothing to my power or my happiness. I will dispose of them, and give -you the means to prosecute your project to discover new worlds amid the -wilderness of waves, and win that undying fame which you deem within -your reach.” - -Low on his knees fell the joyful adventurer, and poured out his -gratitude in few but forceful words. - -Looks of scorn, contempt, and bitter enmity were fixed upon the -adventurous Genoese by the courtiers who surrounded her majesty, and it -was evident that her presence alone restrained them from openly -expressing their hatred of him, and disapproval of her decision. One -cavalier in particular ground his teeth with rage, and muttered his vow -of eternal enmity to him whose soul so overreached all human intellect -had heretofore achieved. - -But Isabella’s royal word was pledged, and her powerful eloquence had -won her regal Ferdinand of Aragon to espouse the cause of Columbus, and -associate his name with hers in patronage of his great adventure. But -the man of mighty soul had departed on his limitless voyage, and his -scoffers continued to clamor against him, and predict the utter failure -of his project, and destruction of his fleet and crews. - -Ferdinand and Isabella were holding their court in Barcelona, when a -courier arrived with intelligence that Columbus with his fleet had made -the harbor of Palos, from which he sailed about ten months previous. -Various rumors followed the announcement, rumors of glory, and gold, and -territories, rich and blooming as the garden of Eden. Then gushed in -clamorous torrents the bitter waters of envy, hatred, and detraction; -but Isabella heeded not their clamors, but awaited with hope and -exultation the arrival of her protégé. - -At length a triumphant train approached the city. Loud shouts swelled up -to heaven from the excited multitudes; the city poured out her torrents -of living creatures to meet the mighty man who had wrested a world from -the untraversed ocean floods. - -The monarchs, in their most glorious apparel, sat upon their throne in -the magnificently furnished reception hall of their palace home. - -The procession approached; a herald announced the great discoverer. He -entered the presence, and the monarchs arose and stood to greet him. - -With him came natives of his new world, with their strange features and -unheard of complexions—habited in the grotesque costume of their native -clime. In beautiful caskets and vases were borne gold, unwrought, and -fashioned into curious ornaments, fruits and flowering plants, and -strangely beautiful specimens of verdure and foliage, with articles of -the manufacture of those far-off lands—all things strange to the -admiring beholders, and different from aught that the eastern continent -produced. All was wonder, admiration and delight, except in the black -habitations of envy and murderous hate. But Columbus had achieved his -triumph—he had discovered a new world; he had triumphed over the malice -of his enemies, he had won for himself an imperishable fame; but he laid -all his glories at the feet of his royal patroness, ISABELLA OF CASTILE, -without whose aid the mighty soul of enterprise would have worn itself -out in vain endeavors to spread its glorious pinions. Oh, that every -mighty mind could find an Isabella. - -Ought not the name of Isabella to be forever associated with that of -Columbus, as without her aid he could never have crossed the Atlantic? -Should not the honor of the discovery of the western world rest alike -upon him who conceived, and her who enabled him to execute the mighty -project? And yet the fame of Columbus is wide as the world, and eternal -as the lands to which he opened the way across the billows; while she -who gave wings to his genius and power to his arm is almost forgotten. - -But I would wed her name to his forever by christening this great and -hitherto nameless republic, by the appropriate and euphonious title of -Columbella. Thus would I give honor to whom honor is due. - - * * * * * - - - - - EGERIA. - - - BY MARY L. LAWSON. - - - In a soft, still summer twilight, - When the sunset’s golden beam - Gleamed behind the cold gray mountain, - With a misty haze between, - When the stars were faintly breaking, - One by one, upon the sky, - And the winds that whispered near me - Were as gentle as a sigh, - ’Neath a mossed and gnarled oak, - With its branches ivy-bound, - Where the mingled sweets of flowers - Threw a breathing perfume round, - There a lovely dream stole o’er me, - ’Twas life’s sweetest, last, and best; - Bright Egeria, lost Egeria, - Thou hast left my lonely breast. - - I have sought the spot full often - In the morning, in the noon, - In the chill and bleak December, - In the rosy light of June; - And when floods of silvery moonlight - O’er the valley slept serene, - While its pale and silent splendor - Mocked my spirit’s restless dream. - Yet I linger as of old— - Still I seek the shadowed lake, - And the mountains stern and drear, - Where the Alpine glaciers break; - There I watch the storm-god rise, - But I wander on in vain; - Bright Egeria, lost Egeria, - Will we never meet again. - - ’Mid my deep and yearning sadness, - With enrapturing thought I dwell - On the scenes whose hues are melting - Into memory’s mystic spell; - But my gladness hath departed, - For I tremblingly pursue - The beloved yet changing phantom - That still fades before my view; - Aerial music floats around, - Aerial voices meet mine ear, - And my sighs are oft repeated - By soft echoes hovering near; - And from visions half ethereal— - Mad with hope—I wildly start— - But thy footsteps, lost Egeria, - Are the beatings of my heart. - - * * * * * - - - - - HISTORY OF THE COSTUME OF MEN, - - - DURING THE EIGHTEENTH AND THE BEGINNING OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. - - BY FAYETTE ROBINSON. - - (_Continued from page 141._) - - -We had almost forgotten to speak of another class, important though -youthful, of the saucy, petted and spoiled _pages_. They, too, are gone, -and not one of them survived the eighteenth century. The Almanac of the -Empire, it is true, bears the names of thirty-two pages, and that of the -restoration of seventy-two; but all this means nothing, for the last -page, who really was what he professed to be, and who was the most -celebrated of his class, was named Cherubim, and was born April 27, -1784. - -The following is his portrait. - -[Illustration] - -The old Duke of Lauraguais said that the first English frock worn in -France had been the death-blow of the French nobility, one of the most -numerous of the grades of which had been the first to adopt it. The -Marquises, with their proverbial love of change, began from that time to -transform their _modes_, and effected it so rapidly that their brocade -garments were soon only found on the stage, or in the _bals-costumés_. -This frock, (fr. froc,) which had so disadvantageous an influence, was a -kind of loose gown, with pockets on the inside, and without any -tightness at the waist. It was cut lengthwise with the cloth, and though -first without a collar, ultimately acquired one. The dress of the age in -other respects remained long unaltered, though its accessories, such as -buttons, plaits, _etc._, were constantly changing. The coats first were -made to button all the way up, and then only from the pockets up: -finally buttons were not used at all. After some lapse of time loops -were used, which clasped the narrow coat over the often portly -_tournure_ in the most ridiculous manner. Waistcoats then were -waistcoats, not _gilets_, but substantial coats without sleeves. The -wardrobe of a gentleman also contained another garment called a -_veston_, covered with lace and _broderie_, a _volant_, which was always -single-breasted, various kinds of redingotes, such as the _roquelaure_, -the _houppelande_, etc., all of which were made of every conceivable -material and color. The above are the general characteristics of -costume, all the variations of which we cannot be expected to describe -any more than the botanist is to count every leaf on a tree. - -Black, now the _ne plus ultra_ of dress, was then worn only by -_procureurs_, authors, small landholders, and, in a word, all persons -who were negligent in their toilette. It was the index of restricted -means, and of mourning, when the most obscure bourgeois dressed himself -like a count or marquis. - -The greatest variety of colors were worn, and contrasts which now would -seem most repulsive were every day met with. A scarlet velvet coat, with -a black collar and steel buttons, sulphur-colored breeches and -blue-striped hose were considered in very good taste about 1785. _Boue -de Paris_ (brick-dust color) and London smoke were worn in both London -and Paris in 1786, and in 1788, a color known by the repulsive name of -beef' s-blood was the extremity of fashion. Waistcoats had all kinds of -names, taken from operas, such as Figaro, Cœur-de-Lion, etc. -Handkerchiefs _aux adieux de Fontainebleu_ were worn; neither of these, -however, seem to have differed materially from other waistcoats and -handkerchiefs. - -This was the age of _cravats_, made of fine lawn or baptiste richly -laced, with hanging ends; peruques _à la Grecque_, with three buckles; -the sword and plumed hat. Some persons also wore the stockinet breeches, -by the side of which Adam’s fig-leaf was decent. - -The following is a group altogether characteristic of that age in which -the redingote, the _coiffure à la Grecque_, and plumed hat all appear: - -[Illustration] - -None now can take an interest in all the mysteries of powder and -_coiffure_, with their high-sounding names _à la Brigadière_, _à la -Sartine_, _à trois marteaux_, etc., they are gone forever, and when the -great Leonard fled to Russia after the execution of the king were -forgotten in Paris. It will be remembered that other capitals always -copied the costumes of the French capital, and that in speaking of Paris -we describe the costume of Europe. - -Grave reflections do not belong to the history of so frivolous a thing -as costume, but any one may see that it is impossible to avoid making a -comparison, not only between the costumes, but the ideas of the past and -present. The decay of the luxury of the old monarchy was but the -forerunner of the fall of the monarchy itself, so that rightly enough -Dumourier echoed the prophecy of its ruin, made by an old -gentleman-usher who saw the great Roland appear before the king with -shoes with strings instead of buckles. We have brought down the history -of costume to the verge of a revolution, all the terrors of which luxury -survived, and there may be those who think the crisis in the midst of -which France is, may pass away, and things yet a second time resume -their old state. This cannot be the centre of fashion is destroyed, and -cannot be again created. France has more serious things to attend to, -and though all the world submitted to French dictation, it is scarcely -probable that it will bow itself to another sceptre. France cannot -resume her sway. In 1792 the dispersed court bore away with it all the -splendor and magnificence of the past, and left a void which the -republic could not fill. In 1830 _noblesse_, as a cast, had disappeared, -but an opulent class yet remained, who had grown accustomed to dictate -in fashion. In the year 1848 the revolution was more complete, and all -have other things to do besides thinking of periwigs and shoe-buckles. - -Among the causes which tended in the eighteenth century to modify French -costume, by assimilating all classes, we must in the first place mention -the influence of what is now called Anglo-mania. Even as far back as -Louis XV., the young nobles had become accustomed to visit England, -where they acquired new habits if not new ideas. England for a time was -the sovereign of fashion, and hats were worn _à la Tamise_ instead of _à -la Seine_. The nobles, in imitation of the English, ruined themselves by -extravagance in horses and equipages. Quarrels arose about the good -looks of jockeys, and princes of the blood and dukes transformed -themselves into coach-drivers. Marie Antoinette even took pride in the -dexterity with which she handled the whip and reins of a pony-phaeton. -The revolution has naturalized in France many political phrases, but -long before that French ears and the French palate had grown used to -punch, or _ponche_ as they called it, and both sexes had become -accustomed to cover up their costume with the _redingote_, or English -riding-coat. Tea canes and hats were ultimately adopted, also from -England. - -The revolution in England, and the round-head ideas it evolved, had much -simplified English costume, and by the Anglo-mania this simplicity was -now reflected back on France, and continued to as late a day as the -revolution. In 1786 the English costume was frequently seen in the -streets of Paris, and contributed in a great degree to dissipate the air -of pretension which yet animated French society. The English boot was -adopted almost universally, and gaiters became as common as in London. -The loose locks of the English sailors were also imitated, and this was -a severe blow on the old costume, an important portion of which was the -_coiffure_. The three-cornered cocked was replaced by the jockey’s round -hat, a ridiculous and ungainly thing which no taste can make becoming, -and no art make comfortable. The probability, however, is that it will -become universal, and that some day all the world will wear this -head-piece. - -This mutual imitation continued until the adoption of Napoleon’s -Continental system, which, as is well known, separated England from all -intercourse with Europe. When peace had put an end to the long wars this -system had occasioned, and Englishmen again came on the Continent, their -appearance struck each other as supremely ludicrous, as the apparition -of one of our own grandfathers in the gigantic waistcoat and the bag wig -they wore would seem to us in a modern drawing-room. - -Before, however, an universal costume had been adopted the revolution -came. Fortunes were swept away, palaces lost, and the people who -inhabited them dispersed. We here lose sight of powdered hair forever, -for both sexes cut their hair short, and shoes with strings were -universally adopted. The reign of terror came, _sans-culottism_ was the -rage. The red cap of liberty, the _houppelande_ of red worsted, or the -_carmagnole_ usurped the place of the plumed hat and the graceful -_roquelaure_. Open shirt collars and a knotted stick, like the Irish -shilelah, were indispensible accompaniments to this dress, an admirable -representation of which is to be seen in the making up of James Wallack, -senior, for one of his many admirable impersonations, called David -Duvigne, in that pretty two act drama of the “Hazard of the Die.” This -costume is scarcely worthy of remark, except on account of the red -Italian cap, a garment far more graceful than our hat, but proscribed on -account of the horrors enacted by those who wore it. It, however, never -was worn except in France, and we may well enough drop it here forever. - -Yet people must not think there was no richness of costume during the -republic. There was as much extravagance as ever, only every one dressed -according to his own whim. There were fops, too, called _Muscadins -incroyables_ and _mervilleux_, who aped the manners of the old marquis. -One great _trait_ of these was they were all near-sighted, and could not -pronounce the letter R. They were the prototypes of our own dandies, as -may be seen by the following specimen: - -[Illustration] - -This costume was imitated over all the world, and, except in the hat, -breeches and ribbons at the knee, does not differ greatly from the dress -of our own day. - - [_To be continued._ - - * * * * * - - - - - THE ADVENTURES OF A MAN - - - “WHO COULD NEVER DRESS WELL.” - - BY M. TOPHAM EVANS. - -“Hang it!” I exclaimed, as I thrust the poker violently into the grate, -and slammed myself into an arm-chair before the fire, “I am the most -unfortunate rascal in the world!” - -I had just returned from the Hon. Mrs. Scatter’s squeeze. I can’t -imagine why it should be the case, but it seems to be my unlucky destiny -either to be thrust or to thrust myself eternally into the most -inappropriate places possible. What the deuce should have taken me -there? I know that I have no business at such assemblies—yet, oh, -Julia! - -She waltzed with that fool, Fitzcrocky. The fellow hasn’t a particle of -brain, but such a _moustache_! And then the style of his dress. With -what elegant ease he sports his habiliments! Such perfect taste in their -arrangement, and so harmonious the _tout ensemble_! Then look at me. -They were whispering. He cast a sneering glance at my exterior. I know -she laughed at me. Zounds, I could tear my hair to tatters! - -I never could dress well. If I have a handsome and well-made coat, the -vest and pants are sure to be of the most unsuitable colors. That -infernal tailor, I verily believe, takes every advantage to make me -appear disadvantageously; and I could swear that he palms all his -unsaleable remnants upon me. Let me see how he has figged me out for -what I intended to be the victorious campaign of this evening. Scipio, -wheel up that cheval glass. Gods and fishes! A purple coat with silver -filagree buttons—a white satin vest—scarlet under ditto—light drab -pantaloons, and a check cravat! Black silk stockings and pumps with -rosettes. Jupiter and Moses! Why I look like one of Bunbury’s -caricatures! Tregear’s shop-window never exhibited such a monster. No -wonder _they_ laughed at me. Ha! ha! By Jove, I can’t help laughing at -myself, and it’s no joking matter, after I had laid myself out to make a -deep impression. - -There, Scipio, draw the curtains and go. Stay; hand me the brandy-bottle -and some cigars before you make your final exit. I might as well get -drunk, and by that means bury my woes in a temporary oblivion, despite -of all temperance societies. - -Give me my dressing-gown, and pitch this infernal coat out at the -window. Ha! here’s another specimen of my undeniable taste. What man, -save myself, would ever encase himself in a brocade of a pattern like a -bed-curtain. No matter; your Persian says it is all _takdeer_—destiny. -All this, I presume, was fore-ordained—it must have been predestined, -this atrocious, villainous piece of business, and I suppose I can’t help -it. Scipio, go to bed. - -Scipio retired, and I was left alone. The night was dark and -confoundedly cold. I picked up a volume. It was Peter Schlemihl. I -lighted a cigar, and mixing some strong brandy-and-water, I applied -myself to the business which the reader has been previously informed I -had in contemplation. - -But all would not do. I could not succeed in my intention. I smoked one -Dos Amigos after another, and quaffed glass after glass of Seignette. -The more I drank, in the more odious light did I appear to myself. I -ruminated upon Julia’s flirtation with Fitzcrocky. I attempted to -analyze the causes of my abominable want of taste in the components of -costume. - -“Deuce take me!” at last I cried, exhausted, and half mad with vexation, -“I wish to Heaven that I could exchange this unlucky carcass with some -more fortunate individual, whose kinder stars may have granted him a -comelier body and a more _recherché_ taste in its decoration than my -miserable self!” - -Scarcely had I spoken these words when a gentle cough attracted my -attention. I looked up. Opposite to me there sat a gentleman of the most -prepossessing exterior. He had drawn up a lounge to the side of the -grate, and was seated, with patient politeness, as if in expectation of -drawing my attention to himself. He was attired in a neat and elegant -suit of black, which fitted him _à merveille_. A dark maroon velvet -vest, buttoned tightly to his chest, and falling over into a rolling -collar, displayed his linen of superb make and texture, fastened by a -small diamond pin. His cravat was tied with a prim precision; his boots -and gloves would have driven Staub and Walker to despair. His hat was of -the most appropriate block, and a cambric handkerchief, delicate as the -web of Arachne, and scented with _bouquet du roi_, was occasionally -applied to his nose, in the most graceful manner. The contour of his -face was perfect Grecian, and a mass of wavy chestnut-hair was -negligently disposed over his forehead. He wore neither whisker nor -_moustache_. - -For some time I sat in silent amazement, wondering how my guest had -procured his _entreé_, inasmuch as I knew that all the doors were locked -and bolted, and that my janitor had gone to bed some hour and a half -previous to the stranger’s appearance. He sat in equal silence. -Presently he arose, and pouring out a glass of brandy, he swallowed it -in a twinkling, bowing to me with infinite gravity. He next produced a -long and slender meerschaum from his pocket, lighted it with a _pastille -ambreé_ and resuming his seat, his eyes traveled over my attire from -head to foot, with an air of well-bred curiosity. My bile began to work. - -“May I ask, sir,” said I, “what is the meaning of this unusual visit?” - -The stranger, carelessly desisting from his investigation, expelled a -mouthful of smoke, and with a kind of concealed chuckle, which I did not -half like, replied, - -“Pray, sir, may I, without infringing upon propriety, inquire of you, -who _is_ your tailor?” - -My hand inadvertently sought the decanter, and I had a vague idea of -hurling it at my visiter’s head. One moment’s reflection, together with -a glance at the well-made and sinewy form before me, determined me to -waive hostilities. - -“I cannot imagine, sir,” I replied, with severe dignity, “your motives -in making any such inquiry.” - -“Oh, a mere trifle. I was anxious to become acquainted with the name of -your fashioner, who, to judge from the appearance of your habiliments, -must possess a most exquisite taste.” - -For a moment, I had suspicions that my _amis inconnu_ was quizzing me. I -eyed him narrowly, but the expression of his face was that of respectful -earnestness, mingled with some curiosity. Not the slightest trace of a -quiz could be detected upon his immovable aspect. - -“If you are really anxious to know,” said I, and I confess I fell -naturally gratified, for it was the first compliment I had ever heard -addressed to my taste, “I can refer you to Cabbage & Stickem, Oxford -street.” - -“I could almost wish to exchange my vile taste in costume for your more -original and certainly more refined style,” said the stranger, without -moving a single muscle of his face. - -“And I,” I cried, seizing him by the hand, “highly as I feel flattered -by such a declaration, would willingly make such an exchange, if it were -possible to do so.” - -“We shall find it very possible,” replied the stranger. “Come, let us -take a glass to our better acquaintance. I am charmed to have it in my -power to confer an obligation upon a gentleman like yourself, especially -when it meets so exactly with my own inclinations.” - -“Egad,” said I, as we hob-nobbed very cordially together, “I am agreed -to make the exchange directly.” - -I had no sooner said the word than I felt a most violent blow at the -back of my head. On my recovery, for it almost stunned me, I was -stupefied with astonishment, upon looking up, to behold _myself_ sitting -at my ease, and smoking with great _insouciance_, upon the very seat -which I had previously occupied _in propria persona_. - -“Be so good, worthy sir,” said I, or the figure I saw seated in my-arm -chair, “to look in yonder glass, and you will discover that your wishes -have been complied with.” - -I stepped to the cheval, and to my unspeakable amazement and joy, viewed -in the reflection the person of the elegant gentleman with whom I had -exchanged exteriors. - -“I hope,” said the personage who rejoiced in my original ugliness and -odious garments, “that this exchange is entirely to your satisfaction?” - -I could have hugged him, for I was almost beside myself with delight. - -“How can I thank you for your kindness,” I exclaimed, for my old attire -looked doubly ridiculous to my new optics. “I do assure you, sir, that I -am forever at your service.” - -“That’s it,” said the gentleman with a peculiar smile, which in the -plenitude of my joy I did not notice at the time, although I recollected -it afterward perfectly well. “And now, as it grows late, I will bid you -good evening.” - -As he spoke, I saw my ancient figure walk quietly out at the door. I -don’t know, but I thought I heard him laugh a little after closing it. -For my own part I was so elated, that I could not think of going to bed, -so I sat drinking and singing, building castles in the air, and -ruminating upon the magnificent figure which I should oppose against the -fascinations of Fitzcrocky, in the eyes of Julia. I determined, with the -afternoon of that day, to commence my triumphal progress in her -affections. In fact, I never noticed how time slipped by, and when the -entrance of some one at the door aroused me, and I collected my -scattered senses, it was at least four hours after sunrise. - -“Gollamighty!” exclaimed the voice of Scipio. “What de debbil we got -heah? Trange man in massa’s bed-room, and he not up yit. What you want, -eh? He some tief—some robber.” - -“Why you old fool,” said I, “don’t you see it’s me—myself?” - -“Who me?—what dat, eh? Debbil tak me if I no b’lieve dat he has -murdered massa and teal all de spoons! Help! murder!” - -“What do you mean, you old villain!” cried I. “Do you want to bring in -the whole neighborhood?” and seizing a candlestick, I leveled it at his -woolly pate. - -“What do _you_ mean, you scoundrel, by abusing _my_ servant?” roared a -voice from the bed. I looked in that direction. There was my head -protruded from the curtains, surmounted by a red night-cap, and a -clenched fist was violently shaken at me from the same purlieu. - -“Turn him out, Scipio!” I shouted. - -“Turn him out!” repeated my _Eidolon_, if I may so term him. - -“Turn _who_ out!” queried Scipio, in a state of profound bewilderment. - -Perfectly frantic with rage, I flew toward the bed, eager for a -pugilistic encounter, when the door was thrown open, and my old -housekeeper, with pallid visage, peeped into the apartment. I determined -to make an appeal to her. - -“Am I, or am I not your master, Nancy?” said I, in a very melancholy -tone. - -“_You_ my master! Come up, mister himperence,” replied Nancy. “My master -is in yonder bed, young man. Run, Sip, and call a policeman. He’ll make -you know _your_ master, jail-bird.” - -“Ah!” thought I, “it’s all up, I see. That fellow’s me, and I’m somebody -else, but hang me if I know who. Well, as I don’t choose to take a -morning airing at Hatton Garden, I might as well abdicate at once. But,” -cried I, “you scoundrel, you shall pay for this.” - -“Turn him out, Sip!” grunted my former voice from the bed. How hateful -it sounded! “Turn him out, and don’t let me be disturbed till twelve. My -head aches confoundedly.” - -I sneaked out of my own room like a detected pickpocket, Nancy and -Scipio attending me down stairs, and delivering a brace of running -lectures upon the evil courses which I was pursuing, admonishing me -likewise of the certain and ignominious end which awaits such depraved -and dissolute characters as I was presumed to be. At the foot of the -stairs, Scipio insisted upon searching me, an operation to which, -crest-fallen as I was, I did not pretend to make the slightest -opposition. I was then dismissed in the same manner with Master Candide -from the _château_ of Thonderdentronck, namely with _grands coups de -pied dans le derrière_, pretty well administered by a brace of sturdy -valets, whom Scipio had summoned to his assistance from a neighboring -area. - -This ejection from my own mansion took place about half past nine -o’clock. In the first impulses of my rage and despair, I resolved to -apply to my friends, in order to establish my identity by their -testimonies. It was early; too early in fact to find any of them up, and -I was fain to stroll the streets until the lingering hands of the clock -should signify the proper and canonical hour of rising. So I patrolled -Hyde Park for an hour or so, until my insides began to give me very -unequivocal tokens of their desire for breakfast. Rage, as well as love -and all other sublunary matters, must yield to the calls of hunger. I -entered a coffee-house in Upper Brook street, and ordered my morning -meal. I drank a couple of cups of tea, ate a French roll and a modicum -of raw beefsteak, and walked to the bar to pay my bill. I put my hand -into my pocket in search of my purse. It was not there. I tried another, -and another, and yet another pocket. Horrid to relate, I could not meet -with the smallest coin of the realm! The waiter began to look very -black, and I could overhear the monosyllable “_bilk_” ground out between -his teeth in a tone which indicated profound aversion and contempt. My -hair fairly stood on end. Nevertheless I thought it best to brazen it -out. - -“Do you see, my good fellow,” said I, and I assure you, I spoke in a -very bland and courteous tone, “I have most unaccountably forgotten my -purse—” - -“Gammon!” was the very significant response of the Ganymede. “How d’ye -know you ever had one?” - -“Confound your impudence, fellow!” said I, nettled by the coolness of -the query. “What d’ ye mean by insulting a gentleman?” - -“More like a swell out o’ luck,” growled the servitor. “Come, young ’un, -this here kind of a job’s no go. Post the cole, my boy, or it’ll be the -worse for somebody.” - -As luck would have it, I thought of my diamond breastpin, and taking -that article of jewelry from my shirt front, I offered it to the waiter. - -“Blast your Brummagem traps!” quoth that gentleman. “D’ ye think I don’t -know a diamond from a Bristol stone, or gold from pinchbeck?” - -It was pinchbeck, by Jupiter! - -The waiter must have been touched by the despair depicted upon my -countenance. With a grim smile, - -“Come, my fine chap,” said he, “if you are a bilk, it’s plain that -you’re a new hand at the trade, and I don’t care about being too hard -upon you. Give me your wipe, and I’ll let you off for this time, but you -take care you doesn’t come the swell mob again over this ’ere house, -that’s all.” - -My heart was too full for speech. I gave him my handkerchief with a -profound sigh, and throwing the pinchbeck breastpin into the -coal-scuttle, I vanished with all convenient speed. - -Leaving the coffee-house, I espied my crony, Dick Buffers, across the -street. To join him was but the work of a moment. - -“Hollo, Dick!” said I, slapping him heartily upon the shoulder. This was -the irrepressible outpouring of a bosom, into which a ray of light, -imparted by hope, had penetrated, cheering the darksome abode with its -enlivening presence. Quickly was my joy turned into sorrow. - -“What do you mean, sir?” said Dick, drawing himself up with magnificent -reserve. “Do you mean to insult me?” - -“Come, Dick,” said I, in a sort of whimper, for I was really becoming -very much alarmed, “don’t put a strange face on the matter. It isn’t -possible that you don’t know your old friend, Flashington Highflyer? Why -we only parted at midnight, and dined together no later than yesterday.” - -“Highflyer!” said Buffers. “To be sure I know him, and very well, too. -We undoubtedly did dine together yesterday, although I cannot account -for your knowledge of the fact. But it will take even more than your -impudence to convince me that you are the man. You must be either drunk -or a fool. Flashington Highflyer! ha! ha! Your very dress convicts you -of a lie.” - -Buffers might have spared this sarcasm. - -“Upon my honor, Richard Buffers,” said I, solemnly, while the tears -actually stood in my eyes, “I am that most unfortunate man.” - -“You are? Why, the man’s mad! View that looking glass in yonder -shop-window, and if you haven’t been looking into the glass too often -this morning already, you will discover that your countenance bears not -the slightest resemblance to that of Mr. Highflyer, that is, if you are -at all acquainted with the physiognomy of the gentleman to whose name -you have laid claim.” - -I stepped to the window. One glance was sufficient. Oh! how I cursed my -super-lunatic folly, and how I longed for my former shape. - -“Egad, it’s true,” I soliloquized. “It’s all correct, as my Yankee -friends have it. That rascal has got into possession of my goods and -chattels, as well as of my person, and has left me nothing in return but -a most confoundedly disagreeable sense of my own individuality. What a -horrid piece of business to be sure!” - -I turned. Dick was gone. - -“Who am I, then?” was my next very natural self interrogatory. - -It was needless to disturb my remaining acquaintance for proofs of my -identity, as, indeed, if any body had demanded of me my address, I -should have been amazingly puzzled to give it. I turned about, entirely -reckless of whither I went. Twelve, one o’clock went by. I met many of -my acquaintance, but there was no recognition. I was in despair, and -could have sat down upon the curb-stone and wept. My walk procured me -one thing, it is true, namely, a very good appetite; but I could have -readily dispensed with that, inasmuch as I was painfully conscious that, -without pawning my coat, I was utterly unable to satisfy the cravings of -hunger. - -The hours rolled on. The force of habit, I presume, led me to Hyde Park -once more. All the world was abroad. Beauty, rank and fashion were -collected in one splendid, aristocratic mass. Carriages and four, with -servants in gorgeous liveries; every variety of vehicle, from the -dashing tandem to the humbler carriage and pair, tilburies, -buggy-wagons, and cabs thronged and thundered around the ring. Horsemen -dashed along the carriage-ways, and pedestrians crowded the footpaths. I -sat down upon a bench and mechanically surveyed the scene. Every -well-known face, which was wont to greet me with smiles, but which now -bestowed upon me, _en passant_, but a vacant stare, struck a pang to my -heart. My despair would have been uncontrollable, and I should have -groveled and bit the ground with fury, but an innate self-respect, and a -desire to appear to every possible advantage, qualities which I presume -I gained together with my once admired, but now odiously detested -figure, prevented me from making such an exhibition, although I verily -believe that I was haunted with demoniac incitements to perform all -manner of curious antics. - -The crowd was now at its thickest. A chariot, with servants in splendid -liveries, which I immediately recognized as my own, whirled onward. -Julia was seated in it by _myself_, or the devil in my shape. There I -was, perfectly plain to behold. The face, the form were the same, but -the dress superlatively exquisite, and beautifully adapted to the -figure. The turn-out of Fitzcrocky dashed by at the same time. He glared -furiously upon my happy representative. With matchless insinuation this -latter ogled and flirted with Julia. She returned his smiles with -eyliads of incipient affection. As they passed me by, the fellow who had -thus impudently usurped my figure and property winked—yes, he -absolutely winked at me. My veins boiled with rage. Shrieking out a -fearful oath, I seized a fragment of paving-stone and hurled it -frantically at him. A scream, a rush, and I turned and fled, without -stopping to ascertain the amount of damage inflicted by my missile, and -ran as if the furies had been after me. But I ran not alone. A dense -crowd of policemen, servants and gentleman on horseback dashed in -pursuit. Never did fugitive from the galleys exert his legs with a -better will, or with more effect, than I did. _Timor additit alas._ On I -rushed, amidst the clamor, and dust, and clatter of the yelling -multitude, as if the avenger of blood had been behind me. I had been a -sportsman, and never did a Leicestershire fox lead a squad of Meltonians -such a circumbendibus as I did my pursuers. One by one they gave in—the -noise died away gradually, and I was safe. - -When partially recovered, I found myself within a queer, dark-looking -old court, in the neighborhood of Hertford street and Brick Lane. I was -surrounded by a multitude of crazy, loitering, reeking houses, -apparently the abodes of no living beings, save Jew clothesmen, oyster -venders, pawnbrokers, and gin dealers. A squalid, miserable, broken-down -dog-kennel it was too! Tattered children ran about, dabbling in the -filthy gutters, indulging in the mockery of play. Rough looking men, -wrapped in heavy pea-coats and coarse jackets, with red and bloated -faces, lounged about the doors of the various dealers, and haggard, -wretched-looking women might have been descried entering the dens of the -pawnbrokers, in hopes to raise some pittance of money for the purchase -of food or liquor, by pledging paltry articles of dress or furniture. I -sat down on the pavement side and stared around me. The scene was -altogether dissimilar to any thing I had been in the habit of -witnessing, and it was an interesting though a painful novelty. Good -God! the misery, and wretchedness, and grinding poverty, deadening to -the heart, which exist in large cities, within ken of opulence, of -luxury and of splendor! O! could the voice of these wretched throngs be -heard, in its collected wailing, what a cry of despairful agony would go -up to the throne of the Everlasting! Dead souls in living sepulchres, -stalking their gloomy round of poverty, neglect and wo—uneducated, -ungodly, famine-stricken—what hope is there for them in this world, -and, word of horror, what in the next! - -As I sat in revery, some one tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up. A -stout, heavily built man, with a pimpled and swollen face, attired in a -rough drab over-coat, with leather gaiters and hob-nailed bootees, stood -beside me. - -“Hollo, gen’l’mn Bill,” quoth this interesting parsonage. “Vy, vot -brings you in these parts?” - -I knew the fellow at first glance, but, by Jupiter, I had never seen him -before. - -“Well, old fellow,” said I, with a hilarity that disgusted me, although -Heaven knows I couldn’t help it, “what news from your ken?” - -“I’tell thee vot,” said Gabriel Sooterkins, for the gentleman was -familiarly known by that appellation, “a’ter this night, Billy, my bo, -you had better change your tramp. The beaks ’ave nabbed Ikey about that -’ere job on Saffron Hill, and they say he’s peached upon it. Confound -the trade, say I, if pals can’t be true to one another.” - -I recollected perfectly the matter he alluded to. It was a burglary -committed upon an old miser, who had fixed his dwelling in that delicate -abode, and I very well remembered, now that Mr. Gabriel Sooterkins -mentioned it, that I had been the head and front of the offending, and -that Ikey and himself were accomplices in the business. - -An exceedingly reputable exchange of persons I had made. - -“Well,” said I, “if it’s done it can’t be helped, you know, and I’m off -this night,” although I had not the most remote idea of where I was -going. - -“If I’d a known vere you vos,” said Mr. Sooterkins, “I’d ha’ blowed this -here spot o’ work afore. But step in here. I’ve a vord or two to say to -you, for I s’pose there’s very little dust at the bottom of your fob.” - -Mr. Sooterkins plunged downward into a dingy cellar, and I followed him -very obediently. - -The place into which I accompanied him was a filthy diving, or slap-bang -shop, in which retreat was collected as motley an assemblage as the -imagination of man can conceive. A long table extended from one end of -the cellar to the other, covered with pewter mugs and dishes, cheap -crockery ware, and knives and forks, which latter implements were -chained to the table. A very satisfactory idea of the morals of the -guests might be gathered from this circumstance; although, indeed, if -that hint had been wanting, the variety of villany stamped upon the -faces of the profligate crew which surrounded the table, gave proof -satisfactory that they were not of that number who rank with the honest -of this world. - -Mr. Sooterkins nodded to this amiable assembly upon entering, and I -obeyed his example, inasmuch as I recognized among these gentlemen some -very familiar acquaintances. We were received in a remarkably hilarious -manner, and some of the most jovial of our friends pressed their regards -rather closely, by playing off two or three practical jokes upon Mr. -Sooterkins. The application of a quart pot to the head of the most -forward of these wits sent him howling into a corner, and, to my -unspeakable satisfaction, put a very sudden conclusion to the incipient -merriment. - -“Take that,” growled Sooterkins, “and now, as you gen’l’mn seems to be -so ’ighly delighted at this here cheerful occasion, you’ll just ’ave the -goodness to leave me and my pal to our own cards for a brace of minnits. -You see, Bill, ve must speak to Sal, and git posted up on this last -score. Hollo! Sal! you old limb of Satan, move yer shanks this way, I -tell ye!” - -A withered crone, who seemed to be the mistress of the cellar, came -hobbling forward, being thus politely conjured to appear. - -“Wot!” said she, extending her wrinkled hand to me. “Gentleman Bill -here! Here’s a sight for sore eyes!” - -“Dight your gab,” interrupted Sooterkins. “Bill’s here, but he’ll be -obliged to cut and run this darkey, for the beaks are a’ter him ’bout -that job of Ikey’s. Now _he’s_ got no stump, and the devil a mag have I, -so you must fork over, for the purchase wot come in vos fairly vorth -double as much nor you paid for it. Bill, and Ikey, and I, are all in -fur the business, but the blackguard daren’t peach on me, ’cause if he -gits off from this scrape, I knows enough of other matters about him to -bring him to a hemp crawat wery speedily. You’ve got the plunder, you -old hag, and it’s only fair as you should come down with the tin for the -tramp.” - -“Ah, Gabe,” said the old woman, “you will drive hard bargains with me. -But I can’t well refuse for the pretty face of him.” - -Singular as it may appear. I felt gratified by the compliment of the -hag. - -“Yes, mother,” said I, “change of air is good for the constitution, and -I’ll cheat Jack Ketch of his fees in spite of fate for this bout.” - -“How much can you do vith?” queried Mr. Sooterkins, who had lighted a -fragment of a clay pipe, and commenced to smoke most industriously. - -“Ten pounds will carry me on to Portsmouth,” said I, for the localities -and resources of roguery were fast becoming familiar to me. - -“Too much,” grumbled the crone. Gabe was about to make a savage reply, -when two females descended the ladder, and entered the cellar. - -“By my forks!” whistled Gabe. “This ’ere is just wot I hoped vouldn’t -’appen; but these cussed gals is everlastin’ly a riggin a man, till he -trots over the Old Bailey valls on a vooden oss.” - -“Bill!” cried one of the females, recognizing and running to me. “Is it -you, Bill? I’ve been over the whole of this blessed town after you, for -I heard that Ikey Solomon had let all out, and I feared that you were -caught. But, thank Heaven, you’re safe—you’re safe!” - -With an hysterical burst of laughter, the girl threw her arms around me -and embraced me tightly. Her laughter gradually ceased, and gave way to -a violent fit of weeping. - -Amazed at first, and not knowing what she could mean, the truth began to -break upon me. Poor girl! The burglar’s mistress! What a world of guilt -and wo are in those words! Her face was handsome, but oh! how deadly -pale, save on the summit of the cheek-bones, where the fire of the -hectic blazed. Her large, dark orbs were sunken, and gleamed like the -reflected glow of a furnace from their deep cavities. Her apparel, which -was a shade or two better than that of her companion, and her language, -which showed her to be superior to the wretched assemblage around us, -told a tale of sorrow—which, although a common tale, struck deeply on -my heart. - -“Hang it, Bess,” said Sooterkins, endeavoring to push the girl away, -“vot dost mean, crying and sniveling about a chap ven his wery life -hangs on his speed in gettin’ out o’Lunnun? Stand aside, thou foolish -jade, and let me have my say out vith him.” - -“Stand by, Bess dear,” said I, “and I will speak with you directly.” - -The girl obeyed. - -“Now then,” said Sooterkins, “As I’ve vormed the ten pounds out o’ Sal, -all you’ve got to do is this. Be off now, d’rectly, and take all the by -cuts till you’re out o’ town, snug in the fields. I’ve a friend as goes -down on the mail in the morning, and mind, give him this jark. He’ll be -down on the sly with you, for my sake. Then pull for Common Hard, and -off over the Channel, till this ’ere job blows by. Lose no time, the -night’s dark, and make forward like the wind.” - -“And Bess?” said I, for the girl’s affection had interested me, and the -emotions of my burglar friend began to quicken in my breast. - -“Pshaw!” said Sooterkins, “why canst not mind thine own affairs, and let -the girl alone?” - -“I must speak to her before I go, Gabe,” I replied. “What she is, I have -made her, and it would break my heart to leave her thus.” - -“Speak, then, fool, and be spry about it.” - -“Bess,” said I, stealing my arm around the waist of the unfortunate -girl, “I must be off for Portsmouth.” - -“Are you going, Bill?” she said, in a low and tremulous voice, as she -lifted her eyes anxiously to mine; and that expression cut me to the -soul, keen as a knife, “I never shall see you again.” - -“Hush, dearest, you must not speak so. We shall see each other soon, and -live as happy days as ever.” - -The eyes of the young girl became suffused with tears. - -“Happy! No, Bill, I never shall know happiness again. I have been weak -and ill of late. I’m dying, Bill, and I know it. Before you will dare to -return here, I shall be laid, in the parish shell, cold enough in the -grave of a pauper. Do you remember the little cottage near the Downs? -Ah! those were my happy days. Then I was innocent, but you—but I wont -speak of that, dearest, for I would not distress you.” - -“Nay, Bess, compose yourself—” - -“In the sleep of death? There is no other composure for me. You are -going, and the strings of my heart snap as I look upon you for the last -time. Oh! through misery and crime, Bill—and we have been miserable and -criminal—I have loved you, dearer than the light of heaven! But, -dearest, if you do escape and return, quit this awful life, for the sake -of her whom you once vowed never to abandon—quit this den of villainy, -and for God’s sake, oh, never enter it again!” - -The tears gushed from my eyes at this appeal, and my whole frame was -shaken. - -“I promise—I swear it,” whispered I. - -“Thank you, dearest. Take this little ring. You know its history. And -now, for the last time, this kiss. Farewell!” - -Her head sunk upon her breast. Bestowing an embrace upon her, I darted -from her side, and sprang up the steps of the cellar. At the foot I -paused for a moment. Bess had hidden her face in her lap, and the -heaving of her breast, plainly perceptible through its thin covering, -testified the agony of her spirit. - -The labyrinths of the dark and dingy by-streets seemed familiar to me as -the interior of my own house. In fact, I was becoming rapidly identified -with the character, as well as with the person of the burglar. But as I -sped on, the recollection of my former condition was forcibly recalled, -as I came upon a tailor’s shop, ostentatiously placed at the corner of a -well lighted street. The view of that shop acted as a talisman. It -recalled me to a due sense, and to a most painful recollection of the -transactions of the preceding night, and of my rencontre in Hyde Park -with the usurper of my rights. I recollected perfectly well that I had -received an invitation to a grand gala at Lord Flannery’s for this -evening, of which I doubted not for an instant that my representative -would avail himself. Julia, I also knew, had promised to be there. -Curiosity, no less than jealousy, spurred me on. I felt a strong desire -to see in what manner and to what advantage I should appear. I -determined to make my way to his lordship’s, forgetting that if the -police laid eyes upon me, I should dangle most loftily from the front of -Newgate or the Old Bailey. - -Onward I strode until I reached Grosvenor Square, from near which point -I had started on my morning peregrinations. It was past eleven o’clock. -I stationed myself in front of Lord Flannery’s mansion, where the glow -of lights, crowds of liveried menials, and the sound of music indicated -the commencement of the rout. Equipage after equipage rolled up, and -depositing their inmates at the door, drove off in rapid succession. -Crowds of fashionables swarmed the apartments. I waited for Julia’s -arrival until my patience was nearly exhausted, and I was upon the point -of giving the matter up in despair, when a magnificent turn-out drove up -to the door, and Flashington Highflyer, Esquire, descended from the -vehicle, attired in a most _recherché_ evening dress, and handed -out—_proh pudor!_—the Honorable Miss Julia Adeliza Dashleigh! - -I was petrified with astonishment. There was the figure which had -excited her laughter but the previous night, and which was evidently the -present object of her favorable regard. As the pair passed me, the light -from the hall shone strongly upon my features. My representative gave -me, _en passant_, a most facetious dig in the small ribs with his elbow, -and suddenly clapping his hands upon his pockets, exclaimed, - -“There are thieves here! I have lost my snuff-box and my handkerchief!” - -“Dear Mr. Highflyer!” said Julia, with a winning glance. - -“Secure this fellow,” said the hateful scoundrel, for whose crimes I was -penitently atoning, pointing to me. “He has a suspicious look. Bring him -into the hall. Come, _dearest_ Julia, I will attend you to the -dressing-room, and will then return to examine this man.” - -Instantly I was pounced upon by a police officer, assisted by a dozen -servants, and in spite of my cries and protestations of innocence, was -dragged into the hall. Mr. Highflyer was not long in making his -appearance. - -“Search him, officer,” said he, as he drew out his tooth-pick, and -planted himself in a very Lara-like style, with his back to the -banisters. - -“You infernal, thieving, rope-cracking black-guard!” I roared, goaded to -the very verge of insanity by these accumulated misadventures. - -“Gag him,” said my tormentor. “Have you found any thing, officer?” - -“All right, sir,” replied that functionary, “Is this here vipe yours?” - -Shocking to relate, the missing articles were found upon me! - -“That handkerchief is mine, as well as the snuff-box. I shall appear to -prosecute. Off with him to Bow Street. A p-r-e-e-tt-y good-looking chap -for a pickpocket,” continued he, as he turned his head with a -supercilious smile, and examined me through his eye-glass. The smile -gave way to a sneer of the most diabolical description as he ascended -the staircase. I had never thought myself so confoundedly ugly as I did -at that moment. - -Of course I was dragged off to the police-office, upon the charge of -robbing myself. All that I could say would be of no avail, therefore I -kept a most stoical silence. Having arrived at our destination, I was -walked in before the head of the police, who, after a long and -scrutinizing survey of my person, whispered an officer, who went out. I -was then desired, or rather commanded, to extend my wrists to another -officer, who placed upon them a very ornamental, but not very agreeable -appendage, in the shape of a pair of manacles. I had subsided into a -dogged, sullen, almost unconscious state of mind, and was becoming, in -fact, very careless as regarded consequences. Half an hour had elapsed, -when the officer who had spoken with the chief of police, returned. He -whispered the presiding functionary, who grinned approvingly. - -“Well, my kiddy,” said he, “the Saffron-Hill job warn’t enough for you, -eh? But I’ve caged you now, bird, and you’ll be made to sing plenty loud -for that matter, outcepting this altogether.” - -“I never heerd the like of this lark,” said the under-strapper. “It’s a -rigler demeanin’ of the trade. Here’s one of your Jimmy burglary swells -come down to a-sneak of a pickpocket!” - -It would be a work of supererogation to detail the variety of insults -and the tortures of mind that I was forced to undergo from my appearance -before the magistrate the next morning, until my final trial at the Old -Bailey upon the charge of burglary. I had heard nothing of my ingenious -tyrant, who was evidently, at the time I saw him last, in a very fair -way to lead my lady-love to the altar. Nor, indeed, had I any -opportunity of hearing from him. I saw no persons save my keeper, and a -little, seedy, Jew attorney, whom I discovered to be in pay of the gang -of which I was a worthy member. After various consultations with this -gentleman, who informed me that he would be able, in spite of the -veracious testimony of the respectable Mr. Ikey Solomons, to produce a -satisfactory alibi, it was decided that I was to put in the plea of Not -Guilty. - -The day of trial arrived, after a weary and solitary residence within -the walls of my prison of a month. None of the gang came near me, and I -could never learn any tidings of Bess. At the appointed time, I was -escorted into the court, and being duly arraigned, the charge was read -to me, in that agreeable nasality of tone peculiar to the clerks of all -legal tribunals. During this process, to which I paid not the least -attention, I espied a newspaper lying by the side of the dock. I picked -it up, and was vacantly pouring over the columns, unseen by my jailers, -when my attention was riveted by the following paragraph, which filled -my breast with horror and despair. - -“Married, by the Right Rev. Doctor Dumfungle, at St. Martin’s in the -Fields, Flashington Highflyer, Esq., to the Hon. Julia Adeliza, daughter -of Sir Poins Dashleigh, Bart.” - -The climax to my sorrows had then arrived. The whole man was quelled -within me. Spectators, judge and jury were all forgotten, and the tide -of my woes rushed irresistibly onward, overwhelming me in the vortex. -The question was put in the usual form, “guilty or not guilty?” Life had -cloyed with me. I longed to occupy a resting place where I should be -secure from the scorn and the persecutions of the world. The grave -offered this refuge, and I gladly embraced it. - -I therefore rose from my seat, and replied to the query of the clerk, -“guilty.” - -My attorney fairly fell under the table with astonishment. The whole -assemblage seemed utterly confounded at my audacity, and a voice was -heard above the general buz of tongues, which I recognized as -appertaining to my acquaintance, Mr. Sooterkins. - -“Vell, by blazes, h’aint you gone and done it!” - -Of course I was sentenced to be hanged. Day after day dragged on its -weary course, and as I gazed at the gray walls of my dungeon, my heart -seemed to harden like the stone itself. In vain did the ministers of the -gospel strive to arouse me from my apathy. All was cold and dead within -me. The day before that which was fixed for my execution, to my extreme -surprise, Mr. Flashington Highflyer entered my cell. - -For some time indignation chained up my tongue. I experienced a choking -sensation as I stared furiously upon my visiter, whose countenance was -drawn out into the most hypocritical length. This did not very long -continue, for the solemn visage which he had chosen to exhibit at his -entrance soon gave place to a most malicious and devilish sneer. - -“Well,” said he, with an odious chuckle, “my fine fellow, how d’ye like -your bargain?” - -“Avaunt, fiend!” I exclaimed. He certainly manifested no symptoms of -departure, but lolling upon my bunk, produced a Havana from his -mother-of-pearl cigar-case, and igniting it by means of a Lucifer, -commenced to smoke with great _sang froid_. - -“Pretty pleasant lodgings, those of yours, my old chap, but your -wardrobe was horridly low and vulgar. In fact, I was compelled to make a -bonfire of all your old clothes, before I could manage to put it into -tolerable order.” - -“You infernal scoundrel!” I roared, goaded to madness by this last -insult. “I told you that you should pay for your rascality, and, by -heaven, you shall pay for it now!” - -As I spoke, I rushed upon him and grappled tightly with him. He resisted -strenuously, but rage had nerved me with the strength of a dozen men, -and seizing him by the throat, we rolled upon the ground together. - -“Ya—ya—yough! Gollamity, massa, what you do? Want fur choke Sip?—oh, -murder! murder!” - -I looked with bewildered eyes around me. I had upset the table, tumbled -from my chair upon the floor, and had grappled poor Scipio by the -throat, until his eye-balls protruded an inch from his head. - -“Hollo!” I cried, “where the devil am I?” - -“Why, you home, be sure, massa,” replied Scipio, whimpering from the -effects of the rough salutation I had bestowed upon him, “and be broad -daylight, and you no bin to bed yit.” - -I looked at the decanter. It was empty. - -“Oh!” ejaculated I. - -The odious apparel of the preceding night still decked my person and -strewed the room. There was a sickening odor of stale tobacco-smoke -hovering through the chamber, and, with a very clear perception that I -should require a tumbler of Hock and soda to reinvigorate the inner man, -I arrived at the comfortable conclusion that I was still in _propria -persona_, the “man who could never dress well.” - -P. S. I’m off to Paris. Fitzcrocky has Julia’s promise. A pea-green coat -with gilt buttons, and a scarlet satin lining has done my business. - - * * * * * - - - - - SUMMER’S BACCHANAL. - - - BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR. - - - Fill the cup from some secretest fountain, - Under granite ledges, deep and low, - Where the crystal vintage of the mountain - Runs in foam from dazzling fields of snow! - - Some lost stream, that in a woodland hollow - Coils, to sleep its weariness away, - Hid from prying stars, that fain would follow, - In the emerald glooms of hemlock spray. - - Fill, dear friend, a goblet cool and sparkling - As the sunlight of October morns— - Not for us the crimson wave, that darkling - Stains the lips of olden drinking-horns! - - We will quaff, beneath the noontide glowing, - Draughts of nectar, sweet as faery dew; - Couched on ferny banks, where light airs blowing, - Shake the leaves between us and the blue. - - We will pledge, in breathless, long libation, - All we have been, or have sworn to be— - Fame, and Joy, and Love’s dear adoration— - Summer’s lusty bacchanals are we! - - Fill again, and let our goblets, clashing, - Stir the feathery ripples on the brim: - Let the light, within their bosoms flashing, - Leap like youth to every idle limb! - - Round the white roots of the fragrant lily - And the mossy hazels, purple-stained, - Once the music of these waters chilly - Gave return for all the sweetness drained. - - How that rare, delicious, woodland flavor - Mocked my palate in the fever hours, - When I pined for springs of coolest savor, - As the burning Earth for thunder-showers! - - In the wave, that through my maddened dreaming - Flowed to cheat me, fill the cups again! - Drink, dear friend, to life which is not seeming— - Fresh as this to manhood’s heart and brain! - - Fill, fill high! and while our goblets, ringing, - Shine with vintage of the mountain-snow, - Youth’s bright Fountain, clear and blithely springing. - Brims our souls to endless overflow! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE PLANTATION OF GENERAL TAYLOR. - - - [SEE ENGRAVING.] - - -We present our readers this month with the first of a series of views -which, by permission, we have caused to be engraved expressly for this -Magazine, from Mr. John R. Smith’s celebrated Panorama of the -Mississippi River. It represents the cotton plantation belonging to the -recently elected President of the U. S., General Zachary Taylor. It is -situated on the eastern branch of the Mississippi River, in Jefferson -county, Mississippi, seven miles below the town of Rodney, between the -estates of James Suggett, on the north, and Colonel Barker, on the -south. The view embraces the overseer’s house, the cottages of the -laborers, with a small portion of the broad acres which are comprised in -the plantation. The spot is interesting, not only as being the property -and the occasional residence of a distinguished public man, but as -affording a specimen of those cotton estates, the culture of which -exerts so important an influence on the commercial and financial -destinies of the republic. - -[Illustration: Plantation of General Taylor] - - * * * * * - - - - - FANCIES ABOUT A LOCK OF HAIR. - - - BY S. D. ANDERSON. - - - What is this dream that o’er me now - Comes with its bright and sunny spell, - As starlight falls on childhood’s brow? - Haply this lock of hair can tell. - - Ah me! how thoughts of early years - Are linked with this dear gift of thine— - The doubts, the memories, and the tears - That cluster round this bygone shrine. - - The air seems filled with boyhood’s flowers, - The perfume of the summer fields; - The dreams and gladness of the hours - That freshness to our pathway yields. - - Times when the heart was glad and young, - A thousand scenes of love and truth, - That, rose-like, from our track have sprung, - Amid the dreamy times of youth. - - Hours when each gushing fount of life - Leaped high amid this desert wild, - Come angel-like to calm the strife, - As once they did when Eden smiled. - - Not often on life’s beaten track - Come such rich summer times, - To bring the heart’s pure sunshine back, - Like old remembered rhymes. - - But now I see, deep in a wood, - Two lovers ’neath the trees so hoary; - She, blushing to the solitude - Beneath his simple touching story; - - Her sweet face coyly turned away, - To hide the thoughts that on her cheek - Are mantling like the wakened day - Upon the mountain’s highest peak. - - And he, perhaps some poet who - Had filled the world with golden dreams, - Hopes, that around his path upgrew, - As wild flowers deck the singing streams. - - And thus, as hand in hand they go, - He tells her much we may not hear— - How his heart swelled to overflow - Under a sky so dark and drear— - - How on the soul came _Care_ and _Pain_, - Twin-sisters of the soulless _Real_, - The race and haggle for the gain - That those who win the world must feel. - - The striving to become a part - Of that great sea whose tideings ever - Bears on its waves each manly heart, - That, struggling, droops its pinions never. - - And now there is a bridal throng - Slow winding through the moss-grown aisle; - The ring, the vow, the nuptial song— - From age a tear, from youth a smile. - - A cot with jessamine-covered door, - A streamlet singing all the day, - And on the dew-bespangled floor - A thousand golden sunbeams play. - - Gay groups of happy children there, - The old oak and the breathless swing, - The shouts of laughter on the air, - The chaplets that the young girls bring. - - All’s gone! except these gushing tears, - Sad relics of the joyous past, - The shrines that memory uprears - To shield the incense from the blast. - - Some sleep beneath the ocean’s wave, - Some ’neath the flowers that loved ones tend, - Others have found an early grave - Where stranger skies above them bend, - - And she, the cherished one, she sleeps - Beneath the violet-covered earth, - Where spring-time’s earliest cloudlet weeps - And roses have a dewy birth. - - Enough, she sleeps—would that my dreams - Could rest forever by her side, - As peaceful as the morning beams - Are pillowed on the sleeping tide. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE PRECIOUS REST. - - - BY RICHARD COE, JR. - - - Once on a lovely summer day, - I saw a little child at play, - While in a garden straying— - Till suddenly I heard him say, - “I am tired with playing!” - Then running to his father he - Laid down his head upon his knee, - And slept, oh! how contentedly? - - So life is but a summer day, - And man—a little child at play— - While through the world a-straying: - And often, too, we hear him say, - “I am tired with playing!” - Till hast’ning to his Father, he - Lays down his head upon his knee, - And rests, oh! how contentedly! - - * * * * * - - - - - WILD-BIRDS OF AMERICA. - - - BY PROFESSOR FROST. - -[Illustration: THE WHIP-POOR-WILL.] - -This singular bird is found throughout the greater portion of the United -States, and by the notes from which it derives its name is known to -almost every farmer. The species was long considered identical with the -Night Hawk; but this fallacy was fully exposed by Wilson. The -Whip-poor-will appears in the Middle States toward the end of April, -when its low, sad wail, may be heard at evening along the creeks and by -the woods of the country. So peculiarly mournful is this sound that the -ignorant almost invariably consider it an omen of approaching evil. By -the Indians it is regarded as a spirit-voice, boding death or perhaps -national calamity. The bird articulates pretty distinctly the syllables -_whip-poor-will_, the first and last being uttered with great emphasis. -A kind of chuckling sound sometimes precedes the principal tone. At -these times the bird is generally on the wing, flying close to the -ground in the manner of swallows, and sometimes skimming around houses. -The notes of the Whip-poor-will are continued until about midnight, and -on fine moonlight nights until morning. The shady banks of creeks and -rivulets are favorite haunts. During the day they remain in the darkest -parts of the forest, hushed to silence like owls, and apparently annoyed -at the presence of sunlight. The cry of the Whip-poor-will is not heard -after the middle of June; and early in September it departs for the -south. - -The Whip-poor-will is nine inches and a-half long, of a beautiful -mottled-brown, relieved by other colors. It is noted for an -extravagantly large mouth, beset on each side with thick bristles, and -for a very strong bill. The female is less in size than the male, and -rather lighter colored. She begins to lay toward the middle of May, -choosing for this purpose a dry situation, covered with brush, decayed -leaves, etc., but building no nest. The eggs are two in number, dark and -marbled. The young appear early in June. - -The Goatsucker, Night Hawk, and seventeen other species belong to the -same genus as the Whip-poor-will. Of these fifteen belong to America. -Nuttall has the following remarks on some of these. - -“But if superstition takes alarm at our familiar and simple species, -what would be thought by the ignorant of a South American kind, large as -the Wood Owl, which, in the lonely forests of Demerara, about midnight, -breaks out, lamenting like one in deep distress, and in a tone more -dismal even than the painful hexachord of the slothful Ai. The sounds -like the expiring sighs of some agonizing victim, begin with a high, -loud note, ‘_ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! ha! ha!_’ each tone falling lower and -lower, till the last syllable is scarcely heard, pausing a moment or two -between this reiterated tale of seeming madness. - -“Four other species of the Goat-sucker, according to Waterton, also -inhabit the tropical wilderness, among which is included our present -subject. Figure to yourself the surprise and wonder of the stranger who -takes up his solitary abode for the first night amidst these awful and -interminable forests, when, at twilight, he begins to be assailed -familiarly with a spectral equivocal bird, approaching within a few -yards, and then accosting him with ‘_who-are-you, who—who—who are -you?_’ Another approaches, and bids him, as if a slave under the lash, -‘_work-away, work—work—work-away!_’ A third, mournfully cries, ‘_willy -come go, willy—willy—willy come go!_’ and as you get among the -highlands, our old acquaintance vociferates, ‘_whip-poor-will, -whip—whip—whip-poor-will!_’ It is, therefore, not surprising that such -unearthly sounds should be considered in the light of supernatural -forebodings issuing from spectres in the guise of birds.” - -[Illustration: THE BALTIMORE ORIOLE.] - -This lively and beautiful bird is widely diffused through the United -States under the names of Oriole, Hanging-Bird, Golden Robin, Fire Bird, -and Baltimore Bird. According to Catesby, the latter name originates -from the colors of its plumage being the same as that of Lord -Baltimore’s livery. It is seven inches in length. The head, throat, and -upper part of the back, are black, and the remaining portions bright -orange, inclining to vermilion on the breast, with some white among the -feathers of the wings. The colors of the female are less bright than -those of the male, and she is somewhat smaller. The male does not -acquire his full plumage until the third spring, undergoing in the -intermediate time many singular changes. - -The Oriole family are distinguished for the singular manner of building. -“For this purpose,” says Wilson, “he generally fixes on the high-bending -extremities of the branches, fastening strong strings of hemp or flax -round two forked twigs, corresponding to the intended width of the nest. -With the same materials, mixed with quantities of loose tow, he -interweaves or fabricates a strong, firm kind of cloth, not unlike the -substance of a hat in its raw state, forming it into a pouch of six or -seven inches in depth, lining it substantially with various soft -substances well interwoven with the outward netting, and lastly, -finishes with a layer of horse-hair; the whole being shaded from the sun -and rain by a natural pent-house or canopy of leaves.” The solicitude of -the Baltimore to obtain proper materials for his nest, often leads him -to commit depredations on the farmer’s hemp, or the thread and silk of -the housewife. Skeins of these materials have been found in the nest -after its being deserted by the young. - -According to Nuttall, the Oriole possesses a propensity to imitate other -birds. He is particular in describing their natural notes. “The -mellow-whistled notes which they are heard to trumpet from the high -branches of our tallest trees and gigantic elms, resemble at times, -_tshippe-tshayia too too_, and _’tshippee-’tshippee, too too_, (with the -two last syllables loud and full.) These notes are also varied so as to -resemble _’tsh, ’tsh ’tsheet shoo tshoo tshoo_,[2] also _tsh, ’tsheefa -’tsheefa tshoo_ and _’k’túfatúf a túf a téa kerry_.[3] Another bird I -have occasionally heard to call for hours, with some little variation, -_tu teo teo teo too_, in a loud, querulous, and yet almost ridiculously -merry strain. At other intervals, the sensations of solitude seem to -stimulate sometimes a loud interrogatory note, echoed forth at -intervals, as _k’rry kerry?_ and terminating plaintively _k’rry k’rry -tu_, the voice falling off very slenderly in the last long syllable, -which is apparently an imitation from the Cardinal Grosbeak, and the -rest is derived from the Crested Titmouse, whom they have heard already -in concert as they passed through the warmer states. Another -interrogatory strain which I heard in the spring of 1830, was precisely -_’yip ’k’rry, ’yip ’yip k’rry_, very loud and oft repeated. Another male -went in his ordinary key, _tsherry tsherry, tshipee_ _tsh’rry_, notes -copied from the exhaustless stock of the Carolina Wren, (also heard on -his passage,) but modulated to suit the fancy of our vocalist. The -female likewise sings, but less agreeably than the male.” - -This particularity in describing sounds which are almost indescribable -may seem frivolous to some of our readers, but those who have ever -listened to the melting notes of the Baltimore Oriole will pardon this -accurate observer of nature the attempt. - -The common food of the Oriole is insects, especially a species of small -beetle. They are said to love the honey in the blossoms of trees. If -domesticated, they must still be fed on animal food, principally minced -meat, soaked in milk. When adult, they will also eat fruit-cakes and -meal. They are not difficult to tame, and form a pleasant pet. Their -eggs are four or five in number, white, with dark lines and spots. In -the Southern States they sometimes raise two broods; but further -northward only one. The Oriole extends over the continent as far south -as Brazil, where hundreds of nests are found in every forest. - ------ - -[2] The first three of these notes are derived from the summer Yellow -Bird, though not its usual notes. - -[3] The last phrase loud and ascending, the _tea_ plaintive, and the -last syllable tender and echoing. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE PINE-TREE. - - - BY CAROLINE MAY. - - - How dear to my heart and my memory - Is that old majestic evergreen tree! - It stands like the guardian of our cot - Time-honored friend! it shall ne’er be forgot, - For I’ve spent bright hours of glee, - And of quiet rest - More deeply blest, - In the shade of the dark pine-tree. - - A rose-tree lived ’neath this agéd one, - Concealed from the noontide rays of the sun, - And ’twas sweet to mark in his resting hour, - (The only time he could look on the flower,) - How he smiled on her lovingly, - Till her rosy hue - Still rosier grew, - In the shade of the dark pine-tree. - - Up by its trunk I would stand and lean, - Gazing with rapture upon the soft scene, - (On the feathery-outlined isle that lay - Where the river and stream together play,) - For beauty and love seemed to be - Everywhere felt, - The spirits that dwelt - In the shade of the dark pine-tree. - - And, laid at its feet, I oft tried to read, - But the breeze would play with my book, and plead - For my heart and ear, in a witching song - Which I could not resist, for ’twas never long, - And plaintive as plaintive could be; - So I listened, and sighed - When the sweet breeze died - In the shade of the dark pine-tree. - - And there in the quiet I fain would rhyme, - And weave loving lays with a measured chime, - But my thoughts, as wild as the birds, would fly - From the beautiful earth to the beautiful sky - Unfixed, unfettered, and free, - In a dreamy joy - Which naught could destroy, - In the shade of the dark pine-tree. - - I loved to be up on a merry May morn, - When musical sounds and bright clouds were born, - And join in the earliest chant of praise, - Which all that had life seemed glad to raise, - The clear carols of gushing glee - The birds would make, - Just at day-break, - In the shade of the dark pine-tree. - - And I loved in the summer twilight dim, - To sing with my sister some holy hymn, - And watch the green shades as they deeper grew, - And a strange mysterious darkness threw; - And most dearly I loved to see - O’er the wavy grass - The night-wind pass, - In the shade of the dark pine-tree. - - Then since I have loved both in shape and shine - Under its sheltering boughs to recline— - Since what I once love I love to the end, - Be it tree, bird or flower—book, music or friend— - When death cometh I fain would be - There laid to sleep, - Lowly and deep, - In the shade of the dark pine-tree. - - * * * * * - - - - - GEMS FROM LATE READINGS. - - - BY MRS. GORE. - -But few of those who examine the reminiscences of their own hearts, and -the incidents of their own lives, will deny that scarcely a given moment -of their youth admitted of swearing to a solitary object of attachment. -Till the heart throbs with the master-passion which impels a man to seek -a partner for life by an impulse as overmastering as that which prompts -an heroic action, or generates a _chef-d’œuvre_, it is pretty sure to -experience a succession of feverish spasms; the commencement of one of -which is as hazily interblended with the conclusion of another, as with -nocturnal darkness the glimmerings of a summer-day dawn, when “night is -at odds with morning, which is which.” - - * * * * * - - - BY J. WESTLAND MARSTON, ESQ. - - LOVE’S VICTORY. - - I was a bard—she listened to my lay - As there her questioning soul had answer found. - She stooped to pluck my wild-flowers on the way, - - Fancies that teem from the prolific ground - In the heart’s solstice—in whose inner light - Through all the pleasant paths of earth we wound. - - And sometimes through her music of delight - An undersound of sadness softly stole, - And floated ’twixt the fountain pure and bright - - Of her deep joy and heaven—a cloud of dole - That almost seemed relief—for scarce below - The noon of rapture is allowed the soul. - - Hence even in life’s summer sunbeams throw - Shades on the very path they glorify— - And ecstasy would perish but for wo. - - I asked not if she loved me; for reply - To every doubt, I read her glance and tone, - And made them oracles of destiny. - - They whispered love—I deemed that love my own: - Nor guessed that in the mirror of my song - She saw an idol face to me unknown. - - Nor that the chords of my devotion, strung - To feeling’s highest tension for her sake, - And on whose notes with breathless hush she hung, - - Were prized for memories which they did awake— - To her an echo what to me was life. - O God, the strings that quivered would not break!— - - He came! Can I forget that inward strife - Which made me calm?—The mightiest grief is dumb. - They met:—he clasped her—called her plighted wife!— - - A frost was in that moment to benumb - My very sense of anguish—and I smiled. - Freed by despair—what after-pang could come? - - She was his own—both Love’s. They roamed the wild, - And knew not it was bleak:—the wooded dell - They called not fair, for love had reconciled - - And blent all difference. From their spirits fell - A glow that bathed creation. Where they stood - Light was their shadow:—bliss unspeakable - - Became at once their being and its food:— - The world they did inhabit was themselves; - And they were Love’s—and all their world was good! - - As o’er a barren reef that sea-ward shelves - Waves dash, their gladness sported o’er my fate; - But in the abyss no line of pity delves - - Lay the wrecked hope which naught could re-create— - At least I deemed so then: and yet we parted - With blessings, and her eyes were dim with tears. - - She told me I had been her friend true-hearted— - The friend she would recall in other years. - These came; and when the storm was spent there darted - - Over my sombre deep as from the spheres, - The memory of those words, at first revealing - More present gloom from all the past endears. - - In time, their light and beauty o’er me stealing, - Softened despair to grief; and in its dew - My withered heart put forth one bud of feeling. - - I dared not hope its life:—fierce tempests blew - From the cold east of Youth in day’s decline, - And shook its tender petals:—still it grew! - - It grew and blossomed to a hope divine:— - I might be like her in her nature’s worth; - I might live for her though she was not mine! - - From her each better impulse should take birth— - For her my song should raise and cheer mankind, - And I would sow her influence through the earth. - - And, as by great attraction are combined - All kindred essences—as waters blend - With waters, flame with flame—and though confined - - By bounds material, each to other tend— - Released from the division of our clay - Again might be united friend with friend. - - For then, immortal and beyond decay, - The store of love partaken richer grows: - The torch that burned for one—for all, a day! - - Oh, ye whose hearts in _happy_ love repose, - Your thankful blessings at its footstool lay, - Since faith and peace can issue from its woes! - - * * * * * - - - BY MISS MARIA J. McINTOSH. - -With most of us it is only when we are nigh unto death that we learn -what it is to live. We talk of acquainting ourselves with the lives of -eminent persons, when we read a record of the events through which they -have passed; we call our own lives desolate, because events of a painful -nature have befallen us; but these are not our life. Life—the principle -which makes us sentient, intelligent, active beings; the principle by -which we hold converse with the living spirit of beauty and goodness, by -which—if we pervert not its heavenly aims—assimilating with that -spirit incarnated in the adorable Saviour, we rise from the finite to -the infinite, and, resting on the bosom of love, find blessedness when -that which made our happiness has vanished from our grasp; this life no -events can make desolate. Sorrow may darken our sky, but the loving, -trusting child of God rises above its gloomy cloud, and there shines his -life supremely bright. - -Who shall penetrate into the spirit’s mysterious intercourse with Him, -who inhabiting eternity, yet dwelleth with the humble and contrite -heart? Reverently and humbly to illustrate this precious truth, to show -that in His presence earth’s discords are harmonized, and peace and -strength arise where all was disorder and weakness may be permitted—but -there let us pause, lest we be as the fools who “rush in where angels -dare not tread.” - - * * * * * - - - BY G. A BERTIE. - - STANZAS. - - I am not what I was—the time’s gone by - When, bright and cloudless as the summer’s sky, - My day of life began; - When all was music to my raptured ear, - And, bounding onward, without grief or fear, - Eager my course I ran. - - I am not what I was—the sense of youth, - And hope, and joyous feeling, and the truth - Of earth, hath passed away; - The heart that once throbbed high with health and life - Beats faint and wearied with the ceaseless strife - Which there has held its sway. - - * * * * * - - - BY G. P. R. JAMES. - -Long experience of any thing existing, has shown mankind all its -benefits and all its evils; but beside this, there is an indirect -advantage in retaining that which is, namely, that it has adjusted -itself to the things by which it is surrounded; and there is an indirect -disadvantage in change, namely, that one can never calculate what -derangements of all relations may take place, by any great alteration of -even one small part in the complicated machine of any state or society. - - * * * * * - -It is difficult to find words to express the infinite; and although it -may seem a pleonasmatic expression, I must say that all the varieties of -human character have infinite varieties within themselves. However, the -easily impressible character, that which suffers opinions, feelings, -thoughts, purposes, actions to be continually altered by the changing -circumstances around—the chameleon character, if I may so call it—is, -perhaps, the most dangerous to itself, and to those it affects, of any -that I know. It goes beyond the chameleon, indeed. The reptile only -reflects the colors of objects near, retaining its own form and nature. -The impressible character, on the contrary, is changed in every line, as -well as in every hue, by that with which it comes in contact. Certain -attributes it certainly does retain. The substance is the same, but the -color and the form are always varying. In the substance lies the -permanence and the identity. All else is moulded and painted by -circumstance. - - * * * * * - -The pure, ingenuous, open-hearted candor of early years, would be a -better friend to man, if he did but cling to it with affection, through -life, than all the worldly friends we gain in passing through -existence—shrewdness, caution, prudence, selfishness, wit, or even -wisdom. - - * * * * * - - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE DISCIPLINE OF LIFE.” - -A high, pure earthly love is powerful above all other earthly principles -for overcoming evils; but even in its highest purity, it has not -sufficient power to lead to fall perfection. It is from Heaven, but it -is not Heaven itself; it is but as an angel messenger, and fails in its -office if it does not lead on to love, perfect, unchangeable, divine. - - * * * * * - - - BY MRS. GREY. - -Is there a woman to be found who is not insensibly flattered, even -against her better reason, by devoted incense to her charms?—Very few, -we fear!—poor human nature is full of vanity. A woman will indignantly -spurn such love—her sense of right will make her shrink with shuddering -from such feelings; still there is too often a latent, lingering spark -of gratified self-love hovering about the heart; although the spark is -prevented from spreading into a flame, by the preponderating influence -of strong principle and purity of mind. It is, as we before said, _human -nature_—and this same nature is miserably full of weakness and vanity. - - * * * * * - - - - - TO MY LITTLE BOY. - - - BY MRS. HENRIETTA L. COLEMAN. - - - I watched a rose, one lovely morn, - Parade herself a summer queen, - While by her side a bud, new-born, - Lay locked in leaves of softest green: - As that fresh bud to beauty blew, - That rose lost all its scent and hue: - Alas! I cried, that this should be!— - For I thought, dear boy, of thee and me. - - I watched a parent bird that fed - Her fledgling many a vernal day, - Training his dainty wings to spread - And lightly flit from spray to spray: - Away—afar—I marked him soar, - Never to own fond guidance more. - Can care and love thus wasted be?— - Sadly I thought of thee and me. - - I watched the moon rise sweetly bright, - With one fair star that lay below, - Each lovelier shone from mutual light, - As hearts united gentler flow: - Though moon and star in heaven divide - Time brings them ever side by side. - Glorying I spoke, thus may it be!— - For I thought, dear boy, of thee and me. - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - - _Merry-Mount; A Romance of Massachusetts Colony. Boston: James - Monroe & Co. 2 vols. 12mo._ - -This novel is the production of a New England writer of fine talents and -large acquirements, but of talents and acquirements which have not been -as bountifully expressed in literature as the Public, that exacting -leech of intellects raised above the mass, had a right to demand. The -work, with some obvious defects, evinces a range of characterization, -and a general opulence of mind, which place it above many novels which -can claim more felicity in the evolution of a story and more variety of -incident. The scene is laid in the early history of Massachusetts, -commencing about eight years after the landing of the Pilgrims at -Plymouth, and its peculiarity consists in vividly reproducing to the -imagination a period which even the driest annalists have hardly -touched. The novel might with propriety be called, “The Cavaliers in -Massachusetts,” for its originality, as an American story, consists in -bringing together Cavalier and Roundhead on New England ground. The -hero, Morton, is a loose, licentious, scheming, good-natured, and -good-for-nothing English “gentleman,” engaged in a project to outwit the -Puritans, and to obtain the ascendancy in Massachusetts of a different -code of principles and a different kind of government from those which -the Puritans aimed to establish. Connected with this reckless Cavalier -is a deeper plotter, Sir Christopher Gardiner, a villain half after -James’s and half after Bulwer’s heart, pursuing schemes of empire and -schemes of seduction with equal ingenuity and equal ill-success. These -two, with the followers and liege men of Morton—a gang of ferocities, -rascalities and un-moralities from the lowest London taverns—constitute -the chief carnal ingredients of the novel. Opposed to these we have -grand and life-like portraits of Miles Standish, Endicott, Winthrop, and -other Puritan celebrities, with only an occasional view of the Indians. -The business of the affections is principally transacted by two -persons—a pure, elevated, large-hearted and high-spirited woman, and a -noble-minded but somewhat irascible man; and this portion of the novel -has the ecstasies and agonies which are appropriate to the subject. - -We think the novel a real addition to American literature, whether -considered in respect to the amount of new information it conveys, or -the splendor, vivacity and distinctness of its representations both of -character and scenery. A dozen passages might be extracted, which, -viewed simply as descriptions, are grand enough to establish a -reputation. But the author’s great merit consists in having as clear and -distinct a notion of the Cavalier, in his daily life and conversation, -as of the Puritan, and this merit, rare in an American, he could only -have obtained from a profound study of the elder dramatists of England, -and a vivid insight into the very heart of their characters. Out of -Scott, we do not know where to look for finer representations of these -two great classes of English society, as they must have appeared when -brought into opposition to each other. No one familiar with Marston, -Deckar, Beaumont and Fletcher, or any other dramatist in whose plays the -bullies and minor reprobates of the Elizabethan age appear, will call -even Bootefish, Cakebread and Company, improbable or unnatural. - -The leading defect of the novel is the lack of a steady, orderly and -artistical development of the plot. The narrative wants rapidity of -movement; the rich materials of the work are imperfectly fused together; -and occasionally things good in themselves seem to be in each other’s -way. All those faults which beset the creations of the most fertile -intellects, when they aim to give great variety of incident and -character without having a grand, leading, ever-present conception of -their work as a whole, are visible in this novel, and mar its harmony as -a work of art. But these defects inhere in many romances which are read -with delight by thousands, and though the splendid talents of the author -of Merry-Mount may not always hide the heterogeneousness of his plan, -they are amply sufficient to prevent it from interfering seriously with -the interest of his novel, and sufficient also to delineate persons and -scenes which leave on the reader’s mind a strong impression of power and -beauty. - - * * * * * - - _The Female Poets of America. By Rufus W. Griswold. - Philadelphia: Carey & Hart. 1 vol. 8mo._ - -In the space of four hundred closely printed pages, Mr. Griswold has -here brought together some ninety of our female poets, and introduced -them with critical and biographical notices. Of all Mr. Griswold’s -various works, the present evinces the greatest triumph over -difficulties, and best demonstrates the minuteness and the extent of his -knowledge of American literature. Very few of the women included in this -collection have ever published editions of their writings, and a -considerable portion of the verse was published anonymously. The labor, -therefore, of collecting the materials both of the biographies and the -illustrative extracts, must have been of that arduous and vexatious kind -which only enthusiasm for the subject could have sustained. The volume -is an important original contribution to the literary history of the -country, and nobody, whose mind is not incurably vitiated by prejudice, -can make dissimilarity of opinion with regard to some of the judgments -expressed in the book, a ground for denying its general ability, honesty -and value. Most of the materials are strictly new, and this fact of -itself is sufficient to stamp the work with that character which -distinguishes books of original research from mere compilations. - -Mr. Griswold has given us a fine preface, in which he ably vindicates -and acutely limits the genius of women. The biographies and extracts -which follow, commence with Mrs. Anne Bradstreet and close with Miss -Phillips. Between these two he has included an amount of beautiful and -touching poetry which will surprise even those who are inclined to take -the most elevated view of the intellectual excellence of their -countrywomen. We have here the lofty and energetic thought of Miss -Townsend, the bright fancy and primitive feeling of Miss Gould, the -impassioned imagination and deep discernment of Maria Brooks, the holy -and meditative spirit of Mrs. Sigourney, the tender and graceful -sentiment of Mrs. Embury; Mrs. Whitman, with her grasp of all -literatures, her keen thought which pierces through nature’s most -mystical symbols, and her ethereal spirit casting on every object that -light “which never was on sea or land;” Mrs. Oakes Smith, with her -constant sense of the pure and the good, her daring and shaping -imagination, before whose creations and revelations her soul shrinks -awed and subdued, and her deep feeling of the spiritual significance of -things—a woman worthy to be the companion of Plato; Fanny Osgood, the -most brilliant and graceful of poetesses, with her quick decisive -sensibility, and her teeming and exhaustless fancy, eloquent of love and -romance, and high-heartedness in every relation of life; Miss Lynch, -simple, austere, bold, despising ornament as ornament, and keeping her -raised eye fixed on the vanishing features of the elusive thought she -aims to shape into almost sculptural form; Grace Greenwood, with her -fine combination of the tender and the impassioned in feeling, and the -subtile and grand in thought, “with a heart in her brain and a brain in -her heart;”—all these, and many more whom we lack epithets to -characterize rather than desire to celebrate, appear in Mr. Griswold’s -volume in all the royalty of womanhood. To proceed further in -description would be merely to enumerate names, without being able to -suggest things. In addition to the notables, whose names are known to -all readers of the magazines, Mr. Griswold has included in his -collection, many a timid violet and daisy of womanhood, too modest and -sensitive not to feel the fear of notoriety, and has transplanted it to -his book with a delicacy as commendable as the taste which dictated it. - -In conclusion, we have only to observe that a volume, so complimentary -to the genius of our countrywomen, can hardly be read without a feeling -of exultation and pride. We trust it will meet that wide circulation it -so richly deserves. - - * * * * * - - _Acton: or the Circle of Life. A Collection of Thoughts and - Observations, designed to delineate Life, Man, and the World. - New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -This beautiful volume is the result of a life of observation and -thought. The author has traveled in every part of the globe, and viewed -mankind in a greater variety of aspects than most of those who meditate -as well as observe. He has thrown his reflections into a somewhat quaint -form, and has but a few words for even the greatest topics, but whatever -he touches he either adorns or illuminates, and his book furnishes -numberless texts for essays. Like most writers of maxims, he has a -sardonic element in his mind, and occasionally disposes of an important -matter, deserving serious discussion, with a gibe or a fleer, and -sometimes descends even to flippancy and impertinence; but these are the -almost inevitable vices of the form of composition he has chosen, and he -has fewer of them than might be expected. A good part of the raciness of -such books as Acton comes from the occasional substitution of the -writer’s impressions or prejudices for general truths. The didactic tone -of such compositions is in this way relieved, and a paradox or a piece -of acute nonsense thrown in, here and there, reminds us that it is a -person who is thinking, not a moral and reasoning machine. The author of -the present work has been especially successful in giving an -individuality to his general remarks, and preserving them from the -abstract and “do-me-good” character of impersonal morality. - -The volume is so laden with striking thoughts and observations, that it -is difficult to fix upon any deserving especial quotation. As a specimen -of the writer’s manner, the following on Genius and Talent may serve: - -“Talent is strength and subtlety of mind, genius is mental inspiration -and delicacy of feeling. Talent possesses vigor and acuteness of -penetration, but is surpassed by the vivid intellectual conceptions of -genius. The former is skillful and bold, the latter aspiring and gentle; -but talent excels in practical sagacity, and hence those striking -contrasts so often witnessed in the world, the triumph of talent through -its adroit and active energies, and the adversities of genius in the -midst of its boundless but unattainable aspirations. - -“Talent is the Lion and the Serpent; Genius is the Eagle and the Dove. - -“Or the first is like some conspicuous flower which flaunts its glory in -the sunshine, while the last resembles the odoriferous spikenard’s root, -whose sweetness is concealed in the ground. - -“The flower displays itself openly, the root must be extracted from the -earth.” - -Here is a piece of verse, in a different vein, on a very common -dispensation of Providence, the Mean Fellow. We fear that few are so -fortunate as not to be able to apply it to some acquaintance or enemy: - - “Born but to be some snarl or plague, - Vile product of a rotten egg, - In every feature of thy face, - A want of heart, of soul, we trace; - By every honest man contemn’d, - By your own looks betray’d, condemn’d— - Of shame in front there is no lack, - And curses ride upon your back.” - - * * * * * - - _The Sacred Poets of England and America, for Three Centuries. - Edited by Rufus W. Griswold. Illustrated by Steel engravings. - New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 8vo._ - -There is a strange impression current even among people who ought to -know better, that religious poetry is a form of composition confined to -poets of the third or fourth class, and chiefly valuable for Hymn Books. -The existence of any verse, instinct with the finest essence of poetry, -and glowing with the rapt and holy passions of the religious bard, is -practically denied. Now nothing is more certain than that poetry, -impassioned imagination, is essentially religious both in its nature and -its expression. It springs from that raised mood of mind in which the -object present to thought is worshiped. This is true even in poetry -relating to the senses and to human passion, for if we scrutinize it -sharply, we shall find that the object which fills the poet’s mind, -however low in itself, is still deified for the moment, and made the -exclusive object of his adoration. In this way bards often make gods of -persons and things very questionable in themselves, but this is owing -rather to the direction than the nature of the poet’s powers. If these -powers instead of being devoted to the idealization of appetite or -destructive passions, be directed upward to the true object of worship, -the poetry will be really more beautiful and sublime than if it were -merely confined to spiritualized sensations. - -No one can glance over Mr. Griswold’s beautiful book without feeling how -rich is English literature in song, celebrating the beauty of holiness -and the infinite perfections of God. The compilation comprehends the -early as well as the later English poets, and contains some exquisite -but not generally known extracts from Spenser, Gascoigne, Drayton, Sir -Henry Wottan, Davies, Carew, Ben Jonson, Drummond, Fletcher, Donne, Sir -John Beaumont, Wither, Herrick, Quarles, Vaughan and Herbert. The holy -poets of a later date, both of England and America, are likewise -profusely quoted, and the whole collection is well deserving a place in -every family library in the country. - - * * * * * - - _Benjamin Franklin: His Autobiography. With a Narrative of his - Public Life and Services. By Rev. H. Hastings Weld. New York: - Harper & Brothers._ - -The Harpers are publishing this work in numbers, to be completed in -eight. It is illustrated with numerous engravings after designs by -Chapman, and is printed in large type on fine paper. The edition -promises to be altogether the best which has been issued in the country, -and will tend to make more familiar to his countrymen the great American -philosopher’s genuine character and real services to the world. - - * * * * * - - _The Haunted Man. By Charles Dickens. New York: Harper & - Brothers._ - -This new Christmas story by Dickens is hardly worthy of him, though it -might be considered a triumph to almost any body else. It has a _jobby_ -air, as though it had been written in accordance with a contract, and -without any especial inspiration. The materials are, in great part, the -old capital of the author, and repetition is stamped on almost every -page. The Tetterbys and the baby, however, and Mrs. William, are full of -beautiful humor and pathos, and succeed in saving the book from positive -condemnation and failure. - - * * * * * - - - - - EDITOR’S TABLE. - - - “GRAHAM” TO “JEREMY SHORT.” - -MY DEAR JEREMY,—Your name would be euphonious in the stock-market, at -times; but I believe stocks are muddied waters in which you seldom -dabble. You are wise. But do you find yourself at all in the _vein_ -speculative, particularly now, when the streams of that new El Dorado, -California, sparkle invitingly with yellow pebbles? and its many broad -acres spread themselves out temptingly, with their bowels of undug gold, -begging for pickaxe, shovel and basin? How many ears heretofore closed -to the artifices of the speculator, are pricked up, or belie their -masters, at the all-enchanting sound of the word GOLD!! With all the -close calculation and keen spirit of inquiry which mark us as a nation, -I fear me that Jonathan has his weakness, and that his soft side is -metallic. There is something in the clinking of gold and silver that -sets aside his ordinary caution and shrewdness, and leads him to do very -silly things to get at it. It belongs to his nature to be impetuous, and -continued success leads him into very rash ventures. A more interrupted -fortune would, in this case, have allowed him breathing time to make a -“calculation;” and when Jonathan does that coolly, he is seldom -overreached. But he has flogged the Mexicans, taken the territory that -he wanted—as he knew he would—and he is ready now to believe that the -golden pavements of the Incas were no fable, and that the streams in -California are walled in with gold, if you will. At least he will -believe it until he sees for himself. He is a little taken by surprise -with this glittering bait, and no trout dashes at a tempting fly with a -more ravenous bite than he does at these shining “placers.” What cares -he for the thousands of miles that intervene; for the storms of winter -that howl around the Horn, and threaten danger and death! At the first -glimpse of the prospect, a thousand sails are set, and whitening the -ocean, bear him to fortune. No ordinary comforts, no moderate success -here, restrains his keen thirst of adventure. Were home a paradise, and -California a desert, with its shores bristling with opposing bayonets, -and parked with roaring artillery, he would go. Yes! he would, perhaps, -rather go then than now. The glory of the achievement would enhance the -value of the wealth. The founder of Nations—he must work out a -prophecy. Already the cry of a great people goes up with a shout from -the once desolate hills, and ardent, panting thousands, answer the cry -with, “WE COME!” and the shout swells with a louder triumph, a more -emphatic joy, for “_a nation is born in a day!_” - -The impetuous rush to that far-off land is not in itself striking or -marvelous. Other and feebler nations have shown the same avidity for -gold. The Spaniards have dared more, to quench the same insatiate -thirst. But the Anglo-Saxon heel, upon that soil, seals its greatness -and proclaims its destiny. From every wooded hill-side and babbling -stream—from the snow-capped mountain to the fertile valley—yes! even -over the great desert plains, where the footstep cracks the crisp soil, -a voice has gone forth, which the Nations hear and obey, -proclaiming—BE YE FREE! - -Do you not think that the abandoning of all domestic and personal -comfort, sundering of all social and friendly ties, and rushing into the -doubtful companionship of California, for the mere sake of gold, is a -pretty accurate data from which to estimate a man’s heart, or brain, or -both? Is it not something so absolutely sordid, that one cannot help -losing a little of the respect heretofore entertained for a friend who -is seized with this yellow fever? As if life had nothing to mitigate the -evils of existence but wealth—indeed, as if we were born only to -worship that as a god—upon whose shrine we are to sacrifice time, -friends, health, and even life itself, to be the masters of so much -tinsel as you can clutch at the altar. Bah! Is there not in home -enjoyments and the society and friendship of men who know us well, and -love us truly, more _real_ wealth than all that will ever be attained by -the slaves who sweep the dirt from the streams in California—live upon -frogs and beetles, and fill the air with curses. Think of men, of even -the most ordinary sense of decency, herding—_for any sum_—for months -and years with the scum of every clime; with souls sickened and minds -defiled with their abominations; to be of them, “or not to _be_” at -all—is there any consideration that could tempt your avarice or mine? -None that I can think of, unless to gratify some darling revenge, -vigilant and sleepless for years, which men sometimes cherish for -wrongs, and which nothing but gold could furnish the means of -satisfying—even in that case it would be the _last_ resort. - -If any friend of yours is solicitous to enrich a patch of soil, two feet -by six, I think I can recommend an Undertaker who will arrange the thing -nicely for him here; it is not worth while for him to go to California -with his benevolence. For _you_, he would be reasonable, as you are -_Short_. - -But, my dear Jeremy, I had no intention of wandering from my purpose, of -giving you a reminding hint of “Copper Mining.” as a sort of sedative to -the gold “placers.” Some of Jonathan’s younger sons were then severely -bitten, and were so thoroughly inoculated with the virus, as to have -rather a sharpened recollection of metals. The most of _them_, I should -think, would be safe from this _later_ disease, even in its most violent -and contagious forms. Yet there is something very attractive, and most -dangerously seductive, in delving for minerals, counting each shovelfull -as so many guineas coined, and already in your pocket. There is no -enthusiast more dangerous than your professional miner. The gentle -madness is so infectious that his example may turn the heads of a whole -district. Yet _his_ bite is not half so venomous as that of another -species—a kind of ground-shark—who affects the same sort of insanity, -and while digging below ground, puts his “placer” on the “Stock List.” - -It is astonishing, too, that we will be caught once in a while in this -way, while there are people all around us, _anxious friends_, who -exclaim, “I knew it!” but who never hinted a word about the matter. Did -it ever strike you that we live in a very sagacious and knowing -world—the mind of each man being simply the reflection of that of -another? Our brightest fancies are but the suggestions of other people’s -brains—our good fortune in life is always known beforehand—our -reverses have always been most indubitably predicted by parties, who -confirm their sagacity with a consolatory—“I told you so.” We are, -after all, then, but the mere creatures of the impulses of other -people—our destiny it is to work out their predictions. The iron -energy, the indomitable perseverance, sleepless vigilance, untiring -industry—have all been weighed beforehand—duly appreciated and -predicted. There is no such thing as surprising any body. It is all -perfectly understood. - -W—, by a keen sagacity in detecting, and ready tact in managing a new -business, has struck the tide that bears to fortune. But _he_ has made -no discovery. Forty other men, with scarcely brains to comprehend, much -less originate an idea, knew all about it. _They told you so!_ W— goes -on, originates new combinations of trade, enlarges business ideas, and -still succeeds. But _Toldyeso_ knew it, and was indifferent. - -SHARP has his eye upon W—. “AH!” says he “there is a man who has a soul -above buttons—a _genius_ for business. Every thing _he_ touches turns -to gold.” - -But W—, with his multitude of irons in the fire, incautiously takes -hold of the hot end of one of them, and is maimed. “BAH!” says Sharp, “I -knew how it would be! He was always _rushing_ business up against the -stream. Bound to fail—_I told you so_!” And yet nobody ever knew Sharp -to originate, or succeed in, any thing—but _he knows_—and that must be -some consolation to a ninny. - -But, Jeremy, not to imitate the folly of this world in regard to the -past, nor to affect the wisdom of the next, to tell of the future, I -have a story about mining to give you in my next, in which you will find -both Sharps and Flats, which I think will induce you to believe with -me—that people who have cultivated a dangerous intimacy with -Copper-Heads ought to be cautious, and particularly shy how they _now_ -run after Gold-Bugs with a _hum_. - -C. has been in town, and I passed an evening with him since last I wrote -you. He has still the same joyous laugh, that used to set the table in a -roar, and it is quite as contagious. At every jest he would burst out -with a sort of a shout in his hearty guffaw, which, if practiced at -home, must wake the echoes of his native mountain. I was thoughtful over -the past, and became partially a convert to your theory, in regard to -the chilling effects of extra city refinement; and your beautiful -picture of country life, with its honest, hearty friendships, came to my -mind forcibly. It must be true, for I confess I _felt_ that I had grown -older, and colder, too. Can you, Jeremy, laugh as of yore—as loud and -as long?—with the same hearty good will and utter _abandon_. Or is your -mirth choked and clogged with bitter remembrances, which will steal upon -the heart even in its gayest moments? Thought! is _it_ a companion with -which you can entertain hilarity? Or is your joy overshadowed with the -darkness of evil that has been, or that you anticipate, you scarce know -why? I cannot experience the light-heartedness we had formerly. Perhaps -it is that I attempt its cultivation. It must come of natural buoyancy -of spirits, I think, to be genuine. It is else but a hot-house plant in -a snow-storm—its leaves torn off by the blast or shriveled in a frosty -embrace. I doubt much whether our intellectual pleasures, as we proudly -call them, are half as exhilarating, and deeply steeped in genuine -happiness, as were those more animal sensations which we experienced -when boys, as we went hallooing and shouting along in the very -exuberance of our spirits, with a gay, glad, spirited defiance of care -and all its imps. This was the riches of the heart and not of the -pocket. Was it not? We had no gold in those days, so it could not have -been _that_! - - G. R. G. - - * * * * * - -THE FEBRUARY NUMBER.—Our number for the last month has been pronounced, -everywhere, the very best of the Magazines for the month, and has thus -far so largely increased our sales, that we shall be obliged to issue a -very greatly increased edition of future numbers. The year 1849 seems to -have opened with most unparalleled promises for magazine literature; and -while our own sales have augmented on all sides, we have the -gratification, in our good fortune, to feel that we are not impairing -the prosperity of our neighbors. Indeed, the Philadelphia magazines, -high as they have heretofore stood before the country, and widely as -they have been circulated, seem just now to have made a bound in popular -favor that savors of romance. Fifteen or twenty thousand copies of a -monthly magazine was formerly regarded as the highest point of success -to enterprising publishers, and ambitious editors, but the dawning of -this brighter day promises such results as a simple matter of _increase_ -on the year’s business. We hope that our readers see, in the growing -improvement of “Graham,” a disposition to impart a higher value to the -book, as patronage increases, and a careful catering to taste, which -shows no falling off in efforts to please, as well as to instruct our -literary household. Our _aim_ has been to furnish our readers with a -work, in point of literary excellence, that is unsurpassable, and in -pictorial beauty at once chaste and elegant. We could multiply, _ad -infinitum_, second rate articles and engravings, but we feel that we are -consulting both the reader’s taste and interest in adhering rigidly to -the course we have adopted, and we certainly have sufficient evidence of -its good policy, in the ample support we have received. - -The March number may fairly challenge a rigid scrutiny, and we invite a -comparison between the literary matter and that of the other magazines. -The embellishments are all most beautifully executed; but the plate of -“_Christ Weeping Over Jerusalem_” is a gem in the way of engraving, and -we refer to it with a conscious pride that it can neither be -successfully imitated nor excelled. Our eyes linger over it with -something like exultation, as we present to our readers a plate of such -exquisite beauty. In this effort _even Tucker_ seems to have surpassed -himself. - - * * * * * - -THE FAMILY MESSENGER.—This is one of the cheapest and best of the -weekly newspapers. Its circulation is equal to its deserts, numbering -_now_ some sixty thousand readers. It has so long held its position -before the newspaper world, and is so widely and well known, that we but -endorse the general opinion, when we say that it is one of the best -Family journals in the nation. How the enterprising publisher can -furnish it at a dollar per annum is a wonder to us, and we have no doubt -to its thousands of subscribers. A specimen copy is furnished to any -person who may wish to see it, by application, post-paid, to the -publisher. - - * * * * * - - - - - OH HAVE I NOT BEEN TRUE TO THEE: - - - A SONG, - - WRITTEN AND ADAPTED TO A BEAUTIFUL MELODY, - - BY JOHN H. HEWITT. - -Presented by G. Willig, No. 171 Chestnut St. Published by G. Willig Jr. - Baltimore. - - [Copyright secured.] - -[Illustration] - - Oh! have I not been true to thee, - In joy and sorrow still the same? - Has e’en your coldness altered me, - Or sternness check’d my bosom’s - -[Illustration] - - flame? - Thou’st bid me hush my plaintive song, - And still my lute’s wild melody; - Yet, yet its strain will float along, - Oh! have I not been true to thee? - - SECOND VERSE. - - Thy falcon now has thy caress, - Thy hound leaps gladly to thy beck; - But she who loves to wild excess - Cannot one pulse of feeling wake. - This should not be, I cannot brook - The icy smile thou givest me; - There’s death in each reproachful look— - Oh! have I not been true to thee? - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Punctuation has -been corrected without note. Obvious typographical errors have been -corrected as noted below. For illustrations, some caption text may be -missing or incomplete due to condition of the originals used for -preparation of the ebook. - -page 160, Chesapeak in superior ==> Chesapeake in superior -page 167, Shown flickeringly ==> Shone flickeringly -page 171, the guilded baubles ==> the gilded baubles -page 180, the honey accacia ==> the honey acacia -page 181, accacia and Canadian ==> acacia and Canadian -page 185, see, we wil see ==> see, we will see -page 186, knights and stalwort ==> knights and stalwart -page 186, picture was purched ==> picture was purchased -page 188, have past by ==> have passed by -page 197, à la Brigadiere ==> à la Brigadière -page 197, a trois morteaux ==> à trois marteaux -page 199, at the widow ==> at the window -page 201, derriere, pretty well ==> derrière, pretty well -page 201, havn’t been looking ==> haven’t been looking -page 204, Highflier, Esquire, descended ==> Highflyer, Esquire, descended -page 205, table with atonishment ==> table with astonishment -page 210, sheltering bows to ==> sheltering boughs to -page 211, _chef-de’œuvre_ ==> _chef-d’œuvre_ -page 211, My whithered heart ==> My withered heart -page 215, of the Inca’s ==> of the Incas -page 215, thoroughly innoculated ==> thoroughly inoculated - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXIV, No. 3, -March 1849, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, MARCH 1849 *** - -***** This file should be named 53953-0.txt or 53953-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/9/5/53953/ - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net from -page images generously made available by Google Books - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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