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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1f6f21d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54026 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54026) diff --git a/old/54026-0.txt b/old/54026-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c28acd8..0000000 --- a/old/54026-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7688 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXVII, No. 3, -September 1850, 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. XXXVII, No. 3, September 1850 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George Rex Graham - -Release Date: January 19, 2017 [EBook #54026] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, SEPT 1850 *** - - - - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net from -page images generously made available by Google Books - - - - - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - Vol. XXXVII. Sept, 1850. No. 3. - - - Table of Contents - - Fiction, Literature and Articles - - Shakspeare—Analysis of Macbeth - Pedro de Padilh (continued) - A Visit to Staten Island - Woodlawn: or the Other Side of the Medal - “What Can Woman Do?” - The Bride of the Battle - Doctrine of Form - Coquet _versus_ Coquette - The Genius of Byron - Rail and Rail Shooting - The Fine Arts - Mandan Indians - Review of New Books - - Poetry, Music and Fashion - - Ode - Lines in Memory of My Lost Child - Evening - The Wasted Heart - A Health to My Brother - On a Portrait of Cromwell - A Sea-Side Reverie - Audubon’s Blindness - Sonnets - On the Death of General Taylor - “Psyche Loves Me.” - To the Lost One - Outward Bound - He Comes Not - The Bright New Moon of Love - Barcarole - Le Follet - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - * * * * * - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - Vol. XXXVII. PHILADELPHIA, September, 1850. No. 3. - - * * * * * - - - - - SHAKSPEARE. - - - ANALYSIS OF MACBETH. - - - BY HENRY C. MOORHEAD. - - -The reader who has not considered the subject in Ulrici’s point of view, -will, perhaps, scarcely be prepared, at first sight, to believe that the -two plays of Macbeth and the Merchant of Venice, have the same -“ground-idea;” that both are, throughout, imbued with the same -sentiment, yet he will readily perceive the similarity of the leading -incidents of these plays. Shylock insists on the literal terms of his -bond, and “stands for judgment,” according to the strict law of Venice. -He is entitled to a pound of flesh; “the law allows it, and the court -awards it;” but his bond gives him no drop of blood, and neither more -nor less than just a pound. Thus the _letter of the law_, on which he -has so sternly insisted, serves in the end to defeat him. In like manner -Macbeth relies with fatal confidence on the predictions of the weird -sisters, that “none of woman born shall harm Macbeth;” and that he -“shall never vanquished be till Birnam wood do come to Dunsinane.” The -predictions are more _literally_ fulfilled than he anticipated, and that -very strictness of interpretation makes them worthless. - -Now it is from these incidents—both of the same import—that the -respective themes of these plays are drawn; hence those themes are -substantially the same, and may be thus expressed: - -_The relation of form to substance—of the letter to the spirit—of the -real to the ideal._ But the different aspects in which this idea is -presented are multiform; as empty, superfluous words; ambiguities, -equivocations, irony, riddles, formality, prescription, superstition; -witches, ghosts, dreams, omens, etc., etc. - -The reason and the propriety of the introduction of the witches in -Macbeth, has often been a subject of speculation. It may be remarked in -general, that Shakspeare always follows very closely the original story -on which his plot is founded. The question as to any given circumstance, -therefore, generally is rather why he has _retained_ than why he has -_introduced_ it. In the history of Macbeth, as he read it in the old -chronicles, he found the weird sisters, and also their _equivocal -predictions_; and it was upon these predictions as a “ground-idea,” (as -has already been observed,) that he constructed the play. The witches, -therefore, were not introduced for the sake of the play, but it might -rather be said the play was written for the sake of the witches. - - - ACT I. - -The prevailing modification of the theme, in the early part of the play, -is “the ambiguity of appearances.” The 1st scene merely introduces the -witches, who are themselves _ambiguous_, and so is their language; “fair -is foul, and foul is fair.” They appear amidst thunder and lightning, -and a hurly-burly of empty words. - -In the 2d Scene a bleeding soldier enters, and gives an account of the -battle, and of the achievements of Macbeth and Banquo. Mark how he -dwells on the _doubtful aspect_ of the fight: - - “Doubtfully it stood; - As two spent swimmers that do cling together, - And choke their art.” - -He represents fortune as smiling at first on Macdonwald’s cause; but -brave Macbeth, “disdaining fortune,” soon turned the tide of victory. -But another revulsion follows, “and from the spring whence comfort -seemed to come, discomfort flows.” The Norweyan lord suddenly renews the -assault, but victory at last falls on Macbeth and Banquo. Ross now -enters and describes the fight, dwelling in like manner on the -_uncertainty_ which attended it; and Duncan, declaring that the Thane of -Cawdor shall no more _deceive_ him, orders his execution. It is worthy -of remark also, that the view here presented of Macbeth’s character is -purely _formal_ or _sensual_. Physical strength and bull-dog courage are -alone spoken of. Swords “smoking with bloody execution,” “reeking -wounds,” and “heads fixed on battlements,” compose the staple of his -eulogy. - -_Scene_ 3d—Enter the three witches. There is an idle repetition of -words. The offense of the sailor’s wife is visited upon her husband, who -is, however, to encounter only the _appearance_, not the _reality_ of -destruction. A certain _combination of numbers_ completes the charm. - -Macbeth and Banquo now encounter the weird sisters on the heath. -Macbeth’s exclamations relate chiefly to the _ambiguity_ of their -_appearance_. He says, they “look not like the inhabitants of the earth, -and yet are on it.” They “_seem_ to understand me.” - - They should be women, - And yet their beards forbid me to interpret - That they are so. - -The witches then salute Macbeth in terms which are to him -_incomprehensible_. They call him Thane of Cawdor, which he is, but does -not know it. They also salute Banquo in ambiguous language: “Lesser than -Macbeth and greater.” “Not so happy, yet much happier,” etc., etc. - -The witches now “melt into the wind;” upon which Banquo says, - - The earth hath _bubbles_ as the water has, - And these are of them. - -Ross and Angus now enter and salute Macbeth as Thane of Cawdor, who, -finding the prediction of the witches verified in this particular, asks -Banquo whether he does not hope his children shall be kings. Banquo’s -answer points to the _ambiguity_ of appearances, - - That trysted home, - Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, - Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But ’tis strange; - And oftentimes to win us to our harm, - The instruments of darkness tell us truths; - Win us with honest trifles to betray us - In deepest consequence. - -Macbeth falls into meditation on the subject; thinks this “supernatural -soliciting” cannot be ill, because it has already given him earnest of -success; cannot be good, because it breeds horrid suggestions in his -mind. The appearances are _ambiguous_ and bewilder him. Banquo, -observing his abstraction, remarks that new honors come upon him like -“strange garments,” wanting the _formality_ of use to make them sit -easy. - -The next Scene, (the 4th) though a short one, contains several very -pointed references to the central idea. Malcolm reports to Duncan that -Cawdor, when led to execution, had frankly confessed his treasons; -whereupon Duncan says, - - There’s no art - To find the mind’s construction in the face; - He was a gentleman on whom I built - An absolute trust. - -This reflection is commonplace enough in itself, but is rendered -eminently striking by his cordial reception of Macbeth the next moment; -he hails as his deliverer, and enthrones in his heart, the man who is -already meditating his destruction, and that very night murders him in -his sleep. Thus precept and example concur in teaching the _uncertainty -of appearances_. Again Duncan says: - - My _plenteous joys_, - Wanton in fullness, seek to hide themselves - In _drops of sorrow_. - -He then declares his intention to confer _appropriate_ honors on all -deservers, and renews his expressions of confidence in Macbeth. - -The subject is now presented in a slightly different aspect. Whereas the -ambiguity of form or appearance has heretofore been insisted on, the -leading idea is now the agreement of form with substance; the -correspondence of appearances with the reality. - -Macbeth writes to his wife, informing her of what has happened, that she -may not “lose the dues of rejoicing,” but be able to conform to their -new circumstances. Her reflections on the occasion abound with -illustrations of the theme. She fears his nature; it is too full of the -milk of human kindness to “catch the nearest way.” He cannot rid himself -of what she considers mere ceremonious scruples; “what he would highly -that he would holily;” whilst she thinks only of the end they aim at, -she apprehends that he will stand upon _the manner_ of reaching it. An -attendant now informs her of Duncan’s unexpected approach; and she falls -into a soliloquy which is singularly adapted to the theme. The “hoarse -raven;” the invocation to night; her wish to be unsexed, and that her -milk might be turned to gall, etc., etc. When Macbeth arrives, she says -to him: - - Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men - May read strange matters; _To beguile the time_, - _Look like the time_; bear welcome in your eye, - Your hand, your tongue; look like the innocent flower, - But be the serpent under it. - -In the next scene she practices that dissimulation which she has -reproached Macbeth for wanting. Her reception of Duncan is full of -ceremony and professions of duty. - -The 7th Scene opens with the great soliloquy of Macbeth, “If it were -done, when ’tis done,” etc. He dwells on the _incongruity_ of his -killing Duncan, who is there in double trust; “First as I am his kinsman -and his subject; then as his host.” Duncan, too, “has borne his -faculties so meek;” has been “so clear in his great office;” “he has -honored me of late;” and “I have bought golden opinions from all sorts -of people.” He resolves at last that he will proceed no further in the -business. Lady Macbeth now enters to “chastise him with the valor of her -tongue.” In the course of the argument that ensues, Macbeth shows _his_ -regard for _appearances_ by saying: - - I dare do all that may become a man, - Who dares do more is none. - -whilst she shows _her_ respect for the strictness of the letter by -declaring that _had she so sworn_ as he has done to this, she would, -whilst her babe was smiling in her face, have “plucked her nipple from -his boneless gums,” and dashed his brains out. She then proposes to -drench the attendants with wine, and smear them with Duncan’s blood, so -that suspicion may fall on them; also, “we will make our griefs and -clamor roar upon his death.” And here the first act ends with these -words: - - Away and mock the time with fairest show; - False face must hide what the false heart doth know. - - - ACT II. - -In the 2d Act the same idea of _correspondence_ is pursued, and the -propensity of the imagination to embody ideas which press upon the mind -is dwelt upon. - -In the first scene Banquo, when ordering the light to be removed, says: -“Night’s candles are all out; there’s husbandry in Heaven.” This -imagery, no doubt, very naturally suggests itself; but herein lies the -peculiar art of these plays; there is seldom any thing forced or -strained in the narrative or sentiment, the events and reflections fall -in naturally and gracefully; and yet the same general idea is always -kept in the foreground. - -Macbeth tells Banquo if he will co-operate with him it shall be to his -honor; the latter intimates his fear of losing the _substance_ by -grasping at the _shadow_; “So I lose none in seeking to augment it,” -etc. Then comes the fearful soliloquy of Macbeth on the air-drawn -dagger. So intensely does the bloody business “inform to his mind,” that -his very thoughts cast a shadow, and the object of his meditation stands -pictured before him. All the imagery of the speech also embodies the -central idea. - -The next scene (the 2d) is full of horrible imaginings. So fearful are -the workings of Macbeth’s conscience, that, in spite of his guilt, we -pity as much as we abhor him; and all these exclamations of remorse and -horror allude so plainly to the theme that I need not dwell on them. -Lady Macbeth is seldom troubled with scruples, but takes “the nearest -way” to her purpose. Thus she says, - - The sleeping and the dead, - Are but as pictures: ’tis the eye of childhood - That fears a painted devil. - -Yet even her stern nature, which bore down all real obstacles, yielded -to the merely formal circumstance that Duncan resembled her father as he -slept. This is, perhaps, the only amiable sentiment she utters, and it -is of a _superstitious_ character, however commendable. - -The 3d Scene opens with the humorous soliloquy of the Porter, who -imagines himself porter of hell-gate, and gives each new comer an -_appropriate_ reception, but soon finds that the place is _too cold_ for -the purpose. His remarks on the effects of drink will not bear -quotation, but are as much to the main purpose as any other passage of -the play. When the murder of Duncan is announced, Lady Macbeth continues -her formal part by _fainting_. This scene and the next are much occupied -with accounts of omens and prodigies in connection with the murder of -Duncan. In a superstitious age men were prone to believe and to imagine -such things; and the relation of these events to the theme depends on -that _literal, unspiritual_ tendency of mind which has led mankind under -different circumstances to the making of graven images, to the worship -of stocks and stones, to the belief in dreams and omens, and to every -form of _superstition_. - - - ACT III. - -In the first scene of this act Macbeth dwells on the worthlessness of -the mere title which he has won, “To be thus is nothing, but to be -_safely_ thus.” Then, too, the succession was promised to the issue of -Banquo, leaving a barren sceptre in the hands of Macbeth. He resolves to -have the substantial prize for which he had “filed his mind,” and -therefore plans the destruction of Banquo and Fleance. In the -conversation with the murderers whom he engages for that purpose, the -theme is curiously illustrated. In reply to Macbeth’s question as to -their readiness to revenge an injury, they say, “We are men, my lord.” - - _Macbeth._ Ay, in the catalogue, you go for men - As hounds, and grey-hounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, - Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves are clep’d - All by the name of dogs; the valued file - Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, - The house-keeper, the hunter, every one - According to the gift which bounteous nature - Hath in him closed. - -The _ambiguity_ of the general name is remedied by the _specific_ -description. The name is _formal_, the description _substantial_. - -In the next Scene (the 2d) both Macbeth and Lady Macbeth continue their -reflections on the insecurity of their usurped honors: “We have scotched -the snake, not killed it.” She exhorts him to “sleek o’er his rugged -look;” and he refuses to explain his purposes as to Banquo, bidding her -be innocent of the knowledge till she can applaud the deed; thus sparing -her conscience the _formal_ guilt of the murder. His invocation to night -and darkness, at the end of this scene, is very similar to that of Lady -Macbeth, on a similar occasion, before referred to. - -In the 3d Scene the murderers, whilst waiting the approach of Banquo, -justify to themselves the deed they are about to commit, by pleading the -orders of Macbeth. The deed is his; they are the mere instruments of his -will. The allusion to the fading light; “the west yet glimmers with some -streaks of day,” seems to refer to the near approach of Banquo’s end; as -the extinguishment of the light does to the simultaneous extinguishment -of his life, immediately afterward. - -The next is the Banquet Scene. It opens with _formal ceremony_. The -murderers then inform Macbeth that they have executed his will on -Banquo. Macbeth expresses surprise and regret at Banquo’s absence, but -in the midst of his hypocritical professions, his excited imagination -_embodies_ the description which has just been given him by the -murderers, and the ghost of Banquo, “with twenty trenched gashes on its -head,” rises and shakes its gory locks at him. The whole scene abounds -with illustrations of the theme. Macbeth endeavors to shelter himself -under the _letter of the law_, when he exclaims, “thou canst not say I -did it!” He thinks that after a man has been regularly murdered, he -should stay in his grave; he declares his readiness to encounter any -_substantial_ foe—the rugged Russian bear, the armed rhinoceros, or the -Hyrcan tiger; it is the “horrible _shadow_” that blanches his cheek with -fear. After the guests have retired, he falls into a superstitious train -of reflection, in which he expresses his belief in augurs, etc. He -declares his intention to revisit the weird sisters; he is fast becoming -as formal and as reckless of consequences as his wife; he speaks of his -qualms of conscience as the “_initiate_ fear that wants hard use;” and, -as if he now passively allowed himself to be borne onward by the tide of -events, says he has strange things in his head, “which must be _acted_ -e’er they may be _scanned_.” - -Scene 5th. This is another witch scene. Hecate declares her intention to -raise up artificial sprites for the purpose of deluding Macbeth, and -drawing him on to his confusion, thus preparing the way for the -ambiguous predictions. - -In the 6th Scene, the relation between the letter and the spirit is -exhibited in the _ironical_ speech of Lennox, and in the King of -England’s regard for the “dues of birth.” - - Things have been strangely born; the gracious Duncan - Was pitied of Macbeth; marry, he was dead; - And the right valiant Banquo walked too late, - Whom you may say, if it please you, Fleance killed, - For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late. - Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous - It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain, - To kill their gracious father? damned fact! - How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight, - In pious rage, the two delinquents tear, - That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep? - Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely, too; - For ’twould have angered any heart alive - To hear the men deny it. etc. etc. - - - ACT IV. - -Scene 1st. Here we have the witches boiling their cauldron. It is -composed of various and contradictory materials; - - Black spirits and white, - Red spirits and gray. - -And so truth and falsehood are mingled in the promises to Macbeth which -immediately follow; and which are kept literally to the ear, but broken -fatally to the hope. - -In the 2d Scene, the falsehood or ambiguity of _appearances_ is -illustrated in Lady Macduff’s complaint of her husband’s desertion, -which she attributes to fear and want of love; whilst Ross exhorts her -to confide in his fidelity and wisdom, though she may not be able to -understand his present conduct: - - As for your husband, - He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows - The fits o’ the season. - -Of her son, she says, “Father’d he is, and yet he’s fatherless;” and -immediately after tells him that his father’s dead; and, according to -her understanding of the matter, so he was; not _literally_ but -_substantially_, as their guardian and protector. The boy denies it, -because he does not see the appropriate _effect_. “If he were dead, -you’d weep for him; if you would not, it were a good sign that I should -quickly have a new father.” Whatever may be the merit of this dialogue -between Lady Macduff and her son, in other respects it serves at least -to illustrate the theme. The same idea of ambiguity is now applied to -the relation between cause and effect, when a messenger enters, warns -her of the near approach of danger, and urges her to fly. Her first -exclamation is, “I have done no harm.” But she immediately adds, - - I remember now - I am in this earthly world, where to do harm - Is often laudable; to do good sometime - Accounted dangerous folly. - -The first part of the next scene (the 3d) is wholly occupied with the -idea of _ambiguous appearances_. Macduff arrives at the court of -England, and tenders his services to Malcolm, who, fearing that he is an -emissary of Macbeth, mistrusts him. He plays off false appearances upon -Macduff by slandering himself, thus bringing out Macduff’s true -disposition. A doctor now enters and introduces the idea of _causeless -effect_, telling how the king, with a mere touch, has healed the “evil.” -Ross, having just arrived from Scotland, describes the dreadful state of -the country, dwelling chiefly on the circumstance that the people have -become so _used_ to horrors, that they have almost ceased to note them. -He tells Macduff that his wife and children are “well,” purposely using -an ambiguous phrase, which Macduff understands literally, though Ross -means that they are at peace in their graves. When at length he comes to -reveal the truth, he begs Macduff not to confound the _relator_ with the -_author_ of the mischief. “Let not your ears despise my tongue forever,” -etc. Then tells him that his wife and children have been savagely -slaughtered; whereupon Macduff pulls his hat upon his brows, and Malcolm -begs him to “give sorrow words”—distinguishing justly between the -clamorous _show_ of grief and its silent _reality_. The _substance_ of -Ross’s words have struck Macduff, but in the agony of the moment he -cannot comprehend their _detail_. “My wife killed, too;” “Did you say -all?” He has not caught the _form_ of the expression though its _spirit_ -has pierced his soul. There are few passages in Shakspeare more -affecting than this, or in which the “ground-idea” is more steadily kept -in view. - - O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, - And braggart with my tongue, - -exclaims Macduff; but he refrains from all _show_ of grief, and all -_profession_ of courage, and prays Heaven only to bring the fiend of -Scotland and himself “front to front.” - - - ACT V. - -In the first scene of this act the _apparent_ and the _real_ are -inexplicably mingled together. Lady Macbeth “receives, at once, the -benefit of sleep, and does the effects of watching,” which the doctor -pronounces “a great perturbation in nature.” Her eyes are open, but -their _sense_ is shut; and she _seems_ to wash her hands. Though she is -now under the dominion of an awakened conscience, the _formality_ of her -nature still displays itself. “Fie, my lord, fie!” she exclaims, “a -soldier, and afeard? _What need we fear who knows it, when none can call -our power to account?_” The Doctor, however, is cautious about drawing -conclusions even from _such_ appearances, and remarks that he has known -those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their -beds. The reader will readily perceive other illustrations of the theme -in this scene, in which for the first time Lady Macbeth appears stripped -of the mask of ceremony. We are permitted to see the workings of her -mind, and the beating of her heart, when her conscience is emancipated -from the control of her formal habits and her stern will. - -The next scene, which is a very short one, contains several allusions to -the _unsubstantial_ nature of Macbeth’s power. - - Those he commands move only in command, - Nothing in love, etc. - -In the 3d Scene Macbeth still relies on the promises of the weird -sisters. He interprets the _look_ of the “cream-faced loon” as -indicative of alarming news; and then falls into that memorable train of -reflection on his “way of life,” and the _emptiness_ of all his -honors—which everybody knows by heart and can at once apply to the -theme. In his answer to the Doctor, who tells him of Lady Macbeth’s -“thick-coming fancies,” the remedies he proposes, are, it will be -observed, adapted to the _unsubstantial_ character of the disease; the -troubles of the brain are to be “razed out,” and the stuffed bosom -cleansed with “some sweet oblivious antidote.” On the other hand, when -he asks the Doctor to “scour the English hence,” he suggests the use of -rhubarb, or senna, which, indeed, at first sight, strikes one as very -_appropriate_ remedies. - -In the 4th Scene, the soldiers are made to hew down boughs in Birnam -wood, in order to conceal their numbers; thus giving a _literal_ -construction to the language of the weird sisters. - -Scene 5th. Macbeth now trusts to the strength of his castle, and -_proclaims_ his confidence by ordering his banners to be hung on the -outward walls. When he hears the cry of women, he comments on the -_effect of custom_. - - I have almost forgot the taste of fears. - . . . . . . . - Direness, _familiar_ to my slaughterous thoughts, - Can not once start. - -When told of the queen’s death, he says it is _unseasonable_: “she -should have died hereafter;” and his reflections on life have the same -relation to the theme as those on his “way of life” in Scene 3d. - - It is a tale - Told by an idiot, _full of sound and fury_, - _Signifying nothing_. - -He is now told that Birnam wood is coming to Dunsinane; and the rock on -which he has heretofore stood so firmly begins to crumble beneath his -feet. He begins to pall in resolution, and to “doubt the equivocation of -the fiend, that _lies like truth_.” - -Scene 6th contains less than a dozen lines. The soldiers throw away -their leafy screens, and show their true strength. - -In the next and last scene the remaining promise of the weird sisters is -literally kept to the ear, but “broken to the hope”—for it turns out -that Macduff was _not_ of woman born. The force of professional habit -appears in old Siward’s conduct on hearing of the death of his son. “Had -he his hurts before?” he asks; and, being satisfied on that point, -ceases to mourn for him. Finally, _ceremony_ is employed by Malcolm in -rewarding _substantial merit_; his thanes and kinsmen are created earls; -and all other proper forms observed “in measure, time, and place.” - -The reader will readily perceive that different aspects of the theme -predominate in the several stages of the play; and if these stages seem -somewhat irregular, it must be borne in mind that the present division -into acts and scenes was not the work of Shakspeare, but of his editors. - -In Macbeth we see a perpetual conflict between the _real_ nature of man, -and the _assumed_ character of the usurper. He is “full o’ the milk of -human kindness;” loves truth and sincerity; and sets a high value on the -good opinions and the sincere friendship of others. But he is also -ambitious; he is urged forward by the demoniac spirit of his wife, and -entangled in the snare of the weird sisters. Under these influences he -endeavors to play the part of a remorseless tyrant; but his kindlier -nature is constantly breaking out; and though he strives so hard to -maintain his _assumed_ character, that he at length refuses to “scan” -his deeds until they have been “acted,” yet we find him in the height of -his power mournfully regretting his own blood-guiltiness, and the -_hollow-heartedness_ of all around him. - -But there is nothing of this _spirituality_ in the character of Lady -Macbeth. Her ambition is satisfied with the _name_ of queen, and she -cares not whether the obedience of her followers is constrained or -voluntary, whether their love is feigned or real. Remorse has no power -over her except when she is asleep; and even old Shylock—whose whole -character, as has been well said, is a _dead letter_—might, perhaps, -betray similar emotions, if one could see him thus off his guard. - -If the reader of this play should ever be tempted to the commission of -crime for the sake of ambition, let him remember the air-drawn dagger, -and the ghost of Banquo; if in danger of being seduced by the specious -appearance of vice, let him remember the equivocation of the fiends; if -lured by the hope that success will gild o’er the offense and “trammel -up the consequence,” let him think of Macbeth’s withered heart after he -had won the crown and sceptre; and finally, if he imagine that he can so -school his passions and harden his nature that remorse will have no -power over him, let him contemplate Lady Macbeth walking in her sleep. -Whereever he turns, he will find, in all the incidents of this play, the -same great lesson, that “the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth -life.” - - * * * * * - - - - - ODE. - - - BY R. H. STODDARD. - - - The days are growing chill, the Summer stands - Drooping, like Niobe with clasped hands, - Mute o’er the faded flowers, her children lost, - Slain by the arrows of the early frost! - The clouded Heaven above is pale and gray, - The misty Earth below is wan and drear, - And baying Winds chase all the leaves away, - As cruel hounds pursue the trembling deer, - And in the nipping morns, the ice around, - Lieth like Autumn’s gage defiant on the ground! - - My heart is sick within me, I have toiled - In iron poverty and hopeless tears, - Tugging in fetters at the oar for years; - And wrestling in the ring of Life have soiled - My robes with dust, and strained my sinews sore; - I have no strength to struggle any more! - And what if I should perish?—none would miss - So strange a dreamer in a world like this— - Whate’er our beauty, worth, or loving powers, - We live, we strive, we die, and are forgot; - We are no more regarded than the flowers; - And death and darkness is our destined lot! - One bud from off the tree of Earth is naught, - One crude fruit from the ripening bough of Thought, - The hinds will ne’er lament, in harvest-time, - The bud, the fruit that fell and wasted in its prime! - - Away with Action! ’tis the ban of Time, - The curse that clung to us from Eden’s gate; - We toil, and strain and tug from youth’s fair prime, - And drag a chain for years, a weary weight! - Away with Action and Laborious Life; - They were not made for man, - In Nature’s plan, - For man is made for quiet, not for strife. - The pearl is shaped serenely in its shell - In the still waters of the ocean deep; - The buried seed begins to pulp and swell - In Earth’s warm bosom in profoundest sleep; - And, sweeter far than all, the bridal rose - Flushes to fullness in a soft repose. - Let others gather honey in the world, - And hoard it in their cells until they die; - I am content in dreaminess to lie, - Sipping, in summer hours, - My wants from fading flowers, - An Epicurean till my wings are furled! - - What happy hours! what happy, happy days - I spent when I was young, a careless boy; - Oblivious of the world—its wo or joy— - I lived for song, and dreamed of budding bays! - I thought when I was dead, if not before— - (I hoped before!)—to have a noble name - To leave my eager foot-prints on the shore - And rear my statue in the halls of Fame!— - I pondered o’er the Poets dead of old, - Their memories living in the minds of men;— - I knew they were but men of mortal mould, - They won their crowns, and I might win again. - I drank delicious vintage from their pages, - Flasks of Parnassian nectar, stored for ages; - My soul was flushed within me, maddened, fired, - I leaped impassioned, like a seer inspired; - I lived, and would have died for Poesy, - In youth’s divine emotion— - A stream that sought its ocean; - A Time that longed to be - Engulfed, and swallowed in a calm Eternity! - - Had I a realm in some enchanted zone, - Some fadeless summer-land, I’d dwell alone, - Far from the little world, luxurious, free, - And woo the dainty damsel Poesy! - I’d loll on downy couches all the day, - And dream the heavy-wingéd hours away: - Reading my antique books, or framing songs, - Whose choiceness to an earlier age belongs, - Or else a loving maid, in gentle fear, - Would steal to me, from her pavilion near, - And kneel before me with a cup of wine, - Three centuries old, and I would sip and taste, - With long-delaying lips a draught divine; - And, peering o’er the brim in her blue eyes - Slow-misting, and voluptuous, she would rise, - And stoop to me, and I would clasp her waist, - And kiss her mouth, and shake her hanging curls— - And in her coy despite undo her zone of pearls! - - Oh, Poesy! my spirits crownéd queen, - I would that thou couldst in the flesh be seen - The shape of perfect loveliness thou art - Enshrined within the chambers of my heart! - I would build thee a palace, richer far - Than princely Aladeen’s renowned of old; - Its walls and columns of the massiest gold, - And every gem encrusting it a star! - Thy throne should be an Alp, o’ercanopied - With rainbows, and a shielded Moon o’erhead; - Thy coffers should o’erflow, and mock the Ind, - Whose boasted wealth would dwindle into naught - The rich-ored driftings of the streams of Thought - Washed lucidly from cloven peaks of Mind!— - And I would bring to thee the daintiest things - That grow beneath the summer of thy wings;— - Wine from the Grecian vineyards, pressed with care, - Brimming in cups antique, and goblets rare, - And sweeter honey than the singing bees - Of Helios ever gathered on the leas - Olympian, distilled from asphodels, - Whose lucent nectar truckles from their cells! - And luscious fruitage of enchanted trees, - The peerless apples of the Hesperides, - Stolen by Fancy from the guardant Fates, - Served, by a Nubian slave, on golden plates! - And I would hang around thee day and night, - Nor ever heed, or know the night from day; - If Time had wings, I should not see his flight, - Or feel his shadow in my sunny way! - Forgetful of the world, I’d stand apart, - And gaze on thee unseen, and touch my lute, - Sweet-voiced, a type and image of my heart, - Whose trembling chords will never more be mute; - And Joy and Grief would mingle in my theme, - A swan and shadow floating down a stream! - And when thou didst in soft disdain, or mirth, - Descend thy throne and walk the common earth, - I would, in brave array, precede thee round, - With pomp and pageantry and music sweet, - And spread my shining mantle on the ground, - For fear the dust should soil thy golden-sandaled feet! - - Away! away! the days are dim and cold, - The withered flowers are crumbling in the mould, - The Heaven is gray and blank, the Earth is drear, - And fallen leaves are heaped on Summer’s bier! - Sweet songs are out of place, however sweet, - When all things else are wrapt in funeral gloom, - True Poets never pipe to dancing feet, - But only elegies around a tomb! - Away with fancy now, the Year demands - A sterner chaplet, and a deeper lay, - A wreath of cypress woven with pious hands, - A dirge for its decay! - - * * * * * - - - - - LINES IN MEMORY OF MY LOST CHILD. - - - BY GEORGE D. PRENTICE. - - - My child! my dear, lost child! a father’s heart, - Touched by the holy wand of memory, - Would in this hour of loneliness and gloom, - When not a sound is borne upon the air, - And not a star is visible in heaven, - Hold sweet communion with thy soul. - My boy! - Thou wast most beautiful. I never looked - On thee but with a heart of pride. Thy curls - Fell o’er a brow of angel-loveliness, - And thy dark eyes, dark as the midnight cloud, - And soft as twilight waters, flashed and glowed - In strange, wild beauty, yet thy tears were far - More frequent than thy smiles—thy wail of pain - Came oftener on our hearts than thy dear cry - Of infant joyousness. Thy few brief months - Were months of suffering; ay, thy cup of life - Was bitter, bitter, but thou wast not doomed - To drain it, for a God of mercy soon - Let it pass from thee. - Oh! how well, my child, - Do I remember that all mournful day, - When thy young mother bore thy wasting form, - With breaking heart and streaming eyes, afar, - In the vain hope to save the dear young life - To which the tendrils of her own were bound. - With one wild pressure of thy little form - To my sad bosom, with a frantic kiss - Upon thy pallid lips, and a hot tear - Wrung from a burning brain, I said farewell— - Alas! my child, I never saw thee more. - In a strange land, far from thy own dear home, - But with the holy ministries of love - Around thy couch, thy little being passed, - Like the sweet perfume of a bright young rose, - To mingle with the skies from whence it came. - Oh! in that hour, my child, thy lost of earth, - Did not a thought of thy poor father’s love - Soften the anguish of thy parting soul, - And were not thy dear little arms outstretched - To meet his fond caress! - Thou sleepest, child, - Where the Missouri rolls its wild, dark waves, - And I have never gazed upon thy grave. - No tears of deep affection ever blend - With the soft dews and gentle rains that fall - Upon the turf that lies above thy breast; - But, oh! the spot is hallowed. There the Spring, - The bright Spring, yearly throws her loveliest wreaths - Of buds and blossoms—there, at morn and eve, - The viewless spirit of the zephyr breathes - Its holiest whispers in the springing grass - As if communing with thee—there the birds - Glance through the air like winged souls, and pour - Their sweet, unearthly melodies—and there - At the soft twilight hour young angels come - To hover o’er the spot on silver wings, - And mark it with their shining foot-prints. - Thou - Art gone, my child—a sweet and holy bud - Is shaken from the rose-tree of our hopes; - But yet we should not mourn. ’Tis joy to know - That thou hast gone in thy young innocence - And purity and beauty from a dark, - Ungentle world, where many snares beset - The path of manhood. Ay, ’tis joy to know - That the Eolian lyre of thy young soul - Gives out its music in the Eden clime, - Unvisited by earth’s cold, bitter winds, - Its poison-dews, its fogs, its winter rains, - Its tempests and its lightnings. - My sweet child, - Thou art no more a blossom of the earth, - But, oh! the thought of thee is yet a spell - On our sad spirits. ’Tis a lovely flower - On memory’s lonely stream, a holy star - In retrospection’s sky, a rainbow-gleam - Upon the tempest-clouds of life. Our hearts, - Our stricken hearts, lean to thee, love, and thus - They lean to heaven, for thou art there. Yes, thou - And thy young sister are in heaven, while we - Are lingering on the earth’s cold desert. Come, - Ye two sweet cherubs of God’s Paradise, - Who wander side by side, and hand in hand, - Among the Amaranthine flowers that bloom - Beside the living waters—come, oh come, - Sometimes upon your bright and snowy wings, - In the deep watches of the silent night, - And breathe into our souls the holy words - That ye have heard the angels speak in heaven. - - * * * * * - - - - - PEDRO DE PADILH. - - - BY J. M. LEGARE. - - - (_Continued from page 97._) - - Spain, and Tercera. } - AD. 1583. } - -If the weekly mails brought me the Spirit of the Times instead of the -Literary World, or in other words, I inclined to a sporting habit of -speech, I would “lay an even wager” that not one of Graham’s readers has -formed a correct idea of the personal appearance of Hilo de Ladron, from -the foregoing account of that unscrupulous young gentleman’s -proceedings. I say nothing of his morals, but refer merely to the -harmony between features and character which Nature tries hard, and -generally with success, to maintain, and which constitutes the main prop -of the science of physiognomy. But no lawgiver allows more frequent -exceptions to established rules than Nature; and thus, instead of being -slouchy and red-haired, or big-whiskered and ferocious, Señor de Ladron, -seated on the bows of one of De Chaste’s caravels, full sail for -Tercera, belied his ill-name by the delicate beauty of his face and -person. I use the word beauty, because his straight features, smooth -skin and well-shaped hands, were feminine properties not usually looked -for in male attire, and in company such as the owner was keeping. The -French men-at-arms were well enough, but I would not fancy sleeping a -night in the room with the thick-set Walloon standing next; people with -such faces, coarse, crafty about the eyes and treacherous at the -mouth—by the way, his laugh, always of an evil sort, was twofold, from -a seam in the upper lip reaching half-way up the cheek, and exposing the -teeth and gums at every contraction of the muscles thereabouts—should -be called by names to correspond, and this man’s, Wolfang, showed -remarkable foresight in his parents or sponsors. This face, which had -not its duplicate any where in ill-looks, would be recognizable as that -of an old acquaintance, if muffling, and false-hair and whiskers, -frequently changed while begging an alms of Doña Hermosa, had not -destroyed all identity with his natural features as now seen, for -Wolfang was one with the free-captain who lived at the expense of that -estimable if injudicious lady, until Don Peter turned him loose upon the -world again. It was reasonable, under the circumstances, he should bear -no great love for the truth-loving knight, and it was probably this -feeling in common, accidentally communicated, which had first drawn Hilo -and himself together. Don Hilo having inherited most of his father’s -hate to the latter’s half-brother; not that he could lay claim to much -personal cause for antipathy, having seen Sir Pedro but twice in his -life, and one of those when little more than an infant, but it came -quite easy to this chip-of-the-block to bear malice. With some grains of -redeeming quality, it must be allowed, for he was not wanting in that -sort of curious courtesy, common to all Spaniards I believe, which makes -taking off his hat with a _buènos nòches_ imperative on the very man who -carries his hand from his sombrero to his dagger, to plunge the last -under your shoulder blade the moment your back is turned. Friendship, in -its usual acceptation, had little to do with the league existing between -these worthies, and no small amount of self-interest must have been -requisite to keep two such sweet dispositions from open rupture; -however, they contrived to get along well enough, by each playing a part -designed to dupe the other, although, with less success perhaps than the -self esteem of each caused him to imagine. Capt. Carlo, ready, cunning -in counsel, and cringing like a tiger ready to seize his keeper’s hand -in his jaws, but fearing the short Roman sword in its clutch, followed -the guidance of his junior, half through a brute instinct of -inferiority, of which he himself was ignorant, and half for the -furtherance of certain plans of his own, which will appear at intervals -upon the surface of this narrative; but on the whole the pair were not -ill-matched, their main characteristics uniting harmoniously enough, by -a rule which more resembles dove-tailing in carpentry, than welding in -iron-work, the joint being tight and fast so long as force is applied in -one way, but easily dislocated by a lateral blow. Thus Wolfang scoffed -at every thing holy or otherwise, seldom neglected a chance of shedding -blood, when not withheld by manifest interest or personal risk; for the -fellow was a coward in the depth of his heart, just as any other savage -beast is, frightened by a parasol flirted in a child’s hand, but leaping -unhesitatingly upon an unwary man, and in his thirst for gain, played -any part however vile by which a _maravedi_ might be dishonestly got. -Don Hilo, to give the scapegrace his due, was murderous only in the heat -of passion, and somewhat overawed his profane comrade by the resolute -devotion he chose to entertain for certain saints in succession, it -being a freak of his to hold in disgrace or honor, as the case might be, -the celestial patron invoked prior to his last piece of rascality. -Moreover the lad had the indefinable sense of pride, much as he lacked -cause, which, I verily believe, constitutes the third element of Spanish -blood and gives a dignified fold even to the dirty serape of the Mexican -half-breed; and this pride kept his fingers from small pilferings if not -from wholesale swindling; a turn of virtue which must have afforded high -satisfaction to a certain alert fosterer of little errors, who has never -been slow to avail himself of the like since the time of Adam and Eden. -Even in general quickness of temper there was difference in kind, that -of Capt. Carlo settling commonly into a smouldering fire incapable of -being extinguished by any kindness whatever, and blown by the breath of -opportunity into an instant flame; while Hilo’s, on the contrary, more -dangerous and violent at its outbreak, was often succeeded by a reckless -sort of recompense for injury done, which showed the boy had something -of a soul left in his handsome carcase; but I am constrained to say as a -set-off to this tolerable trait, it was only when the hurt or insult was -avenged to his mind, a better spirit possessed him, for, if baffled at -first, the aggriever had need to do as Bruce did, lose his trail in a -running water. - -I like to gossip confidentially now and then about matters which -indirectly affect my characters, and so don’t mind mentioning a -circumstance or two occurring in the early acquaintance of Capt. Carlo -and Señor De Ladron, not noticed by historians of the time. The captain, -it seems, after relinquishing in a highly praiseworthy manner, his -annuity drawn from the unconscious countess, when no longer able to -retain it, betook himself to the capital, where, falling in with the -señor, the two soon came to understand each other’s projects, so far as -it was good for either to do. Hilo made no secret of his hate for Doña -Viola, whom he regarded as an incumbrance and interloper, but for whom -he would long since have received an estate of more doubloons’ worth -than he had ever possessed cobrès. The joint sagacity of the fathers and -their notaries having been exhausted in drawing up a contract so -stringent that nothing short of total forfeiture of the twin estates to -the benefit of one of the infant parties, could release the other. No -one knew what bond of union existed between the worse than dissolute -half-brother of Sir Pedro, and so honorable a knight as Inique, but the -contract stood fast on parchment, and the admirable wisdom of its -conditions was shown in due season, when Viola, living at ease in her -father’s house, grew up with a love amounting to mania for the handsome -cavalier she regarded as her rightful husband, and whose vices she knew -little of, until any thing like a just estimate of their enormity had -become impossible to her biased mind. On the other side, Hilo, cursing -in his heart Inique and his worthy father as founders of the scheme -which his magnificent pride prevented his profiting by, even with the -temptation of a twofold fortune attached, because it took the form of -compulsory action in an affair it suited his humor to decide for -himself, ransacked his brain to drive into outraged vindication of her -woman’s dignity the innocent girl who stood between him and his claim. -The poor little thing, without proper guidance or information in her own -concerns, surmised nothing of the true state of the case, but -affectionate and trustful to a fault, continued to love the young roué, -long after his dislike found stronger expression than in words, with a -docile patience and hopefulness for his reform, capable of touching any -heart less villainous at the core. For the girl was no fool, I would -have it clearly understood, weak as her affection for this Hilo might -argue her; error in judgment, to which we are all subject, not -necessarily indicating habitual silliness, least of all in one -circumstanced as Doña Viola. This helpless child our worthy pair found -it to their mutual interest to persecute, or fancied it so, and played -very readily into each other’s hands; for Capt. Carlo had got it into -his ugly head that such a prize (he was thinking of her money) was -fitter for a manly-looking fellow like himself, with a beard to rub a -soft cheek against, than for a stick of a lad whose weakly mustache -broke the back-bone of the oaths he swore through it. - -This was the wording of the meditation which occupied Don Wolfang’s -brain while on his way to make himself known to his intended wife; not -that Hilo would have refused his friend an introduction, he would have -been only too gratified to present a Hottentot, if by so doing he could -have caused her a pang of shame; but the captain, acting with unusual -caution, chose to be independent of his hot-headed associate, perhaps -fearing the latter might insist upon more than his legal share of the -spoils, or from a natural aversion to working, except in the dark. -Whatever his reasons, its cool impudence tempts me from my resolution of -only hinting at these villainies, to give some account of the -proceeding. - -One night the house of Doña Viola was attacked by a gang of robbers, -who, having no fear of police before their eyes in Philip the Second’s -time, seemed every moment on the point of breaking in. Within was -neither garrison nor protector worth the name, for the virtuous duenna, -who was the young lady’s present guardian and companion, only rocked -herself to and fro in a garment more snowy than becoming, and lamented -her hard (approaching) fate with such heartfelt _ay-de-mì’s_, that it -was evident nothing but the hope of ultimate rescue prevented her false -hair (in which, for better self-deception, she slept) being plucked out -by the roots. Moreover, the butler was busied in secreting the family -plate, and a few little properties of his own, and the men-servants, -with Spanish devotion, found occupation enough in quieting the maids and -supplicating the saints; no doubt they would have fought, too, the race -being noted for pluck—but there was no one to lead them on. At this -opportune moment, who should appear before the terror-stricken ladies -but Capt. Wolfang Carlo, all ruffles, ribbon-knots and rings, like a gay -cavalier returning from some late merry-making, flying sword-in-hand to -the rescue of besieged innocence. How he got in was a mystery; I suppose -by dint of valor, for, as the number of the assailants was diminished by -one on his entrance, it is more than likely one at least of the robbers -was run through the body by this paladin, and the breach the former made -turned to account by the latter. - -When the party outside had been routed, which was accomplished -immediately on the captain’s sallying forth at the head of the revived -household, - -“Sir,” said Doña Viola, to the disinterested hero who stood regarding -her with a smile, as one should say, “look at me! Danger cannot shake my -nerves: I am quite in my clement in it; it is just such a protector you -need,” but which reminded for all that of the supple waving of a cat’s -tail just before the animal springs. “Sir, if my father, Don Augustino, -were present, he would know better how to thank you than I.” - -“Oh,” interrupted her deliverer, with more truth than was common in his -speech, and bowing low, partly because he designed to be exceedingly -polite, and partly to hide his rectangular grin, “I am delighted to find -he is not, Doña Viola.” - -“I understand your noble motives, señor, and by your calling me by name, -you probably know Señor Inique also.” - -“Intimately,” said the unblushing vagabond; “we were comrades in arms -against the Moors in the last war; and but that my mother’s being a -Portuguese induces a reasonable distaste to waging war on one’s own -kindred, we would have been lying side by side in Portugal, at this very -hour. We disagree, perhaps, in this little matter, but there is no -ill-feeling between us; and you may imagine, señora, the haste I made to -snatch my distinguished friend’s daughter from such pressing danger.” - -“Señor,” cried the lady at this, simply, “the house and all it contains -is yours. (Capt. Carlo wished it was.) Command me; you have only to make -known your wishes.” - -Saying this, she left the room to order refreshments for her guest. Don -Wolfang, in high feather at his success, and looking upon a part of the -Doña’s property as his own in right of salvage, which saved any scruples -arising in his tender conscience, pocketed a few valuables lying about, -and assumed the bearing of a Rico, occupying four chairs with his burly -person, for the better, that is, more truthful enactment of the -character in hand. In which easy attitude he lolled until the tray, with -its choice eatables, arrived; and it was while on the point of putting -into his mouth a pâté-de-fois-gras (I use the word generally, as -designating something good; but did you ever hear Dr. C. talk of _real_ -pâtés) that— - -But what happened I must begin in a different manner to relate, or the -moral of this episode will be lost. - -I have said Doña Viola was no fool, and here I intend bringing forward -proof of my position. No one would have supposed any thing like nerve -existed in so delicate a creature, unless they had seen her descending -the stairs with a light in one hand, and a great sword, too stiff for -her to draw, in the other, to rally the servants, while that timid old -soul, her duenna, was creeping under the bed above as fast as a sudden -weakness in her ancient knees would allow. The girl was brimfull of -character, and made a worse impression on her first appearance, because -fevered and crushed in spirit by the final wickedness of her betrothed -husband, and its likely consequences; possibly the fever which afterward -brought her to death’s door, had begun to show itself already in -unnatural excitement of the brain, for it is not easy otherwise to -reconcile the crazy eagerness she showed with her usual modesty. - -But this is straying from the truffle-eating captain. Poor, simple, -lamb-like captain! what could have induced him to pull off his leathern -doublet and mask under the eyes of a girl not out of her teens, to be -sure, but whose Gallician blood was all afire while watching from a dark -window what was passing beneath. I am filled with pity and admiration -for Doña Viola, when I think how, with one protector leagues away in -Portugal, and the other up stairs, making her toilette to appear -becoming in the eyes of this prince who had come to their rescue, she -traversed the whole house, accompanied by a desperado whose only -restraint lay in the greatness of his hopes dependent in part on present -good conduct. She was a little fluttered, and ready to faint with fear, -as any other woman short of a novel heroine would have been, but for all -that she spoke so connectedly, and showed such faith in the captain’s -will and ability to protect her, that it never entered his slow, -Netherlandish brain, the figure before him was possessed of no more -vitality in itself than an electro-magnetized body, or that she had -noticed without start or scream his left, jetty whisker slip down far -enough to expose the scrubby red growth underneath. Still less did it -occur to him as a remote possibility, the idea of taking him, Captain -Wolfang Carlo, fairly in the trap, could be occupying her head at the -very moment he talked of “his dear friend, Don Augustino, her father;” -and when one servant went up with the tray, a second went out with a -summons to the Hermandad. - -So Capt. Carlo was on the point (as I have said) of putting a pâté into -his capacious mouth, when there came a rapping at the street-door, such -as only the Hermandad made, it being the custom of the holy brotherhood -to give due notice of their arrival on such occasions, lest one of -themselves should prove to be the culprit. The captain knew to a stroke -what mercy _he_ would be likely to receive if arrested, and alert enough -when danger pressed, clapped a couple of goblets in his pockets, and in -the same instant seized by the throat the tray-bearer, (who had his hand -already on the latch,) so that the poor simpleton had not breath enough -in his body to whisper, when his assailant threw him into the corner -limp as a bundle of rags. - -The former had not perambulated the house without using his eyes, and -knew the shortest way to the leads, where he dodged the Hermandad until -an opportunity presented itself for making good his descent, the citizen -police probably being not wide awake at two o’clock in the morning. - -That estimable youth, Hilo, was highly amused when the adventure reached -his ears, and in his customary reckless speech gave his Flemish -associate to understand he was not wise beyond his years, and had quite -overshot his aim by too much caution; nothing could have caused himself -more pleasure than to be rid of that (what I don’t choose to write in -Spanish or English,) who had cheated him out of his estate by her artful -behavior. And he would not mind settling a round sum out of the to be -recovered fortune on Wolfang, provided he could contrive to enter the -house a second time, without so much useless stir; but our prudent -friend had the Hermandad in too vivid remembrance, and excused himself, -suggesting, however, a scheme no less rascally, which all readers of -this true history know already to have been carried out to its full -extent. - -To return to the caravel; some one was talking of Neptune. - -“What a clatter about your Neptune,” cried a soldier, peevishly, “I wish -I’d never heard the name, and had stayed where I was. Here we are -pitched from one storm into another, and land just in sight. I’m sick of -it.” - -“La casa quemada, acudir con el agua!” put in Hilo, who was swinging his -legs over the bowsprit, and did not trouble himself to take his eyes -from the blue land ahead. - -“What does he say?” demanded the Frenchman, eagerly, looking -suspiciously about. - -“He says your house is burnt, and you run for the water,” exclaimed -Wolfang, with a short chuckle. - -“Ha!” retorted the other, setting down a steel cap he was polishing, to -gesticulate and call attention to Hilo with his forefinger. “Look here, -comrades, here’s a man to talk to another as if he had never made any -blunders he would like to take back. But this kind of talking behind -you, is the way with all these cowardly Spaniards.” - -Hilo turned his head just sufficiently to send a glance at the irascible -speaker from his wicked black eyes. “Take care!” it said. - -“Take care!” repeated the Netherlander, warningly, this time translating -the look. “You’re a born fool, Jean, to tempt the devil in him.” - -“Fool!” cried Jean. “Who meddled with him first? He kicked my casque out -of his way yesterday, and set me to work cleaning and straightening it -out this morning. As to running for water when it’s too late, he’ll -think so too some day when Señor Inique catches him, and he gets down on -his knees to beg for life, or the Marquis of Villenos’s friends corner -him. He needn’t think he’s thought less a villain by us Frenchmen than -by his own countryfolks.” - -Here the man-at-arms stopped to take breath and glower at Señor De -Ladron, who lifting in his feet, walked coolly over, opposite the first, -saying, with a smile on his face, “Come, come, there is no use in -comrades quarreling. Do you suppose I knew it was your casque? Give me -your hand, and let’s make it up.” - -The soldier looked down distrustfully at his slight enemy, but not being -able to make up his mind what to do at this unexpected proposal, -hesitatingly laid his broad palm in Hilo’s. - -“That’s as it should be,” said a shrunken little cannonier, perched on -his gun. “Hey! I remember how we shook hands all round at St. -German-en-Laye. You see, we had been fighting like mad at Montcontour, -and when one cools it isn’t pleasant to think you’ve knocked on the head -your old chum at bird-nesting, and the like, only because he differs -from you a little when grown up.” - -“So you fetch water!” interrupted Hilo, mockingly, half to the speaker -and half to Jean, whose fingers suddenly wrenched back forced him to -stamp and foam with rage and pain while struggling to loosen the iron -hold of the speaker. - -“Sacrè! Devil!” he stammered, “let go; my wrist is out of joint.” - -“It will be worse for you if you don’t recant,” muttered our Don, -speaking faster than before, and holding a dagger to the side of his -throat. - -“Stop!” cried two or three men-at-arms, springing up, “that is not fair -play. We are Frenchmen, not cut-throats, here.” Capt. Carlo merely -grinned in his usual agreeable fashion. - -“Don’t bite!” cried Hilo fiercely to his prisoner, drawing back his hand -to strike. And, perhaps, as that amiable young gentleman was in no wise -particular in such matters, and took no heed of the interruption, Hilo’s -hand might have been the last bit of flesh held between the Frenchman’s -teeth for evermore, (as the raven would say.) But the officer on duty -came down the deck at this crisis, demanding the cause of the -disturbance. - -“Ha! _you_, sir?” he cried, directly he caught sight of the chief actor, -as if he might have guessed as much. “I order you under arrest. Give up -your dagger.” - -Señor de Ladron faced his superior with an audacious smile, saying, “You -jest?” - -“Noose that rope,” ordered the lieutenant, purple with fury. “Close -around, men; we will hang up this mutineer without trial.” - -“’Pshaw!” answered our scapegrace, throwing his weapon overboard. “What -a stir about a trifle, Señor mine. Better do this than hang.” - -So Don Hilo de Ladron, when the island of Tercera lay close under the -bows of the fleet, sat in the hold with irons around his ankles, and -there probably would have remained, in obscurity, until the vessel -returned to France, had not his fast friend, the captain, contrived to -say a word or two to Commander De Chaste in person, while that brave -knight was reviewing his forces on shipboard preparatory to landing. - -“Who are you?” asked the commander, looking from a bit of paper he now -twisted between his fingers to the bearer. “I have seen your face -before.” - -“Your excellency must be mistaken,” returned the unblushing Wolfang, who -nevertheless remembered perfectly the gold piece the knight once put in -the mouth of a holy war soldier without arms or feet, if appearances -were true. - -“Well,” interrupted De Chaste, “this scrawl tells me your friend was not -materially to blame in the affair, his honor being concerned in -repelling the charges.” - -“True to a letter,” replied Wolfang, bowing low, as usual, to hide his -unprepossessing grin. “Besides, the officer on duty owed the poor young -gentleman a grudge.” - -“That has nothing to do with it, sir. A man’s honor is his best -possession, and needs unsleeping guardianship; but this taking its -vindication into his own hands, must not be allowed in the service. -However, the error is one on the side of right, and let him behave well -in the field and we will pass over his indiscretion. We want every brave -man we can get,” he added, turning to one of his officers. - -“But, M. de Commandant,” objected the gentleman addressed, “is it likely -a renegade like this fellow should prove a good soldier, or even be -really possessed of ordinary honor!” - -“How!” cried De Chaste, quickly. “I did not think the ranks of our -little army contained any such. Is he a Spaniard, M. de Haye?” - -“Yes, and guilty of every manner of crime.” - -“Ha! Well, he must remain as he is until we find time to look into his -case. How is it, Mr. What’s-your-name, Carlo, you suppressed his place -of birth?” - -“His mother was a French lady, Monseigneur, and fighting for one’s -mother country is as good, any day, as fighting for a father’s.” - -“True, in a measure, sir,” returned the knight. “What’s the prisoner’s -name?” - -“Hilo de Ladron.” This was said in no unusual tone, yet it seemed -singularly to catch the commander’s attention, for he eyed the speaker -keenly and then fell into a fit of musing, which lasted while he paced -the deck between the officers of his suite. “M. de Haye,” he said at -last, pausing before that officer and looking up, “you may be mistaken -in your charges. They are grave ones and should be advanced when they -can be examined at leisure, not at a hurried moment like this. I have -need of every man in our too feeble squadron, and will take it upon -myself to entrust the restoration of his character to M. de Ladron -himself for the present.” - -The gentleman addressed bowed, shrugged his shoulders, as well as a -Frenchman could in a steel cuirass, and there the matter dropped. - -Hilo laughed when the captain told him the favorable result of his -application, and professed equal curiosity as to the commander’s -motives—professions which honest Wolfang received as attempts to impose -on his credulity—(he was probably touchy on the subject since his -introduction to Doña Viola)—with less justice than usual, however, as -Hilo, for a wonder, was telling the truth. - -About this time the Sieur Cusson returned in his sloop from -reconnoitering the island, and his report being that the Spanish -squadron had not yet arrived, the little armament of De Chaste ran -gallantly into the harbor, and came to anchor amidst a great firing of -cannon and arquebuses from the Portuguese, who liked expending powder in -this way much better than in front of an enemy, and besides, had lived -in such daily dread of the descent of the Spanish fleet, that they could -not sufficiently viva their delight at finding out who the new comers -really were. The Viceroy, de Torrevedros, himself, came down to the -water side to receive the commander, and made such a brave appearance in -his embroidered surcoat and gilded harness, surrounded by other -cavaliers equally well dressed, that the Frenchmen, walking with -unsteady legs after their twenty-four days of stormy weather on -shipboard, and in shabby doublets, presented nothing very imposing in -their march through the streets. - -But if the Portuguese gentlemen, riding on either hand, could scarce -suppress their mirth at the ill looks of their allies, the ladies were -anxious to propitiate men who would prove their main defence, and threw -down showers of all sorts of gay flowers from the windows and balconies; -some of the young señoritas even meeting the procession at unexpected -corners, and flinging orange water into the knight’s face, who would -have been more gratified by the ablution (it being a hot June day) had -not the thought of his best ruff growing limper at each sprinkling -interfered with the enjoyment. - -“Better smell of gunpowder.” he said shortly, to a French gentleman from -the court, whose nose was audibly expressing its delight at the fine -perfume. - -But the satisfaction of the Portuguese was as nothing compared with the -joy of a few hundred Frenchmen, a remnant of the Strossy expedition of -the year before, who had lost all hope of ever leaving the Azores again, -and, having little money at the first, had been treated with any thing -but hospitality by their unwilling hosts. These poor fellows mixed with -the crowd in the streets, kept the commandant’s company in sight, and -running into the quarters assigned the latter, met them with such antics -and embraces as caused the Gallic army to suppose at first that they had -fallen into an ambuscade of madmen. Their two captains gave De Chaste a -full narration of their sufferings, which was impartial in the main, and -tended very little to elevate the Portuguese residents in the eyes of -their audience, whose fancy for that people was not great from the -beginning. - -“Sirs,” replied the commandant at the end, with his customary high-toned -suavity, looking around him, “we must only remember this is done at the -will of our queen, and act as loyal gentlemen should. For my part, I -will be content with brown bread and water and living in the open air, -as we are all accustomed to, to have the satisfaction of defeating the -landing of so good a soldier as the Marquis of Santa-Cruz, and to-morrow -I will examine in person the accessible points of the island, which are -only three in number.” - -“Three!” cried Capt. Baptista, an Italian, one of the Strossy fugitives, -“there are thirty! He must have been a rank liar, who told you so, M. le -Commandant.” - -“That can hardly be,” returned De Chaste, gravely, “for it was the king -of Portugal himself who gave the information.” - -“Oh, if it comes to that one had best bite his tongue,” grumbled the -Italian to De Haye, who stood next him. “But a parrot’s word is no -better than a magpie’s, and so our general will find out.” - - [_To be continued._ - - * * * * * - - - - - A VISIT TO STATEN ISLAND. - - - BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY. - - -I have always had an especial fondness for islands. When, in earlier -days, Fancy fashioned some favorite abode, it was often in the -aspiration of Moore, “Oh! had we some green little Isle of our own!” I -am inclined to think there is something in Nature to sanction this -preference. Perhaps the safety of an insular situation from border -inroad, and the wild foray, might have given it pre-eminence in feudal -or barbarous times. A strange illusion seemed to linger around it, in -days of yore: “We, islanders,” said Camden, “are lunares—or the moon’s -men.” - -The tuneful king of Israel considered the praise of the Creator -incomplete, until “the multitude of the Isles,” should swell that -chorus. The islands are required to “keep silence,” when an eloquent -prophet was about to declare a message from Jehovah. The apostle, to -whom the dread future unveiled itself, “was in the island that is called -Patmos,” when he saw in a vision the “the heavens wrapped together like -a scroll, and the dead, small and great, stand before God.” - -Heathen mythology sang to her disciples of the “isles of the blessed.” -Classic Greece fixed the birth-place of her deity of the seven-stringed -lyre in wave-girdled Delphos, and bade her most beautiful goddess from -the foam of the sea. - -Modern Poetry has not forgotten to invoke the island-spirits. Shakspeare -lifts the magic wand of Prospero in a strange, wild isle, full of - - “Sweet sounds and airs that give delight, and hurt not.” - -He makes another less lofty character propose “to sow the kernels of a -broken islet in the sea, that they may bring forth more islands.” The -patriotism of Milton beheld in his own native clime, the chief favorite -of Neptune: - - “this isle, - The greatest and the best of all the main, - He quarters to his blue-haired deities.” - -The Bard of the Seasons still further glorified it, as the - - “Island of bliss amid the subject seas.” - -It is as easy as it would be tautological to multiply suffrages in -praise of insular regions. Still less necessary is it to bespeak popular -favor for the island that gives this sketch a subject and a name. - -The Dutch settlers of Staten Island seem to have regarded it with an -enthusiasm quite in contrast with their usual phlegmatic temperament. -Scarcely a century after its occupation by them, the patient and -true-hearted Huguenots came to solace the woes of their exile amid its -sheltering shades. The armies of Great Britain held it in possession -during the whole of our revolutionary contest; and even the indurating -influences of war did not render them insensible to its surpassing -loveliness. - -In later times, the States of New York and New Jersey have contended for -its jurisdiction with the warmth of lovers, and the jealousy of rivals. -The latter approaches with extended arms, as if to enfold it in an -earnest embrace, its bright shores curving closely around the coveted -treasure; but the Empire State, upon whose waters it reposes “as a star -on the breast of the billow,” has bound the gem to her bosom forever. - -Yet neither the taciturn Hollander, nor the mournful alien from France, -nor the warring Saxon, nor the native-born American, yearned over it -with such intense affection as the poor red man, its earliest lord. He -longed to rear his cone-roofed cabin upon its sunny slopes, and to sweep -with light canoe into its quiet coves, as his fathers had done of old. -Forced by his pale-faced and powerful brother to yield this dearest -birthright, he sold for as poor a compensation as the hunter-patriarch, -then repented, retracted, reclaimed, re-sold, contended, and vanished -like the smoke-wreath among the hills that he loved. Still, he cast the -Parthian arrow, and the forests where he lingered and lay in ambush were -crimsoned with blood. - -Still, his parting sigh, wreathed itself into a name of blessing. -“_Monocnong_,” or the Enchanted Woods, was the epithet he bestowed upon -his beloved and forsaken heritage. In the bitterness of parting, he said -that no noxious reptile had ever been found there, till the white man, -like a wily serpent, coiled himself amid its shades. - - MONOCNONG. - - Gem of the Bay! enchased in waves of light, - That ’neath the sunbeam rear a diamond crest, - But to the wrathful spirit of the night - Turn unsubdued, with thunder in their breast— - Fair Isle! where beauty lingereth as a dower - O’er rock and roof, and densely-wooded dell, - And in the bosom of the autumnal flower - Foiling the frost-king in its quiet cell, - The Indian hunter of the olden time - Saw thee with love, and on his wandering way - Staid the keen bow, at morning’s earliest prime, - A name of blessing on thy head to lay— - Baptism of tears! it liveth on thy shore, - Though he, the exiled one, returneth never more. - -The sail from the city of New York to Staten Island is delightful. The -bay sparkled in the broad sunbeam; six miles of diamonds set in -turquoise and amethyst. We land, and are borne rapidly along, amid -tasteful abodes imbosomed in trees and shrubbery, and adorned with -flowers. We pass also the Hospital, a spacious building, where many beds -and pillows spread in the open air for purification, denote that disease -and death have given a ghastly welcome to some mournful emigrants. Often -are we reminded, amid the most luxuriant scenery, that even “in the -garden there is a sepulchre.” - -New Brighton, as seen from the water, is like a cluster of palaces. -Large and well arranged boarding-houses furnish accommodations to -numerous strangers, who seek in summer the invigorating atmosphere of -this island. Among these, the Pavilion and Belmont are conspicuous. - -In descriptive writing, I had formerly a fastidious delicacy about using -the names of individuals. When in Europe, I was so fearful of drawing -the curtain from the sanctuary of the hearth-stone, as to fail in a free -tribute for the most liberal and changeless hospitality. Time, which is -wont to destroy undue sensibility on many subjects, has led me to deem -this an error. So I will here avoid it, and say with equal frankness and -gratitude that those who, like myself, are admitted as guests at the -elegant island-residence of George Griffin, Esq., and to share the -intellectual society of his warm-hearted and right-minded home-circle, -will never lose the pleasant memory of such a privilege. - -Among the fine views in this vicinity, that from the Telegraph Station -is especially magnificent. I shall not attempt to describe it, not being -willing to sustain or inflict the disappointment that must inevitably be -the result. Let all who have opportunity see it as often as possible. -They can never tire of it. Among the many interesting objects that there -rivet the gaze, there will often be descried passing through the -Narrows, that highway of nations, some white-winged wanderer of the -deep, voyaging to foreign shores. Within her how many hearts are faint -with the pangs of separation! How many buoyed up with the vain -fluttering of curiosity to visit stranger lands. Adventurous ones! ye -know not yet the extent of the penalty ye must pay for this shadowy -good. Tempests without, misgivings within, yearnings after your distant -dear ones, sickness—that shall make this “round world, and all it doth -inherit,” a blank, and a mockery—longings to set foot once more on -solid earth, which have no parallel, save the wail of the weaned child -for its mother. - -Many, and of almost endless variety, are the pleasant drives that will -solicit you. The Clove Road, the Quarantine, the lovely, secluded grove, -with the townships of Richmond, Stapleton, Castleton, Tompkinsville, -Clifton, etc. are among them. Seldom, in a circumference of a few miles, -are such contrasts of scenery displayed. At one point you fancy yourself -in the Isle of Wight, then you are reminded of the Vale of Tempo, and -the fabled gardens of the Hesperides. Fair, sunny lawns—deep, solemn -forests, the resounding wheels of mechanical industry, alternate like a -dream, with clusters of humble cottages, the heavy ricks of the -agriculturist, and rude, gray rocks, from whose solitary heights, you -talk only with Ocean, while he answers in thunder. - -In our exploring excursions, we often admired, amid its fringed margin -of trees, a circular expanse of water, from whence ice is obtained for -the use of the residents, and which bears the appellation of - - SYLVAN LAKE. - - Imbosomed deep in cedars, lonely lake! - Thy solemn neighbors that in silence dwell, - Save when to searching winds they answer make, - Then closer scan thee, in thy guarded cell, - No rippling keel hath vexed thee from thy birth, - No fisher’s net thy cloistered musing broke, - Nor aught that holds communion with the earth - Thy sky-wrapt spirit to emotion woke, - For thou from man wert fain to hide away, - Nursing a vestal purity of thought, - And only when stern Winter’s tyrant sway - A seal of terror on thy heart had wrought, - Gave him one icy gift, then turned away, - Unto the pure-eyed heavens, in penitence to pray. - -There are several pleasantly situated churches on Staten Island. The -small one at Clifton, with its dark grained arches of oak, strongly -resembles those of the mother land. An ancient, low-browed one, at -Richmond, was built and endowed by Queen Anne, in 1714. Around it sleep -the dead, with their simple memorials. The sacred music that varied the -worship, was sweet and touching, and conducted almost entirely by the -seven daughters of its worthy and venerable clergyman, Dr. David Moore, -a son of the former bishop of Virginia. He has also charge of another -church, at Port Richmond. There we attended divine worship, one -cloudless autumnal Sunday, not deeming the distance of thirteen miles, -going and returning, as any obstacle. It was a simple edifice, on a -green slope, that stretched downward to meet the sea. In his discourse, -the white-haired pastor reminded his flock that for twice twenty years -he had urged them to accept the invitations of the gospel, on that very -spot, where the voice of his sainted father had been also uplifted, -beseeching them to be reconciled to God. Earnest zeal gave eloquence to -his words; and when they ceased, the solemn organ did its best to uplift -the listening soul in praise. - -At the close of the service many lingered in the church-yard, to -exchange kind greetings with their revered guide. Old and young pressed -near to take his hand, while with affectionate cordiality he asked of -their welfare, as a father among his children. It was patriarchal and -beautiful. Religion in its pageantry and pomp hath nothing like it. - -A boat, with its flashing oars, bore a portion of the worshipers to -their homes on the opposite shore. But on the rocks beneath us sat some -listless fishermen, idling away the hours of the consecrated day. Ah! -have ye not missed salvation’s priceless pearl? The wondrous glory of -the setting sun, as we pursued our homeward way, and the tranquil -meditations arising from the simplicity of devotion, made this a Sabbath -to be much remembered. - -We were interested more than once in attending divine service in the -chapel of the Sailor’s Snug Harbor—a noble building, the gift of -private munificence, where the bronzed features and neat, tranquil -appearance of these favored sons of the sea, spoke at once of past -hardships upon the briny wave and of the unbroken comfort of their -present state of repose. - -The cliffs and vales of this enchanted island are crowned with the -elegant mansions of the merchant princes. Among them are those of the -brothers Nesmyth, Mr. Anthon, Mr. Aspinwall, Mr. Morgan, and others, -that I greatly admired, without knowing the names of their occupants. -That of Mr. Comstock exhibits a model of perfect taste. All the -appointments within—the pictures, vases, and furniture of white and -gold, bespeak Parisian elegance, while the grounds and conservatory are -attractive; and in the centre of a rich area of turf, a dial points out -the hours to which beauty and fragrance give wings. - -The residence of Mr. Jones, at “The Cedars,” has a very extensive -prospect, and is embellished by highly cultivated gardens of several -acres, loaded with fruits and flowers; and also, by an interesting -apiary, aviary, and poultry establishment, where hundreds of domestic -fowls, of the finest varieties, revel in prosperity. - -The habitation of George Griswold, Esq. is princely, and of a truly -magnificent location. While in an unfinished state, the prospect from -the windows excited the following effusion: - - GRISWOLD HILL. - - Earth, sea and sky, in richest robes arrayed, - Wide spreads the glorious panorama round, - Charming the gazer’s eye. O’er wind-swept height, - Villa, and spire, and ocean’s glorious blue - Floats the mild, westering sun. Fast by our side - Frowns Fort Knyphausen, whence, in olden time, - The whiskered Hessian, bought with British gold, - Aimed at my country’s heart. Wild cedars wrap - Its ruined base, stretching their arras dark - O’er mound and mouldering bastion. - With what grace - New Jersey’s shores expand. Hillock and grove, - Hamlet and town, and lithe promontory, - Engird this islet, as a mother clasps - Some beauteous daughter. Still, opposing straits, - With their strong line of indentations, mar - The entire embrace. - Broad spreads the billowy bay, - Forever peopled by the gliding sail, - From the slight speck where the rude fisher toils, - To forms that, like a mountain, tread the wave, - Or those that, moved by latent fires, compel - The awe-struck flood. - Lo! from his northern home, - The bold, unswerving Hudson. He hath burst - The barrier of his palisades, to look - On this strange scene of beauty, and to swell - With lordly tribute what he scans with pride. - Behold the peerless city, lifting high - Its hallowed spires, and fringed with bristling masts, - In whose strong breast beat half a million hearts, - Instinct with hurrying life. The gray-haired sires - Remember well, how the dank waters crept - Where now, in queenly pomp, her court she holds. - Next gleams that Isle, whose long-drawn line of coast - Is loved by Ceres. On its western heights - Towereth a busy mart, and ’neath its wing, - One, whose pure domes are wrapped in sacred shade, - Silent, yet populous. Through its still gates - Pass on the unreturning denizens. - Oh, Greenwood! loveliest spot for last repose, - When the stern pilgrimage of life is o’er, - Even thy dim outline through the haze is dear. - Onward, by Coney Island’s silvery reef, - To where, between its lowly valves of sand, - Opes the Highway of Nations. Through it flows - The commerce of the world. The Mother Realm - Sends on its tides her countless embassies; - Bright France invokes the potency of steam - To wing her message; from his ice-clad pines - The Scandinavian, the grave, turbaned Turk, - The Greek mercurial, even the hermit-sons - Of sage Confucius, like the sea-bird, spread - Fleet pinions toward this city of the west, - That like a money-changer for the earth - Sits ’neath her temple-dome. - Yon ocean-gate, - With telegraphic touch, doth chronicle - The rushing tide of sea-worn emigrants, - Who reach the land that gives the stranger bread, - Perchance a grave. And he who ventureth forth, - The willing prisoner of some white-winged ship, - To seek Hygeia o’er the wave, or test - What spells do linger round those classic climes - That woke his boyhood’s dream, fails not his heart - As the blest hills of Neversink withdraw - Their misty guardianship? - Speech may not tell— - For well I know its poverty to paint - The rapture, when the homeward glance descries, - That native land, whose countless novelties, - And forms of unimagined life, eclipse - The worn-out wonders of an Older World, - That, with its ghostly finger, only points - To things that were. - Oh! great and solemn Deep, - Profound magician of the musing thought, - Release my strain, that to the beauteous Isle - Which hath so long enchained me, thanks may flow, - Warm, though inadequate. - The changeful hand - Of Autumn sheds o’er forest, copse, and grove, - In gorgeous hues, the symbol of decay; - But here and there some fondly lingering flower, - Sweet resonance of Summer, cheers the rocks - Where warm suns latest smile. - Oh, fairest Isle! - I grieve to say farewell. Still for the sake - Of those I love, and for the memories dear, - And sacred hospitalities that cling - Around the mansion, whence my steps depart, - Peace be within the palace-domes that crest - Thy sea-girt hills, and ’neath the cottage roofs - That nestle ’mid thy dells. For when I dream - Of some blest Eden that survived the fall, - That dream shall be of thee. - - * * * * * - - - - - EVENING. - - - Shades of Evening! ye remind me - Of my own declining sun, - And of scenes I’ll leave behind me - When my sands of life are run! - - Should that change come ere to-morrow, - Grant that I may sink to rest, - And from Virtue’s glory borrow - Hues to make my Evening blest. - J. HUNT, JR. - - * * * * * - - - - - WOODLAWN: - - - OR THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MEDAL. - - - BY F. E. F., AUTHOR OF A “MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE,” ETC. - - - ’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view. - Campbell. - -“What are you thinking of so intently, Annie?” asked Kate Leslie, of her -cousin. “You have not spoken for the last half hour.” - -Annie roused herself and answered with a smile, “Only of last night’s -Opera. Nothing very important, you see.” - -“And what of the Opera?” pursued Kate. “Come, I should like to hear a -genuine, unsophisticated opinion of our most fashionable city -amusement.” - -“I was thinking less of the music, Kate!” returned Annie, “than of the -audience.” - -“And of the audience?” persisted Kate. - -“Well, Kate, if you will have it, I was only thinking how happy and gay -they all looked. What a different world it was from any I had ever seen -before; and thinking what a difference of fate there was between those -elegant-looking girls who sat opposite, and myself.” - -“Ah! the Hautons, they are fortune’s favorites indeed. They have every -thing, fortune, family, fashion—and elegant, high-bred looking things -they are. They called yesterday and left a card for you; but Mrs. Hauton -told mamma last night that they were moving out to Woodlawn, and hoped -we would return the visit there. I should like it of all things, for the -place is magnificent, and I am told they entertain delightfully. We have -always visited in the city, but have never before been invited out of -town. As soon as Mrs. Hauton is settled there, I presume we shall hear -from her. Fanny Elliot spent a week with them last summer, and she said -it was a continued round of dinner and evening-parties all the time. -Beside invited guests, they have always preparations made for unexpected -company. The table is laid every day as for a dinner-party, with silver, -and I don’t know how many men in attendance. And then they have a -billiard-room and library, and green-house and horses—and all in the -handsomest style.” - -“And an opera-box in town,” said Annie, with something that approached a -sigh. - -“Oh, yes, an opera-box, and every thing else you can think of. They live -in the city in the winter, and their parties are always the most elegant -of the season. The girls dress exquisitely, too. They import most of -their things; and, in short, I don’t know any one I’d rather be than one -of those Hautons.” - -Annie, who lived in the quiet little village of C——, where her father, -the principal lawyer in the place, could just manage to maintain his -family in a plain, comfortable, but rather homespun way, was rather -dazzled by this picture of the Hautons; and her heart quite died within -her at the idea of paying a visit among such grand people. She looked -upon Kate’s fearlessness on the subject with some surprise. But then -Kate, she remembered, was “used to such people.” But how should she, a -little village-girl, appear among these fashionables. Then her dress, -(that first thought among women,) she almost hoped Mrs. Hauton would -forget to follow up her invitation. - -A few days after, however, Kate entered the room, saying, “Here is a -note from Mrs. Hauton, Annie, as I expected. She wishes us to pass a few -days at Woodlawn. Mamma desired me to show it to you before she answered -it. So what do you say?” - -“Just what you do, of course,” replied Annie. “They are almost strangers -to me, you know; so you must decide for us both. I am ready to accept or -refuse—” - -“Oh, my dear,” interrupted Kate, quickly, “I would not have you refuse -on any account. I am particularly glad, for your sake, that the -invitation should have come while you are with us. Indeed, Annie, I -consider you quite in luck that we are asked just at this time.” - -“How long are we to stay?” inquired Annie. - -“We are invited from Monday to Wednesday, in English style,” replied -Kate, “which I like. Of all things I hate that indefinite period of ‘as -long as you find it agreeable,’ when half your time is spent in trying -to find out how long you are expected to remain, and your hostess is -equally occupied in endeavoring to ascertain when you mean to go.” - -Annie’s eyes dilated with surprise at this definition of city -hospitality, which sounded to her fresh country ears and primitive ideas -as somewhat remarkable, but concluding that her cousin was in jest, she -smiled as she said, - -“Is it usual to fix a time for your friends’ departure as it is for -their coming, Kate?” - -“No,” answered Kate. “I wish it were. It would not, then, be such a -formidable matter to ask them.” - -“Are you in earnest?” asked Annie, looking up surprised. - -“To be sure I am,” replied Kate. “You don’t know what a bore it is to -have a place near the city, Annie, and to have people coming forever, -without an idea when they are going.” - -“Then why do you ask them at all, if you don’t want them?” inquired -Annie. - -“Oh, because you _must_,” said Kate. “Some expect it, to others you owe -civilities; and its all very well if the time of their going was only -fixed. Two or three days for people you don’t care for, and who don’t -care for you, is long enough.” - -“Plenty, I should think,” answered Annie, emphatically. “And I should -not think, Kate, there was any danger of guests under such circumstances -remaining longer.” - -“Much you know of it, my dear!” said Kate, in a droll tone of despair. -“The less you care for them, and the greater the bores, the longer they -stay. But papa and mamma have such old-fashioned notions of hospitality, -that they wont adopt this new style of naming the days of the -invitation. The Hautons understand the matter better.” - -“Come, Annie,” said Kate, the next day, “as we are to breakfast at -Woodlawn, we shall have no time to do any thing in the morning, so we -may as well pack our trunk now. I suppose you’ll ride out in your gray -barège,” she continued, as she opened the wardrobe to take down some of -her own and her cousin’s dresses. - -Now as this gray barège was one of Annie’s two best dresses, and which -she was accustomed to think quite full dress, she hesitated, and said, -with some surprise, - -“My gray barège for the morning?” - -“Yes, it will do very well,” continued Kate, supposing her hesitation -proceeded from diffidence as to its being too plain. “The simpler a -breakfast-dress the better; and gray is always a good _unnoticeable_ -color.” - -Annie almost gasped. If she was to begin with her barège for breakfast, -what should she do for dinner. But Kate proceeded with, - -“Take the sleeves out of your book-muslin, Annie, and that will do for -dinner. You are always safe in white, and I suppose they will supply us -with Camelias from the green-house for our heads.” - -“Book-muslins, short sleeves, and Camelia’s for dinner.” Annie’s heart -beat high between expectation and fear. She almost wished the visit -over, and yet would not have given it up for the world. - -Monday morning arrived, and an hour’s drive brought them to Woodlawn. -And as they drove up through the beautiful avenues of elms, and stopped -before a very large, handsome house, which commanded a beautiful lawn, -Annie felt that the place quite equalled her expectations. - -Mrs. Hauton received them with great politeness, made a slight apology -for her “lazy girls,” who were not yet down, and showed them into the -breakfast-room before the young ladies made their appearance. - -They came gliding in presently, looking very elegant and high-bred, -dressed in the finest white lawn negligées, with the prettiest little -thread-lace caps on their heads; their whole toilet exquisitely fine, -simple, and _recherché_, so that poor Annie felt at once the value and -consolation of the expression, “_unnoticeable_,” that Kate had applied -to her barège, and which had rather astonished her at the time. - -They did not seem to feel called upon to apologize for their not being -ready to receive their guests, but only found it “very warm,” asked at -what time they left the city, and were quite shocked at the early hour -they mentioned, and thought it “must have been very disagreeable,” and -it was evident from their manner that they would not have risen so early -to come and see them. - -The conversation became general, if that can be called conversation -which consisted of some remarks upon the long-continued drought from -Mrs. Hauton, with rejoinders as to the heat and dust of the city, from -Mrs. Leslie. Mr. Leslie inquired something about the state of the crops -of Mr. Hauton, and Mr. Hauton asked a question or two about the new -rail-road. The young ladies kept up a little scattering small-talk, -consisting chiefly of questions as to who had left town, and who -remained yet in the city, and where the Leslies were going, etc., all of -which Annie would have thought very dull, if she had not been too much -oppressed by the novelty and elegance of every thing around her to dare -to think at all. - -After breakfast a walk was proposed through the garden, and Mrs. Hauton, -with Mrs. Leslie, walking on before, the young ladies followed. Mrs. -Hauton commenced a long story about her head gardener, who had behaved, -she said, “very ungratefully in leaving her for a place where he could -get higher wages, when she had dismissed the man she had, to take him, -because he had offered to come on lower terms, and after she had kept -him for a year, he had now left her, for the very wages she had given -her first man; but they are all so mercenary,” she concluded with -saying. - -Annie could not help thinking that if a rich woman like Mrs. Hauton -thought so much of additional wages, it was not surprising that her -gardener, who probably had a family depending on him, did not value them -less; nor did she see the call upon his gratitude for having been -engaged at less than his worth. - -Then Mrs. Hauton proceeded to tell Mrs. Leslie how many men they kept at -work on the place, and how much they gave them a day, and at what an -enormous cost they kept up the green-house, which “was, after all, of no -use to them, as they spent their winters in the city, and the girls had -more bouquets sent to them than they wanted.” And then followed her -complaints of the grapery, which were equally pathetic, and all was -excessively pompous and prosy. - -Annie was in admiration of her aunt’s good breeding, which supplied her -with patience and attention, and suitable rejoinders to all Mrs. -Hauton’s enumeration of the calls on her purse, and the plagues of her -wealth. Indeed, Annie began rather to doubt whether her aunt could be as -tired as she at first thought she must be, she kept up the conversation -with so little appearance of effort. She did not herself listen to the -half of it, but whenever she did, she always found it was some long -story about the dairy-woman, who would do what she should not, or the -price of the luxuries by which they were surrounded, which Mrs. Hauton -seemed to think a great imposition that they could not have for nothing. - -Meantime the Miss Hautons kept up a languid complaint of the heat, and -asked Kate if she did not find it “horrid.” And when Annie stopped to -look at some beautiful and rare flowers, and asked their name, they -replied they did not know, “the gardener could tell her,” and seemed -rather annoyed at her stopping in the sun to look at them, and wondered -at her curiosity about any thing so uninteresting. Annie was something -of a botanist, and would gladly have lingered over other plants that -were new to her, for the garden was under the highest cultivation; but -she saw that it was an interruption to the rest of the party, and they -sauntered on. - -She could not help, however, pausing again with an exclamation of -delight before a moss rose-tree in full bearing, when Miss Hauton said, -somewhat sarcastically, - -“You are quite an enthusiast in flowers, Miss Cameron.” - -“I am very fond of them,” replied Annie, coloring at the tone in which -the remark was made; “Are not you?” - -“No,” replied the young lady, carelessly, “I don’t care for them at all. -I like a bouquet well enough in the winter. It finishes one’s dress, but -I don’t see the use of them at all in summer.” - -“Oh, I hate them,” added her sister, almost pettishly. “They are such a -plague. People who come out are always wanting some; and then the -gardener is to be sent for, and he always grumbles at cutting them, and -half the time he has not cord to tie them up, and papa sends me to the -house for some. If I had a place, I would not have a flower on it; but -mamma says the gardener has not any thing to do but to attend to the -garden, so she will have flowers.” - -“Why, certainly, my dear,” said Mrs. Hauton, who caught this last -remark, “what should we pay Ralston such wages to do nothing. He gets -his money easy enough now. If he had merely the green-house to take care -of, I think it would be too bad.” - -So flowers were cultivated, it seemed, chiefly that the gardener might -not gain his living without “the sweat of his brow.” - -As they came within sight of the river, to which the lawn sloped, Annie -proposed that they should walk down to it; but the young ladies assured -her at once that she would find it “very disagreeable;” and asking if -they were not tired, turned their footsteps toward the house. - -They returned to the drawing-room, and after a little dawdling -conversation, Miss Hauton took down her embroidery frame, and began to -sort worsteds, while Miss Fanny produced a purse and gold beads, of -which she offered to show Kate the stitch. - -Kate congratulated herself in the depths of her heart, that she had had -foresight to arm herself with some needles and silk, and felt equal to -all the emergencies of the morning; but poor Annie, one of whose -accomplishments had not been to spend money and waste time in fancy -work, could only offer to assist Miss Hauton in winding worsteds, by way -of doing something. - -Fortunately for Mrs. Leslie, Mrs. Hauton’s stream of talk was unceasing. -She told innumerable and interminable stories (at least so they seemed -to Annie) of the impositions of poor people; was very indignant at the -sums they were called upon to give, and highly excited at the prices -which were demanded of them, and which she thought people in more -moderate circumstance were not asked. But more indignant yet was she -when, on some occasions, they had not been treated with more prompt -attention, and had superior comforts to others who were not as rich as -themselves. She only, it seemed, expected to be put on a level with -poorer people when the paying was in question. She evidently had an idea -that the knowledge of her wealth was to procure her civilities which she -was very angry at being called upon to pay for. - -Annie thought it the longest morning she had ever passed; and when the -servants announced the luncheon, she awoke as from a nightmare. - -Gathering round the table, everybody ate, not from appetite, but ennui. -Mrs. Hauton continued her stream of talk, (for, apparently, she had no -sense of fatigue,) which now turned upon the hot-house and the price of -her forced fruits. - -Another hour passed in the drawing-room, in the same way, and Annie -happening to be near a table, on which lay some books, took up a new -review in which she was soon absorbed. After reading a few pages she -(being the first person who had looked into it) was obliged to cut the -leaves, when she heard Miss Hauton say, in the same scornful tone in -which she had pronounced her an enthusiast in flowers, - -“Miss Cameron is literary, I see;” and Annie, coloring, again dropped -the book, and returned to her wearisome place on the sofa. - -Kate found to her great delight that company was expected to dinner, and -when the preparation-bell rang, the girls, almost in a state of -exhaustion, retired to dress. - -“Kate,” exclaimed Annie, “I am almost dead. I don’t know what has tired -me so, but I feel as if I had been in an exhausted receiver.” - -Kate laughed. - -“You should have brought some work with you, Annie. If you had only been -counting stitches, as I have been, you don’t know what a support it -would have been to you under Mrs. Hauton’s talk. She is intolerable if -you listen to her—but that I did not do. However, take courage. The -Langtrees and Constants, and Merediths, are coming to dinner. Here, let -me put this wreath of honeysuckle in your hair. There, it’s very -becoming; only, Annie, you must not look so tired,” she continued, -laughing, “or I am afraid you’ll make no conquests. And Constant and -Meredith are coming with their sisters.” - -After half an hour’s free and unconstrained chat, and conscious of a -pretty and becoming toilet, refreshed and invigorated for a new attempt -in society, Annie accompanied her aunt and cousin again to the -drawing-room. - -The new comers had arrived; a stylish-looking set—the girls in full -dress, the young men so whiskered and mustachioed that Annie was -surprised to hear them speak English. They were received with great -animation by the Hautons, who seemed to belong to that class of young -ladies who never thoroughly wake but at the approach of a gentleman. - -The young men glanced slightly at Annie, and Mr. Meredith even gave her -a second look. He thought her decidedly pretty, and a “new face,” which -was something; but after a remark or two, finding she “knew nobody,” and -did not belong to the clique, the trouble of finding topics of mutual -interest seemed greater than he thought her worth, and so he turned to -Miss Hauton; and Annie soon found herself dropped from a conversation -that consisted entirely of personal gossip. - -“So, the wedding has come off at last,” said Susan Hauton to Mr. -Constant. “I hope the Gores are satisfied now. Were you there? How did -Mr. Langley look?” - -“Resigned,” replied the young man, slightly shrugging his shoulders. - -Susan laughed, though at what Annie could not very well perceive, and -continued with, - -“And the bride—how did she look?” - -“As brides always do—charmingly, of course,” he replied, languidly. -“You ladies, with your veils, and flowers, and flounces, may set nature -herself at defiance, and dare her to recognize you such as she made -you.” - -“If Fanny Gore looked charming,” said Ellen Hauton, sarcastically, “I -think it might have puzzled more than dame Nature to recognize her. I -doubt whether Mr. Langley would have known her under such a new aspect.” - -“I think we may give him credit for differing from others on that -point,” said Kate. “A woman has a right to be thought pretty once in her -life, and Cupid’s blind, fortunately.” - -“Cupid may be, but Mr. Langley is not,” replied Miss Hauton, in the same -careless, sneering tone. “It’s a shameful take in.” - -“A take in!” repeated Kate, with surprise. - -“Yes, certainly,” replied Miss Hauton. “He did not want to marry her.” - -“Then why did he?” asked Kate. “He was surely a free agent.” - -“No, he was not,” persisted Miss Susan. “The Gores would have him; they -followed him up, and never let him alone until they got him.” - -“Do you believe,” returned Kate, with some spirit, “that any man is to -be made to marry against his will? There’s no force can do it.” - -“But the force of flattery,” said young Meredith; “is a very powerful -agent, Miss Leslie.” - -“Then,” said Kate, laughing, “every match is a ‘take in,’ on that -ground. Is not every bride flattered till she feels as if she had -entered a new state of being? Is not every girl turned, for the time -being, into a beauty? Do you suppose any body ever yet fell in love on -the truth?” - -“No, indeed,” replied the gentleman. “Truth’s kept where she should be, -at the ‘bottom of a well.’ A most ill-bred personage, not fit for ‘good -society,’ certainly.” - -Then the conversation branched off to other matches, and to Annie’s -surprise she heard these high-bred, delicate looking girls, talk of -their friends making “dead sets” and “catches,” and of young men being -“taken in,” in a style that struck her as decidedly vulgar. Kate, to -turn the subject, asked Mr. Constant if he had been to the opera the -night before. - -“I looked in,” he replied. “Vita was screaming away as usual.” - -“Oh, is not she horrid?” exclaimed Miss Hauton. - -“The opera’s a bore,” pursued her sister. “Caradori’s detestable and -Vita a horror. I hope they’ll get a new troupe next winter. I am sick of -this set.” - -“I thought you were fond of the opera,” remarked Kate. “You are there -always.” - -“Yes; we have a box, and one must go somewhere; but I was tired to death -before the season was half over. Here, Mr. Meredith, hold this silk for -me,” she continued, calling to the young gentleman, who was looking out -of the window, meditating the possibility of making his escape to the -refreshment of a cigar. - -“That’s right, make him useful, Miss Hauton,” said Mr. Constant, as the -reluctant Meredith declared himself most happy and honored in being so -employed; but he set his back teeth firmly, and with difficulty -suppressed a yawn, which was evident in spite of his efforts to conquer -it. Miss Hauton’s animation, however, was more than a match for his -indifference. He was not to be let off. Young ladies, and high-bred ones -too, will sometimes pin young gentlemen, whether or no. It’s bad policy; -for Annie heard him say, as he afterward escaped and walked off the -piazza with his friend, and a cigar in his mouth, - -“What bores these girls are, with their confounded worsteds and -nonsense.” - -The evening passed in pretty much the same way. Much gossip, varied with -some very bad music, for Miss Hauton sang, and, like most amateurs, -would undertake more than she could execute. Annie thought of the -“screamer Vita” and that “horrid Caradori,” and wondered that ears that -were so delicate, so alive to the smallest fault in the music of others, -should have so little perception of their own sins of commission. - -“Oh,” said Kate, as they retired to their room at night, “did not the -Hauton’s ‘Casta Diva’ set your teeth on edge? Such an absurdity, for a -girl like her to attempt what few professional persons can sing. You -look tired to death, Annie, and no wonder, for, between you and I, these -Hautons are very common girls. Strange! I’ve known them for years, and -yet never knew them before. Dress and distance make such a difference.” - -“They seem to have so little enjoyment in anything,” remarked Annie. -“Every thing seems, in their phrase, ‘a bore.’ Now, to us in the -country, every thing is a pleasure. I suppose it is because we have so -little,” she continued, smiling, “that we must make the most of it.” - -“Well,” said Kate, doubtfully, as if the idea was quite new to her, “is -not that better than to be weary with much?” - -“And yet you would laugh at one of our little meetings,” replied Annie, -“where we talk of books, sing ballads, and sometimes dance after the -piano.” - -“That is primitive, to be sure,” said Kate, with something of contempt -in her heart for such gothic amusements. - -“It’s pleasant, at any rate,” thought Annie, as she laid her head on her -pillow and remembered, with infinite satisfaction, that she had only one -day more to stay among these very fine, very common people. - -“And is it possible,” she thought, “that I should be such a fool as to -envy them because they looked gay and graceful across the opera house? -And half of the rest of them are, doubtless, no better. Oh for one -pleasant, spirited talk with Allan Fitzhugh.” And then her mind traveled -off to home and a certain clever young lawyer, and she fell asleep -dreaming she was in C——, and was once again a _belle_, (as one always -is in one’s dreams,) and awoke to another dull day of neglect and -commonplaces, to return home more disenchanted of the gay world and its -glitter, more thoroughly contented than she ever would have been with -her own intelligent and animated home, had she not passed three days at -Woodlawn, amid the dullness of wealth, unembellished by true refinement -or enlightened by a ray of wit. - -But it was all right. To Annie had been given that which she most -appreciated; to the Hautons all that they were capable of enjoying. - -Would either party have changed? No. The pity was mutual, the contempt -was mutual, and the satisfaction of both sides as complete as ever falls -to the lot of mortals. Annie had seen the other side of the medal, and -the Hautons did not know there was another side to be seen. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE WASTED HEART. - - - BY MISS L. VIRGINIA SMITH. - - - “The trees of the forest shall blossom again, - The song-bird shall warble its soul-thrilling strain, - But the heart Fate hath wasted no spring can restore, - And its song shall be joyful—no more, never more.” - - A blush was deepening through the folded leaves - Of that young, guileless heart, and far within - Upon the altar of her soul a flame - Like to an inspiration came; she _felt_ - That she had learned to love as e’en the heart - Of woman seldom loves. - She was an orphan child, and sorrow’s storm - With bitter breath had swept her gentle soul; - But that was past—and fresh in purity - It reveled in a blissful consciousness— - It _loved_, and _was beloved_. - - She _knew_ she loved—and when the twilight dim - Stole on with balmy silence, she would list - A coming step, whose music fall kept time - To all the hurried throbbings of her heart, - And when it stayed, a softened glance would seek - Her drooping eye, whose deepest faith had poured - Its dreamy worship forth so fearlessly; - Eyes that to him alone were _never_ silent, - Whose glances sometimes sought for his, and threw - Their light far through his spirit, till it thrilled - To music every tightened nerve that strung - The living lyre of being. - - At such an hour his burning passion slept - Before the portals of their azure heaven, - Like to some wandering angel who has sunk - To rest beside the glory-shadowed gate - Of a lost Paradise; and when he bowed - To press his lip upon the brow that lay - Soft pillowed on his bosom, she would start - Up from his half embrace, and then, to hide - Her sweet confusion, turn aside to part - With white and jeweled fingers, tremblingly, - The rich, dark masses of his waving hair. - Then joyous hopes came crowding brightly through - Their dreaming souls, as did the evening stars - Through the calm heaven above them, and the world - Of happiness that lay upon their hearts - Was silent all, for language had no words - To shadow forth the fond imaginings, - That made its very atmosphere a heaven - Of dreamy, rich, voluptuous purity. - An angel bowed before the mercy-seat - Trusts not more purely in the changeless One - To whom his prayer ascendeth, than did she - The proud, bright being whom her deathless love - Had made its idol-god—she could have laid - Her soft white hand in his without one thought - Except of love and trust, and bade him lead - Her to the end of life’s bewildered maze, - Blindfolded, while her heart on his would rest - Without one care for Time, one lonely fear - For that Eternity which mortals dread. - Such, then, is _woman’s love_—and wo to him - By whom her trusting nature is betrayed! - —— - A change—a fearful, sad and blighting change— - Came o’er them—how or why it matters not— - Enough to know it came—enough to _feel_ - That they shall meet as they have met, no more. - Of him we speak not—we but know he lives; - And she whose heart, whose very life was his, - Could tell you nothing more. - Lost—lost forever—and her life stood still, - And gazed upon the future’s cold gray heaven, - As if to catch one gleam of hope’s fair star— - No hope was there for her—the hand of God - Lay darkly in the cloud that shadowed it. - A _never-ending, living death_ was hers, - And one by one she saw her hopes expire, - But shed no tear, because the fount was dry; - Hers was a grief too strangely sad for tears. - You heard no shriek of anguish as the tide - Of cold and leaden loneliness swept in - Upon her gentle bosom, though the fall - Of earth upon the coffin of the loved - And lost was not more fearful. - She prayed for power to “_suffer and be still_.” - And God was merciful—it came at last, - As dreamless slumber to a heart that mourns. - She smoothed her brow above a burning brain, - Her eye was bright, and strangers never knew - That all its brilliancy and light was drawn - From out the funeral pyre of every hope - That in an earlier, happier hour had glowed - On passion’s hidden altar. Months rolled on, - And when the softened color came again - To cheek and lip, it was as palely bright - As though from out a sleeping rose’s heart - Its sweetest life had faded tranquilly. - She mingled with the world—its gay saloons - Gave back the echo of her joyous laugh; - Her ruby lip, wreathed with its winning smile, - Gently replied to gentler flatteries, - And when her soul flowed forth upon the waves - Of feeling in the charméd voice of song, - You would have deemed that gushing melody - The music of a purest, happiest heart, - So bird-like was its very joyousness. - And many envied that lone orphan girl - Her light and happy spirit—oh! it was - A bitter, burning mockery! when her life - Was one continued struggle with itself - To _seem_ what it could never _be_—to hide - Its gnawing vulture ’neath a sunny smile— - To crush the soul that panted to be free— - And force her gasping heart to drink again - The love that _fed upon itself_ and wore - Her inner life away! - They could not know her—could not understand - How one could live, and smile, and _still be cursed_, - Cursed with a “living judgment,” once to be - Beloved—and then to be beloved no more, - And _never to forget_. Her life was like - Some pictured lily which the artist’s hand - Gives its proportion—shades its virgin leaves - With nature’s beauty—but the bee can find - No banquet there—the breeze waft no perfume. - The shadows of the tomb have lengthened o’er - Her sky that blushes with the morn of life; - Far on the inner shrine of Memory’s fane, - Lie the cold ashes of her “wasted heart,” - By burning sighs that sweep the darkened soul, - By lava-drops wrung from a fevered brain, - Or e’en the breath of God to be rekindled - Never—no “_never more!_” - —— - And thus it is that _woman’s_ sacrifice - Upon the altar of existence is - (That pulse of life) her _warm_ and _loving heart_! - Far other tongues beside the poet’s lyre - There are to teach us that we often _do_ - But “let our young affections run to waste - And water but the desert”—that we make - An idol to ourselves—we bow before - Its worshiped altar-stone, and even while - Our incense-wreaths of adoration rise - It crumbles down before that breath, a mass - Of shining dust; we garner in our hearts - A stream of love undying, but to pour - Its freshness out at last upon a shrine - Of gilded clay! - Our barque floats proudly on— - The waves of Time may bear us calmly o’er - This life’s deep under-current—but the tones - Of love that woke the echoes of the Past - Are stilled, or only murmur mournfully, - “_No more—oh! never more!_” - And other hearts who bow before the shrine - Of young though shadowed beauty—can they know - What is the idol that they seek to win? - A _mind the monument_—a _form_ the _grave_— - Where sleep the ashes of a “_wasted heart_!” - - * * * * * - - - - - A HEALTH TO MY BROTHER. - - - BY R. PENN SMITH. - - - Fill the bowl to the brim, there’s no use in complaining; - We’ll drown the dark dream, while a care is remaining; - And though the sad tear may embitter the wine, - Drink half, never fear, the remainder is mine. - - True, others may drink in the lightness of soul, - But the pleasure I think is the tear in the bowl; - Then fill up the bowl with the roseate wine, - And the tears of my soul shall there mingle with thine. - - And that being done, we will quaff it, my brother; - Who drinks of the one should partake of the other. - Thy head is now gray, and I follow with pain.— - Pshaw! think of our day, and we’re children again. - - ’Tis folly to grieve that our life’s early vision - Shone but to deceive, and then flit in derision. - A fairy-like show, far too fragile to last; - As bright as the rain-bow, and fading as fast. - - ’Tis folly to mourn that our hearts’ foolish kindness - Received in return but deceit for their blindness; - And vain to regret that false friends have all flown; - Since fortune hath set, we can buffet alone. - - Then fill up the glass, there’s no use in repining - That friends quickly leave us, when fortune’s declining— - Let each drop a tear in the roseate bowl; - A tear that’s sincere, and then pledge to the soul. - - * * * * * - - - - - “WHAT CAN WOMAN DO?” - - - OR THE INFLUENCE OF AN EXAMPLE. - - - BY ALICE B. NEAL. - - - Good, therefore, is the counsel of the Son of Sirach. “Show not - thy valiantness in wine; for wine hath destroyed many.” - Jeremy Taylor. - -“I am glad you admire my pretty cousin,” said Isabel Gray to a gentleman -seated near her. “She deserves all her good fortune, which is the -highest possible compliment when you see how devoted her husband is and -what a palace-like home he has given her.” - -“It does, indeed, seem the very abode of taste and elegance,” and the -speaker looked around the luxurious apartment with undisguised -admiration. - -The room, with its occupants, seemed, in the mellow light which came -from lotus shaped vases, like a fine old picture set in a gorgeous -frame. The curtains, falling in fluted folds, shut out the dreariness of -a chill November night—a glowing carpet, on whose velvet surface seemed -thrown the richest flowers and the most luscious fruits, in wild but -graceful confusion, muffled the tread of the well-trained servants. A -few rare pictures hung upon the walls, and a group of beautiful women -were conspicuous among the guests who this evening shared the -hospitality of the master of the mansion. The dessert had just been -placed upon the table—rare fruits were heaped in baskets of delicate -_Sèvres_, that looked _woven_ rather than moulded into their graceful -shapes; cones and pyramids of delicately tinted ices, and sparkling -bon-bons—in fine, all that could tempt the most fastidious appetite, -had been gathered together for this bridal feast. - -Very happy was William Rushton that night, and how fondly he glanced, in -the pauses of conversation, toward his lovely wife, who, for the first -time, had assumed her place as mistress of all this elegance. But hers -was a subdued and quiet loveliness, - - “Not radiant to a _stranger’s_ eye,” - -and many wondered that his choice should have fallen upon her, when -Isabel Gray seemed so much better suited to his well known -fastidiousness. Isabel had passed the season of early girlhood, yet her -clear brow was as smooth, and her complexion as glowing, as when she had -first entered society the belle of the season. Four winters had passed, -and, to the astonishment of many an acquaintance, she was still -unmarried; and now, as the bridemaid of the wealthy Mrs. Rushton, she -was once more the centre of fashion—the observed of all. - -Glittering glasses, of fanciful shape and transparent as if they had -been the crystal goblets of Shiraz, were sparkling among the fruits and -flowers. Already they were foaming to the brim with wines, that might -have warmed the heart of the convivial Clarence himself, whose age was -the topic of discourse among the gentlemen and of comment to their -pretty listeners, who were well aware that added years would be no great -advantage to _them_ in the eyes of these boasting connoisseurs. - -“No one can refuse that,” came to the ears of Isabel Gray, in the midst -of an animated conversation. - -“The health of our fair hostess,” said her companion, by way of -explanation. “We are all friends, you know. Your glass, Miss Gray,” and -he motioned the attendant to fill it. - -“Excuse me,” said she, in a quick, earnest voice, which drew the -attention of all. “I will drink to Lucy with all my heart, but in water, -if you please,” and she playfully filled the tall glass from a water -goblet near her. - -“May I be permitted to follow Miss Gray’s example? She must not claim -all the honor of this new fashion,” and the speaker, a young man with a -fine though somewhat sad face, suited the action to the word. - -Courtesy subdued the astonishment and remonstrances of the host and his -fashionable friends, and this strange freak of Miss Gray’s formed the -topic of conversation after the ladies withdrew. - -“I do not think it a fancy—Isabel Gray always acts from principle,” -said one of the party, with whom she had been conversing; and Robert -Lewis, for so they called her supporter in this unparalleled refusal, -gayly declared himself bound, for that night at least, to drink nothing -but water, for her sake. - -“Oh, Isabel, how could you do so?” said her cousin, as they re-entered -the drawingroom, and the ladies had dispersed in various groups to -examine and admire its decorations. - -“Do what, dear Lucy?” - -“Why, act in such a strange way. I never knew you to refuse wine before. -You might, at least, have touched the glass to your lips, as you always -have done. Mr. Rushton was too polite to remonstrate, but I saw he -looked terribly annoyed. He is so proud of his wines, too, and I wanted -him to like you so much. I would not have had it happen—oh, for any -thing,” and the little lady clasped her hands with a most tragical look -of distress. - -“How very terrible! Is it such a mighty offense? But, seriously, it was -not a freak. I shall never take wine again.” - -“And all my parties to attend? You will be talked about all winter. Why, -nothing is expected of a lady now-a-days but to sip the least possible -quantity; and, besides, champagne, you know, Isabel—champagne never -hurt any one.” - -“I have seen too much of its ill effects to agree with you there, Lucy. -It has led to intemperance again and again. My heart has long condemned -the practice of convivial drinking, and I cannot countenance it even by -_seeming_ to join. Think of poor Talfourd—what made him a beggar and a -maniac! He was your husband’s college friend.” - -“Oh, that is but one in a thousand; and, besides, what influence can you -possibly have. Who, think you, will be the better man for seeing you so -rude—I must say it—as to refuse to take wine with him? - -“We none of us know the influence we exert—perhaps never will know it -in this world. But, still, the principle remains the same. To-night, -however, I had a definite object in my pointed refusal. Young Lewis has -recently made a resolution to avoid every thing that can lead him into -his one fault. Noble, generous to “the half of his kingdom”—highly -cultivated, and wealthy, he nearly shipwrecked his fortune when abroad, -brother tells me, by dissipation—the effect of this same warm-hearted, -generous nature. It is but very lately that he has seen what a moral and -mental ruin threatened him, and has resolved to gain a mastery over the -temptation. I knew of it by accident, and I should not tell it, even to -you, only that it may prevent his being rallied by Mr. Rushton or -yourself. To-night was his first trial. I saw the struggle between -custom, pride, and good resolutions. If he had yielded then, he would -have become disheartened on reflection, and, perhaps, abandoned his new -life altogether. I cannot tell—our fate in this world is decided by -such trivial events. At any rate, I have spared him one stroke—he will -be stronger next time to refuse for himself.” - -“I should not have dreamed of all this! Why I thought it was only his -Parisian gallantry that made him join with you; but, then, if he has -once been dissipated, the case is hopeless.” - -“Oh, no Lucy, not hopeless; when a strong judgment is once convinced, it -is the absence of reflection, or a little moral courage, at first, that -ruins so many.” - -“Excellent, excellent,” cried the lively Mrs. Moore, who came up just in -time to hear Isabel’s closing sentence—“If Miss Gray is not turned -temperance lecturer! Come, ladies, let her have a numerous audience -while she is about it. Ah, I know you think to get into Father Mathew’s -good graces. Shall you call upon him when he arrives, and offer your -services as assistant?” - -“We were discussing the possibility of entire reformation,” said Isabel, -calmly, quite unmoved by Mrs. Moore’s covert sarcasms, to the ladies who -now gathered round the lounge on which she sat. “The reformation of a -man who has been once intemperate, I mean.” - -“Oh, intemperance is so shockingly vulgar, my dear,” quavered forth Mrs. -Bradford, the stately aunt of the hostess. “How can you talk about such -things. No, to be sure, when a man is once dissipated, you might as well -give him up. He’s lost to society, _that’s certain_; besides, we women -have nothing to do with it.” - -“I beg your pardon, my dear madam, but I think we have a great deal to -do, though not in the way of assisting Father Matthew to address -Temperance Conventions, as Mrs. Moore kindly suggests. Moreover, I have -known a confirmed inebriate, so supposed, to give up all his old -associations, and become a useful and honorable member of society.” - -“Tell us about it, please, Miss Gray,” urged Emily Bradford, deeply -interested. “There will be plenty of time before the gentlemen come in.” - -And as the request was seconded by many voices, Isabel told her simple -tale. - -[1]“There is no romance about it, Miss Emily; but you remember those -pretty habit shirts you admired so much last fall—and _you_ have seen -me wear them, Mrs. Moore. They were made by a woman—a _lady_ whom I -first saw years ago, when I passed my vacations at Milton, a little town -not far from Harrisburg. My Aunt Gray was very domestic, and thought it -no disgrace to the wife of a judge, and one of the most prominent men in -the state, to see after her own household. - -“There was a piece of linen to be made up one vacation; and I remember -going into my aunt’s room and finding her surrounded by ‘sleeves and -gussets and bands’—cutting out and arranging them with the most -exemplary patience. ‘Pray, aunt, why do you bother yourself with such -things,’ I said, for I was full of boarding-school notions on the -dignity of _idleness_. ‘Why don’t you leave it for a seamstress.’ - -“‘If you will go with me this afternoon to see my seamstress, you will -find out. I should like you to see her.’ And that afternoon our walk -ended at a plain brown frame house, with nothing to relieve its -unsightliness but a luxuriant morning-glory vine, which covered one of -the lower windows. - -“‘How is Mrs. Hall to-day?’ aunt said to a dirty little fellow who was -making sand pies on the front step. - -“‘She’s in there,’ was all the answer we received, as he pointed toward -a door on the right of the little hall. - -“‘Come in,’ said a faint and very gentle voice; and, at first, I could -hardly see who had spoken, the room was so shaded by the leafy curtain -which had interlaced its fragile stems over the front window. There was -a neat rag carpet on the floor; a few plain chairs, a table, and a -bureau, ranged round the room; but drawn near the window, so that the -light fell directly upon it, was a bed, covered by a well-worn -counterpane, though, like everything else, it was very neat and -clean—and here, supported in a sitting posture by pillows, was my -aunt’s seamstress. I do not think she had been naturally beautiful—but -her features, wasted by long illness, were very delicate, and her eyes -were large, and with the brilliancy you sometimes see in consumptives, -yet a look of inexpressible sadness. She was very pale in that soft -emerald light made by the foliage, and this was relieved by a faint -hectic that, if possible, increased the pallor. She smiled as she saw my -aunt, and welcomed us both very gratefully. As she held out her long -thin hand, you could see every blue vein distinctly. I noticed that she -wore a thimble, and around her, on the bed, were scattered bits of linen -and sewing implements. You cannot tell how strange it seemed to see her -take up a wristband and bend over it, setting stitch after stitch with -the regularity of an automaton, while she talked with us. She seemed -already dying, and this industry was almost painful to witness. - -“I gathered from her conversation with my aunt,—while I looked on and -wondered,—that Mrs. Hall had long been a confirmed invalid. They even -spoke of a ruptured blood-vessel, from the effects of which she was now -suffering. She did not complain—there was not a single murmur at her -illness, or the hard fate that compelled her to work for her daily -bread. I never saw such perfect cheerfulness, and yet I knew, from the -contracted features and teasing cough, that she was suffering intensely. -The little savage we had seen on our arrival, proved to be the son of -her landlady, who was also her nurse and waiting-maid. - -“I was very much interested, and, by the time we bade her good-bye, I -had sketched out quite a romance, in which I was sure she had been the -principal actor. - -“‘Poor lady,’ said I, the instant we were out of the gate. ‘Why do you -let her work, aunt? Why don’t you take her home, you have so many vacant -rooms—or, at least, I should think, there were rich people enough in -Milton to support her entirely. She does not look fit to hold a needle. -Has she no children? and when did her husband die?—was she very -wealthy?’ - -“I poured out my questions so fast that aunt had no time to answer any -one of them, and I had been so much engaged, that I had not noticed a -man reeling along the side-walk toward us, until just in time to escape -the rude contact of his touch, from which I shrunk, almost shrieking. - -“‘Who told you that Mrs. Hall was a widow, Isabel?’ said aunt, to divert -me from my mishap. - -“‘Nobody; but I knew it at once, as soon as I looked at her; how lonely -she must be—and how terrible to see one’s best friend die, and know you -cannot call them back again.’ - -“‘Not half so dreadful, dear,’ answered she, very seriously, ‘as to live -on from day to day and see the gradual death of the soul, while the body -is unwasted. It would be a happy day for Mrs. Hall that made her a -widow, though she, poor thing, might not think so. That wretched -inebriate’—and she pointed to the man we had just met—‘is her husband; -and this is why she plies her needle when we would willingly save her -from all labor. She cannot bear that _he_ should be indebted to the -charity of strangers.’ - -“It was even so, for the poor fellow had reached the garden-gate, and -was staggering in. - -“‘So he goes home to her day after day,’ continued aunt; ‘and so it has -been since a few years after their marriage. When I first came here, he -had a neat shop in the village, and was considered one of the most -promising young men in the neighborhood. Such an excellent workman—such -a clever fellow—so fond and proud of his wife; and everybody said that -Charlotte Adams had married ‘out of all trouble,’ in the country phrase. -Poor girl! she had only entered a sea of misfortunes—for, from the -death of her only child, a fine little fellow, they have been going -down. It is a common story. First, the shop was given up, and he worked -by the day; not long after, they moved to a smaller house, and sold most -of their furniture. It was then she first commenced sewing, and, with -all her industry she could scarcely get along. She could never deny him -money when she had it—and this, with his own earnings, were spent at -the tavern. She remonstrated in vain. He would promise to do better—in -his sober moments he was all contrition, and called himself a wretch to -grieve such a good wife. I do not believe she has ever reproached him, -save by a glance of sorrowful entreaty, such as I have often seen her -give when he entered as now he is going to her. - -“‘She was never very well, and under repeated trials, and sorrow and -mortification, her health gave way. Many a time have I parted with her, -never expecting to see her alive again; but there is some concealed -principle of vitality which supports her. Perhaps it is the hope that -she will yet see her husband what he has been. I fear she hopes in vain, -for if there was ever a man given over to the demon of intemperance it -is James Hall. But it is for this reason that she refuses the assistance -of her acquaintances, and works on from day to day, sometimes as now -unable to leave her bed. Of course she is well paid, and has plenty of -work, for everybody pities her, and all admire the wonderful patience, -cheerfulness and industry which she exhibits. She never speaks to any -one, even to me, of her husband’s faults. If she ever mentions him it is -to say, ‘James has been such a good nurse this week—he has the kindest -heart in the world.’ ‘She is a heroine,’ exclaimed my aunt warmly. ‘The -best wife I ever knew—and if there is mercy in heaven, she will be -repaid for all she has suffered in this world.’ - -“‘Poor lady,’ I thought and said a hundred times that week. I suppose I -must have tired everybody with talking about Mrs. Hall.” - -“And did you ever see her again—_did_ she die, Miss Gray?” asked Emily -Bradford, as Isabel paused in her narration. - -“I told you she made those pretty habit shirts for me. They were not in -fashion in those days if you will recollect. The first summer after my -debut in society I passed at Milton. I never shall forget the second -evening of my visit. If you recollect, there was a great temperance -movement through all our towns and villages just about that time. -Reformed inebriates had become the apostles of temperance, and went from -village to village, rousing the inhabitants by their unlearned but -wonderful eloquence. Mass meetings were held in the town-ball at Milton -nightly, and by uncle’s invitation, for he went heart and hand with the -newly awakened spirit of reform, aunt and myself accompanied him to one -of these strange gatherings. It was with the greatest difficulty we -could get a seat. Rough laborers, with their wives and children, crowded -side by side with the _élite_ of the little place; boys of every age and -size filled up the interstices, with a strange variety of faces and -expressions. The speaker of the evening was introduced just as we -entered. He was tall, with a wan, haggard-looking face, and the most -brilliant, flashing eyes I ever saw. A few months ago he had been on -outcast from society, and now, with a frame weakened by past excesses, -but with a spirit as strong as that which animated the old reformers, he -stood forth, going as it were ‘from house to house, saying peace be unto -you.’ Peace which had fled from his own hearth when he gave way to -temptation, but which now returning urged him to bear glad tidings to -other homes. - -“I never listened to such strange and thrilling eloquence. I have seen -Fanny Kemble as Portia plead with Shylock with all the energy of -justice, and the force of her passionate nature, but though that was -beyond my powers of conception, I was not moved as now. With what -touching pathos he recounted the sorrows, the wasting, mournful want -endured by the drunkard’s wife! The sickness of hope deferred and -crushed—the destruction of all happiness here, or hope of it hereafter! -It was what his own eyes had seen, his own acts had caused—and it was -the eloquence of simple truth. More than one thought of poor Mrs. Hall, -I am sure. As for myself, I know not when I have been so excited, and -after the exhausted speaker had concluded his thrilling appeal, and the -whole rude assembly joined in a song arranged to the plaintive air of -Auld Lang Syne—more like a triumphal chant it seemed, as it surged -through the room—I forgot all rules of form, and though I had sung -nothing but tame Italian _cavatinas_ for years, my voice rose with the -rest, forgetful of all but the scene around me. - -“Scarce had the last strains died away, when through the crowded aisles, -passing the very seat we occupied, some one pressed forward with -trembling eagerness. At first I did not recognize him—but uncle started -and made way for him to the table in front of the speaker’s seat. A -confused murmur of voices ran through the room, as one and another saw -him grasp the printed pledge which was lying there, with the eagerness -of a dying man. The first name subscribed to the solemn promise of total -abstinence that night was James Hall. When it was announced by my uncle -himself, whose voice was fairly tremulous with pleasure, the effect was -electrical. The whole assembly rose, and the room rang with three cheers -from stentorian voices. All order was at an end. Men of all classes and -conditions pressed forward to take him by the hand, and more names were -affixed to the pledge that night than any one could have counted on. - -“It was a proud tribute paid to woman’s influence, when James Hall -grasping the hand of the speaker ejaculated—‘Oh! it was the picture you -drew of what my poor wife has suffered. Heaven bless her! she has been -an angel to me—poor wretch that I am.’ - -“My aunt’s first impulse was to fly to Mrs. Hall with the good news, but -‘let him be the bearer of the glad tidings himself,’ she said afterward. -‘We will offer our congratulations to-morrow.’ And never were -congratulations more sincerely received than by that pale invalid, -trembling even yet with the fear that her great happiness was not real.” - -“Oh! very well,” broke in Mrs. Bradford. “Quite a scene, my dear; you -should have been a novelist. But did he keep it?—_that’s_ the thing.” - -“You would not ask, my dear madam,” answered Isabel, “if you could have -witnessed another ‘scene,’ as you term it, in which Mrs. Hall was an -actor. - -“There is a pretty little cottage standing at the very foot of the lane -which leads to my uncle’s house. This has been built since that -memorable evening by Mr. Hall, now considered the best workman, and one -of the most respected men in Milton; and it was furnished by his wife’s -industry. Her health was restored as if by a miracle; it was indeed -such, but wrought by the returned industry, self-respect, and devotion -of her husband. My aunt and myself were her guests only a few months -ago, the evening of her removal to her new home. - -“We entered before her little preparations were quite finished, and -found Mrs. Hall arranging some light window curtains for the prettily -furnished parlor, while a fine curly-haired, blue-eyed little fellow was -rolling on the carpet at her feet. She was still pale, and will never be -strong again, but a happier wife and mother this world cannot contain. -Her reward has been equal to her great self-sacrifice, and not only -this, but the example of her husband has reformed many of his old -associates, who at first jeered at him when he refused to join them. -There is not a bar now in all Milton, for one cannot be supported.” - -More than one thoughtless girl in the little group clustered around -Isabel began, for the first time, to feel their responsibility as women, -when her little narrative was concluded. But the current of thought and -education is not so easily turned, and by the time the gentlemen entered -the room, most of them had forgotten every thing but a desire to -outshine each other in their good graces. - -Emily Bradford alone remained in the shadow of a curtain, quiet and -apart; and as she stood there musing, her heart beat faster, it may be, -with an unacknowledged pang of jealousy as she saw Robert Lewis speaking -earnestly with Isabel. - -“Heaven bless you, Miss Gray, I confess I wavered—you have made me -ashamed of my weakness; I will not mind their taunting now,” was all -that the grateful, warm-hearted man could say; and he knew by the -friendly clasp of Isabel’s hand that nothing more was needed. Who among -that group of noble and beautiful women had more reason for happiness -than Isabel Gray? Ah, my sisters, if you could but realise that all -beauty and grace are but talents entrusted to your keeping, and that the -happiness of many may rest upon the most trivial act, you would not use -that loveliness for an ignoble triumph, or so thoughtlessly tread the -path of daily life! - - * * * * * - -“Oh, Isabel,” said Lucy Rushton, bursting into her cousin’s room, some -two years from the scenes we have recorded, “what am I to do? Pray -advise me, for you always know every thing.” - -“Not quite as wise as that, dear, but what am I to do for you?” - -“Oh, Emily Bradford has been proposed for by young Lewis, and aunt, who -sees only his wealth and connections, is crazy for the match. Emily -really loves him devotedly; and what am I to do, knowing how near he -once came to downright intemperance? Is it my duty, or is it not, to -tell aunt? It has no effect on Emily, and, besides, he confessed it all -to her when he proposed.” - -“And what does she say?” - -“Why, it’s your fault, after all, for she quotes a story you told that -same night I heard about his folly. You told me that, too. Well, he -declares he has not drank a glass of wine since then, and never will -again. Particularly if he has Emily for his guiding angel, I suppose, -and all that sort of thing. And she believes him, of course.” - -“Well, ‘of course’—don’t say it so despairingly; why not? I do, most -assuredly. I might perhaps have distrusted the reformation if it had -been solely on Emily’s account, a pledge made to gain her, but if I am -not very much mistaken, I think I can trace their attachment to that -same eventful night, but I am very certain he did not declare himself -until quite recently.” - -“So I am to let Emily run the risk?” - -“Yes, if she chooses it; though I do not think there is much. I should -have no hesitation to marry Lewis if I loved him. Emily is a thoughtful, -sensible girl. She does not act without judgment, and she is just the -woman to be the wife of an impulsive, generous man like Lewis. -Sufficient time has elapsed to try his principles, and her companionship -will strengthen them.” - -And so it proved, for there are now few happier homes than the cheerful, -hospitable household over which Emily Lewis presides. Isabel Gray is -always a favorite guest, and Robert predicts that she will never marry. -It may prove so, for she is not of those who would sacrifice herself for -fortune, or give her hand to any man she did not thoroughly respect and -sympathise with, to escape that really very tolerable fate—becoming an -old maid. - ------ - -[1] The circumstances here related are substantially true. - - * * * * * - - - - - ON A PORTRAIT OF CROMWELL. - - - BY JAMES T. FIELDS. - - - “Paint me as I am,” said Cromwell, - Rough with age, and gashed with wars— - “Show my visage as you find it— - Less than truth my soul abhors!” - - This was he whose mustering phalanx - Swept the foe at Marston Moor; - This was he whose arm uplifted - From the dust the fainting poor. - - God had made his face uncomely— - “Paint me as I am,” he said, - So he _lives_ upon the canvas - Whom they chronicled as _dead_! - - Simple justice he requested - At the artist’s glowing hands, - “Simple justice!” from his ashes - Cries a voice that still commands. - - And, behold! the page of History, - Centuries dark with Cromwell’s name, - Shines to-day with thrilling lustre - From the light of Cromwell’s fame! - - * * * * * - - - - - A SEA-SIDE REVERIE. - - - BY ENNA DUVAL. - - - These white-capped waves roll on with pride, as if - The myth that ancient poësy did tell - Were true, and they did bear upon their breasts - King Néreus with state most royal. How - They leap and toss aloft their snowy crests; - And now a tumbling billow springing up - In air, does dash and bound—another comes— - Then playfully they meet, with bursting swell - Dashing their spray-wreaths on the shelving shore, - And quick the ripples hasten back, as if - To join the Ocëanides wild glee. - But when the beaming sunlight fades away - And storm-clouds gather—then the rolling waves, - Without a light, sweep on, and soon is heard - The under-current’s deep and solemn tones, - As on the shore it breaks. - How like to life - These ocean waves! When beaming with the rays - Of sunny Joy, Youths cresting billows bound, - Its frolick waves leap up with gleeful laugh, - Glitt’ring with pleasure’s light; but lo! a cloud - Obscures Life’s sky, and sorrow’s storm awakes, - The heavy swell of grief comes rolling on, - And all the sparkles of Life’s waves are gone! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE BRIDE OF THE BATTLE. - - - A SOUTHERN NOVELET. - - - BY W. GILMORE SIMMS. - - - (_Concluded from page 91._) - - - CHAPTER VIII. - -It was with feelings of a tumultuous satisfaction that Mat Dunbar found -himself in possession of this new prize. He at once conceived a new -sense of his power, and prepared to avail himself of all his advantages. -But we must suffer our friend Brough to become the narrator of this -portion of our history. Anxious about events, Coulter persuaded the old -African, nothing loth, to set forth on a scouting expedition to the -farmstead. Following his former footsteps, which had been hitherto -planted in security, the negro made his way, an hour before daylight, -toward the cabin in which Mimy, and her companion Lizzy, a young girl of -sixteen, were housed. They, too, had been compelled to change their -abodes under the tory usurpation; and now occupied an ancient tenement -of logs, which in its time had gone through a curious history. It had -first been a hog-pen, next a hunter’s lodge; had stabled horses, and had -been made a temporary fortress during Indian warfare. It was ample in -its dimensions—made of heavy cypresses; but the clay which had filled -its interstices had fallen out; of the chimney nothing remained but the -fire-place; and one end of the cabin, from the decay of two or more of -its logs, had taken such on inclination downward, as to leave the -security which it offered of exceedingly dubious value. The negro does -not much regard these things, however, and old Mimy enjoyed her sleeps -here quite as well as at her more comfortable kitchen. The place, -indeed, possessed some advantages under the peculiar circumstances. It -stood on the edge of a limestone sink-hole—one of those wonderful -natural cavities with which the country abounds. This was girdled by -cypresses and pines, and, fortunately for Brough, at this moment, when a -drought prevailed, entirely free from water. A negro loves any thing, -perhaps, better than water—he would sooner bathe in the sun than in the -stream, and would rather wade through a forest full of snakes than -suffuse his epidermis unnecessarily with an element which no one will -insist was made for his uses. It was important that the sink-hole near -Mimy’s abode should be dry at this juncture, for it was here that Brough -found his hiding place. He could approach this place under cover of the -woods. There was an awkward interval of twelve or fifteen feet, it is -true, between this place and the hovel, which the inmates had stripped -of all its growth in the search for fuel, but a dusky form, on a dusky -night, careful to crawl over the space, might easily escape the casual -glance of a drowsy sentinel; and Brough was partisan enough to know that -the best caution implies occasional exposure. He was not unwilling to -incur the risk. We must not detail his progress. Enough that, by dint of -crouching, crawling, creeping, rolling and sliding, he had contrived to -bury himself, at length, under the wigwam, occupying the space, in part, -of a decayed log connected with the clayed chimney; and fitting himself -to the space in the log, from which he had scratched out the rotten -fragments, as snugly as if he were a part of it. Thus, with his head -toward the fire, looking within—his body hidden from those within by -the undecayed portions of the timber, with Mimy on his side of the -fire-place, squat upon the hearth, and busy with the _hominy_ pot, -Brough might carry on the most interesting conversation in the world, in -whispers, and occasionally be fed from the spoon of his spouse, or drink -from the calabash, without any innocent person suspecting his -propinquity. We will suppose him thus quietly ensconced, his old woman -beside him, and deeply buried in the domestic histories which he came to -hear. We must suppose all the preliminaries to be dispatched already, -which, in the case of an African _dramatis personæ_, are usually -wonderfully minute and copious. - -“And dis nigger, Tory, he’s maussa yer for true?” - -“I tell you, Brough, he’s desp’r’t bad! He tak’ ebbry ting for he’sef! -He sway (swears) ebbry ting for him—we nigger, de plantation, boss, -hog, hominy; and ef young misses no marry um—you yeddy? (hear)—he will -hang de maussa up to de sapling, same as you hang scarecrow in de -cornfiel’!” - -Brough groaned in the bitterness of his spirit. - -“Wha’ for do, Brough?” - -“Who gwine say? I ’spec he mus fight for um yet. Mass Dick no chicken! -He gwine fight like de debbil, soon he get strong, ’fore dis ting gwine -happen. He hab sodger, and more for come. Parson ’Lijah gwine fight -too—and dis nigger’s gwine fight, sooner dan dis tory ride, whip and -spur, ober we plantation.” - -“Why, wha’ you tink dese tory say to me, Brough?” - -“Wha’ he say, woman?” - -“He say he gwine gib me hundred lash ef I no get he breckkus (breakfast) -by day peep in de morning!” - -“De tory wha’ put hick’ry ’pon your back, chicken, he hab answer to -Brough.” - -“You will fight for me, Brough?” - -“Wid gun and bagnet, my chicken.” - -“Ah, I blieb you, Brough; you was always lub me wid you’ sperrit!” - -“Enty you blieb? You will see some day! You got ’noder piece of bacon in -de pot, Mimy? Dis hom’ny ’mos’ too dry in de t’roat.” - -“Leetle piece.” - -“Gi’ me.” - -His creature wants were accordingly supplied. We must not forget that -the dialogue was carried on in the intervals in which he paused from -eating the supper which, in anticipation of his coming, the old woman -had provided. Then followed the recapitulation of the narrative, details -being furnished which showed that Dunbar, desperate from opposition to -his will, had thrown off all the restraints of social fear and decency, -and was urging his measures against old Sabb and his daughter with -tyrannical severity. He had given the old man a sufficient taste of his -power, enough to make him dread the exercise of what remained. This -rendered him now, what he had never been before, the advocate himself -with his daughter in behalf of the loyalist. Sabb’s virtue was not of a -self-sacrificing nature. He was not a bad man—was rather what the world -esteems a good one. He was just, as well as he knew to be, in his -dealings with a neighbor; was not wanting in that charity, which, having -first ascertained its own excess of goods, gives a certain proportion to -the needy; he had offerings for the church, and solicited its prayers. -But he had not the courage and strength of character to be virtuous in -spite of circumstances. In plain language, he valued the securities and -enjoyments of his homestead, even at the peril of his daughter’s -happiness. He urged with tears and reproaches, that soon became -vehement, the suit of Dunbar as if it had been his own; and even his -good _vrow_, Minnecker Sabb, overwhelmed by his afflictions and her own, -joined somewhat in his entreaty. We may imagine poor Frederica’s -afflictions. She had not dared to reveal to either the secret of her -marriage with Coulter. She now dreaded its discovery, in regard to the -probable effect which it might have upon Dunbar. What limit would there -be to his fury and brutality, should the fact become known to him? How -measure his rage—how meet its excesses? She trembled as she reflected -upon the possibility of his making the discovery; and while inly -swearing eternal fidelity to her husband, she resolved still to keep her -secret close from all, looking to the chapter of providential events for -that hope which she had not the power to draw from any thing within -human probability. Her eyes naturally turned to her husband, first of -all mortal agents. But she had no voice which could reach to him—and -what was his condition? She conjectured the visits of old Brough to his -spouse, but with these she was prevented from all secret conference. Her -hope was, that Mimy, seeing and hearing for herself, would duly report -to the African; and he, she well knew, would keep nothing from her -husband. We have witnessed the conference between this venerable couple. -The result corresponded with the anticipations of Frederica. Brough -hurried back with his gloomy tidings to the place of hiding in the -swamp; and Coulter, still suffering somewhat from his wound, and -conscious of the inadequate force at his control, for the rescue of his -wife and people, was almost maddened by the intelligence. He looked -around upon his party, now increased to seven men, not including the -parson. But Elijah Fields was a host in himself. The men were also true -and capable—good riflemen, good scouts, and as fearless as they were -faithful. The troop under Dunbar consisted of eighteen men, all well -armed and mounted. The odds were great, but the despair of Richard -Coulter was prepared to overlook all inequalities. Nor was Fields -disposed to discourage him. - -“There is no hope but in ourselves, Elijah,” was the remark of Coulter. - -“Truly, and in God!” was the reply. - -“We must make the effort.” - -“Verily, we must.” - -“We have seven men, not counting yourself, Elijah.” - -“I too am a man, Richard;” said the other, calmly. - -“A good man and a brave; do I not know it, Elijah? But we should not -expose you on ordinary occasions.” - -“This is no ordinary occasion, Richard.” - -“True, true! And you propose to go with us, Elijah?” - -“No, Richard! I will go before you. I _must_ go to prevent outrage. I -must show to Dunbar that Frederica is your wife. It is my duty to -testify in this proceeding. I am the first witness.” - -“But your peril, Elijah! He will become furious as a wild beast when he -hears. He will proceed to the most desperate excesses.” - -“It will be for you to interpose at the proper moment. You must be at -hand. As for me, I doubt if there will be much if any peril. I will go -unarmed. Dunbar, while he knows that I am with you, does not know that I -have ever lifted weapon in the cause. He will probably respect my -profession. At all events, I _must_ interpose and save him from a great -sin, and a cruel and useless violence. When he knows that Frederica is -irrevocably married, he will probably give up the pursuit. If Brough’s -intelligence be true, he must know it now or never.” - -“Be it so;” said Coulter. “And now that you have made your -determination, I will make mine. The odds are desperate, so desperate, -indeed, that I build my hope somewhat on that very fact. Dunbar knows my -feebleness, and does not fear me. I must effect a surprise. If we can do -this, with the first advantage, we will make a rush, and club rifles. Do -you go up in the dug-out, and alone, while we make a circuit by land. We -can be all ready in five minutes, and perhaps we should set out at -once.” - -“Right!” answered the preacher; “but are you equal to the struggle, -Richard?” - -The young man upheaved his powerful bulk, and leaping up to the bough -which spread over him, grasped the extended limb with a single hand, and -drew himself across it. - -“Good!” was the reply. “But you are still stiff. I have seen you do it -much more easily. Still you will do, if you will only economise your -breath. There is one preparation first to be made, Richard. Call up the -men.” - -They were summoned with a single, shrill whistle, and Coulter soon put -them in possession of the adventure that lay before them. It needed -neither argument nor entreaty to persuade them into a declaration of -readiness for the encounter. Their enthusiasm was grateful to their -leader whom they personally loved. - -“And now, my brethren,” said Elijah Fields, “I am about to leave you, -and we are all about to engage in a work of peril. We know not what will -happen. We know not that we shall meet again. It is proper only that we -should confess our sins to God, and invoke his mercy and protection. My -brothers—let us pray!” - -With these words, the party sunk upon their knees, Brough placing -himself behind Coulter. Fervent and simple was the prayer of the -preacher—inartificial but highly touching. Our space does not suffer us -to record it, or to describe the scene, so simple, yet so imposing. The -eyes of the rough men were moistened, their hearts softened, yet -strengthened. They rose firm and resolute to meet the worst issues of -life and death, and, embracing each of them in turn, Brough not -excepted, Elijah Fields led the way to the enemy, by embarking alone in -the canoe. Coulter, with his party, soon followed, taking the route -through the forest. - - - CHAPTER IX. - -In the meantime, our captain of loyalists had gone forward in his -projects with a very free and fearless footstep. The course which he -pursued, in the present instance, is one of a thousand instances which -go to illustrate the perfect recklessness with which the British -conquerors, and their baser allies, regarded the claims of humanity, -where the interests, the rights, or the affections of the whig -inhabitants of South Carolina were concerned. Though resolutely rejected -by Frederica, Dunbar yet seemed determined to attach no importance to -her refusal, but, dispatching a messenger to the village of Orangeburg, -he brought from thence one Nicholas Veitch, a Scotch Presbyterian -parson, for the avowed object of officiating at his wedding rites. The -parson, who was a good man enough perhaps, was yet a weak and timid one, -wanting that courage which boldly flings itself between the victim and -his tyrant. He was brought into the Dutchman’s cottage, which Dunbar now -occupied. Thither also was Frederica brought, much against her will; -indeed, only under the coercive restraint of a couple of dragoons. Her -parents were neither of them present, and the following dialogue ensued -between Dunbar and herself; Veitch being the only witness. - -“Here, Frederica,” said Dunbar, “you see the parson. He comes to marry -us. The consent of your parents has been already given, and it is -useless for you any longer to oppose your childish scruples to what is -now unavoidable. This day, I am resolved, that we are to be made man and -wife. Having the consent of your father and mother, there is no reason -for not having yours.” - -“Where are they?” was the question of Frederica. Her face was very pale, -but her lips were firm, and her eyes gazed without faltering into those -of her oppressor. - -“They will be present when the time comes. They will be present at the -ceremony.” - -“Then they will never be present!” she answered, firmly. - -“Beware, girl, how you provoke me! You little know the power I have to -punish—” - -“You have no power upon my voice or my heart.” - -“Ha!” - -The preacher interposed, “My daughter be persuaded. The consent of your -parents should be enough to incline you to Captain Dunbar. They are -surely the best judges of what is good for their children.” - -“I cannot and I will not marry with Captain Dunbar.” - -“Beware, Frederica,” said Dunbar, in a voice studiously subdued, but -with great difficulty—the passion speaking out in his fiery looks, and -his frame that trembled with its emotions. - -“‘Beware, Frederica!’ Of what should I beware? Your power? Your power -may kill me. It can scarcely go farther. Know, then, that I am prepared -to die sooner than marry you!” - -Though dreadfully enraged, the manner of Dunbar was still carefully -subdued. His words were enunciated in tones of a laborious calm, as he -replied, - -“You are mistaken in your notions of the extent of my power. It can -reach where you little imagine. But I do not desire to use it. I prefer -that you should give me your hand without restraint or coercion.” - -“That I have told you is impossible.” - -“Nay, it is not impossible.” - -“Solemnly, on my knees, I assure you that never can I, or will I, while -I preserve my consciousness, consent to be your wife.” - -The action was suited to the words. She sunk on her knees as she spoke, -and her hands were clasped and her eyes uplifted, as if taking a solemn -oath to heaven. Dunbar rushed furiously toward her. - -“Girl!” he exclaimed, “will you drive me to madness. Will you compel me -to do what I would not!” - -The preacher interposed. The manner of Dunbar was that of a man about to -strike his enemy. Even Frederica closed her eyes, expecting the blow. - -“Let me endeavor to persuade the damsel, my brother,” was the suggestion -of Veitch. Dunbar turned away, and went toward the window, leaving the -field to the preacher. To all the entreaties of the latter Frederica -made the same reply. - -“Though death stared me in the face, I should never marry that man!” - -“Death shall stare you in the face,” was the fierce cry of Dunbar. “Nay, -you shall behold him in such terrors as you have never fancied yet, but -you shall be brought to know and to submit to my power. Ho, there! -Nesbitt, bring out the prisoner.” - -This order naturally startled Frederica. She had continued kneeling. She -now rose to her feet. In the same moment Dunbar turned to where she -stood, full of fearful expectation, grasped her by the wrist, and -dragged her to the window. She raised her head, gave but one glance at -the scene before her, and fell back swooning. The cruel spectacle which -she had been made to witness, was that of her father, surrounded by a -guard, and the halter about his neck, waiting only the terrible word -from the ruffian in authority. - -In that sight, the unhappy girl lost all consciousness. She would have -fallen upon the ground, but that the hand of Dunbar still grasped her -wrist. He now supported her in his arms. - -“Marry us at once,” he cried to Veitch. - -“But she can’t understand—she can’t answer,” replied the priest. - -“That’s as it should be,” answered Dunbar, with a laugh; “silence always -gives consent.” - -The reply seemed to be satisfactory, and Veitch actually stood forward -to officiate in the disgraceful ceremony, when a voice at the entrance -drew the attention of the parties within. It was that of Elijah Fields. -How he had made his way to the building without arrest or interruption -is only to be accounted for by his pacific progress—his being without -weapons, and his well-known priestly character. It may have been thought -by the troopers, knowing what was in hand, that he also had been sent -for; and probably something may be ascribed to the excitement of most of -the parties about the dwelling. At all events, Fields reached it without -interruption, and the first intimation that Dunbar had of his presence -was from his own lips. - -“I forbid this proceeding in the name and by the authority of God,” was -the stern interruption. “The girl is already married!” - - - CHAPTER X. - -Let us now retrace our steps and follow those of Richard Coulter and his -party. We have seen what has been the progress of Elijah Fields. The -route which he pursued was considerably longer than that of his -comrades; but the difference of time was fully equalized by the superior -and embarrassing caution which they were compelled to exercise. The -result was to bring them to the common centre at nearly the same moment, -though the policy of Coulter required a different course of conduct from -that of Fields. Long before he reached the neighborhood of old Sabb’s -farm, he had compelled his troopers to dismount, and hide their horses -in the forest. They then made their way forward on foot. Richard Coulter -was expert in all the arts of the partisan. Though eager to grapple with -his enemy, and impatient to ascertain and arrest the dangers of his -lovely wife, he yet made his approaches with a proper caution. The -denseness of the forest route enabled him easily to do so, and making a -considerable circuit, he drew nigh to the upper part of the farmstead, -in which stood the obscure out-house, which, when Dunbar had taken -possession of the mansion, he assigned to the aged couple. This he found -deserted. He little dreamed for what reason, or in what particular -emergency the old Dutchman stood at that very moment. Making another -circuit, he came upon a copse, in which four of Dunbar’s troopers were -grouped together in a state of fancied security. Their horses were -fastened in the woods, and they lay upon the ground, greedily interested -with a pack of greasy cards, which had gone through the campaign. The -favorite game of that day was _Old Sledge_, or _All Fours_, or _Seven -Up_; by all of which names it was indiscriminately known. Poker, and -Brag, and Loo, and Monte, and _Vingt’un_, were then unknown in that -region. These are all modern innovations, in the substitution of which -good morals have made few gains. Dragoons, in all countries, are -notoriously sad fellows, famous for swearing and gambling. Those of -Dunbar were no exception to the rule. Our tory captain freely indulged -them in the practice. He himself played with them when the humor suited. -The four upon whom Coulter came were not on duty, though they wore their -swords. Their holsters lay with their saddles across a neighboring log, -not far off, but not immediately within reach. Coulter saw his -opportunity; the temptation was great; but these were not exactly his -prey—not yet, at all events. To place one man, well armed with rifle -and pair of pistols, in a situation to cover the group at any moment, -and between them and the farmstead, was his plan; and this done, he -proceeded on his way. His policy was to make his first blow at the head -of the enemy—his very citadel—trusting somewhat to the scattered -condition of the party, and the natural effect of such an alarm to -scatter them the more. All this was managed with great prudence, and -with two more of his men set to watch over two other groups of the -dragoons, he pushed forward with the remaining four until he reached the -verge of the wood, just where it opened upon the settlement. Here he had -a full view of the spectacle—his own party unseen—and the prospect was -such as to compel his instant feeling of the necessity of early action. -It was at the moment which exhibited old Sabb in the hands of the -provost, his hands tied behind him, and the rope about his neck. Clymes, -the lieutenant of Dunbar, with drawn sword, was pacing between the -victim and the house. The old Dutchman stood between two subordinates, -waiting for the signal, while his wife, little dreaming of the scene in -progress, was kept out of sight at the bottom of the garden. Clymes and -the provost were at once marked out for the doom of the rifle, and the -_beads_ of two select shots were kept ready, and leveled at their heads. -But Dunbar must be the first victim—and where was he? Of the scene in -the house Coulter had not yet any inkling. But suddenly he beheld -Frederica at the window. He heard her shriek, and beheld her, as he -thought, drawn away from the spot. His excitement growing almost to -frenzy at this moment, he was about to give the signal, and follow the -first discharge of his rifles with a rush, when suddenly he saw his -associate, Elijah Fields, turn the corner of the house, and enter it -through the piazza. This enabled him to pause, and prevented a premature -development of his game. He waited for those events which it is not -denied that we shall see. Let us then return to the interior. - -We must not forget the startling words with which Elijah Fields -interrupted the forced marriage of Frederica with her brutal persecutor. - -“The girl is already married.” - -Dunbar, still supporting her now quite lifeless in his arms, looked up -at the intruder in equal fury and surprise. - -“Ha, villain!” was the exclamation of Dunbar, “you are here?” - -“No villain, Captain Dunbar, but a servant of the Most High God!” - -“Servant of the devil, rather! What brings you here—and what is it you -say?” - -“I say that Frederica Sabb is already married, and her husband living!” - -“Liar, that you are, you shall swing for this insolence.” - -“I am no liar. I say that the girl is married, and I witnessed the -ceremony.” - -“You did, did you?” was the speech of Dunbar, with a tremendous effort -of coolness, laying down the still lifeless form of Frederica as he -spoke; “and perhaps you performed the ceremony also, oh, worthy servant -of the Most High!” - -“It was my lot to do so.” - -“Grateful lot! And pray with whom did you unite the damsel?” - -“With Richard Coulter, captain in the service of the State of South -Carolina.” - -Though undoubtedly anticipating this very answer, Dunbar echoed the -annunciation with a fearful shriek, as, drawing his sword at the same -moment, he rushed upon the speaker. But his rage blinded him; and Elijah -Fields was one of the coolest of all mortals, particularly when greatly -excited. He met the assault of Dunbar with a fearful buffet of his fist, -which at once felled the assailant; but he rose in a moment, and with a -yell of fury he grappled with the preacher. They fell together, the -latter uppermost, and rolling his antagonist into the fire-place, where -he was at once half buried among the embers, and in a cloud of ashes. In -the struggle, however, Dunbar contrived to extricate a pistol from his -belt, and to fire it. Fields struggled up from his embrace, but a -torrent of blood poured from his side as he did so. He rushed toward the -window, grasped the sill in his hands, then yielded his hold, and sunk -down upon the floor, losing his consciousness in an uproar of shots and -shouts from without. In the next moment the swords of Coulter and Dunbar -were crossed over his prostrate body. The struggle was short and fierce. -It had nearly terminated fatally to Coulter, on his discovering the -still insensible form of Frederica in his way. In the endeavor to avoid -trampling upon her, he afforded an advantage to his enemy, which nothing -prevented him from employing to the utmost but the ashes with which his -eyes were still half blinded. As it was, he inflicted a severe cut upon -the shoulder of the partisan, which rendered his left arm temporarily -useless. But the latter recovered himself instantly. His blood was in -fearful violence. He raged like a _Birserker_ of the -Northmen—absolutely mocked the danger of his antagonist’s -weapon—thrust him back against the side of the house, and hewing him -almost down with one terrible blow upon the shoulder, with a mighty -thrust immediately after, he absolutely speared him against the wall, -the weapon passing through his body, and into the logs behind. For a -moment the eyes of the two glared deathfully upon each other. The sword -of Dunbar was still uplifted, and he seemed about to strike, when -suddenly the arm sunk powerless—the weapon fell from the nerveless -grasp—the eyes became fixed and glassy, even while gazing with tiger -appetite into those of the enemy—and, with a hoarse and stifling cry, -the captain of loyalists fell forward upon his conqueror, snapping, like -so much glass, the sword that was still fastened in his body. - - - CHAPTER XI. - -We must briefly retrace our steps. We left Richard Coulter, in ambush, -having so placed his little detachments as to cover most of the groups -of dragoons—at least such as might be immediately troublesome. It was -with the greatest difficulty that he could restrain himself during the -interval which followed the entry of Elijah Fields into the house. -Nothing but his great confidence in the courage and fidelity of the -preacher could have reconciled him to forbearance, particularly as, at -the point which he occupied, he could know nothing of what was going on -within. Meanwhile, his eyes could not fail to see all the indignities to -which the poor old Dutchman was subjected. He heard his groans and -entreaties. - -“I am a goot friend to King Tshorge! I was never wid de rebels. Why -would you do me so? Where is de captaine? I have said dat my darter -shall be his wife. Go bring him to me, and let him make me loose from de -rope. I’m a goot friend of King Tshorge!” - -“Good friend or not,” said the brutal lieutenant, “you have to hang for -it, I reckon. We are better friends to King George than you. We fight -for him, and we want grants of land as well as other people.” - -“Oh, mine Gott!” - -Just then, faint sounds of the scuffle within the house, reached the -ears of those without. Clymes betrayed some uneasiness; and when the -sound of the pistol-shot was heard, he rushed forward to the dwelling. -But that signal of the strife was the signal for Coulter. He naturally -feared that his comrade had been shot down, and, in the some instant his -rifle gave the signal to his followers, wherever they had been placed in -ambush. Almost simultaneously the sharp cracks of the fatal weapon were -heard from four or five several quarters, followed by two or three -scattered pistol-shots. Coulter’s rifle dropt Clymes, just as he was -about to ascend the steps of the piazza. A second shot from one of his -companions tumbled the provost, having in charge old Sabb. His remaining -keeper let fall the rope and fled in terror, while the old Dutchman, -sinking to his knees, crawled rapidly to the opposite side of the tree -which had been chosen for his gallows, where he crouched closely, -covering his ears with his hands, as if, by shutting out the sounds, he -could shut out all danger from the shot. Here he was soon joined by -Brough, the African. The faithful slave bounded toward his master the -moment he was released, and hugging him first with a most rugged -embrace, he proceeded to undo the degrading halter from about his neck. -This done, he got the old man on his feet, placed him still further -amongst the shelter of the trees, and then hurried away to partake in -the struggle, for which he had provided himself with a grubbing hoe and -pistol. It is no part of our object to follow and watch his exploits; -nor do we need to report the several results of each ambush which had -been set. In that where we left the four gamblers busy at _Old Sledge_, -the proceeding had been most murderous. One of Coulter’s men had been an -old scout. Job Fisher was notorious for his stern deliberation and -method. He had not been content to pick his man, but continued to -revolve around the gamblers until he could range a couple of them, both -of whom fell under his first fire. Of the two others, one was shot down -by the companion of Fisher. The fourth took to his heels, but was -overtaken, and brained with the butt of the rifle. The scouts then -hurried to other parts of the farmstead, agreeable to previous -arrangement, where they gave assistance to their fellows. The history, -in short, was one of complete surprise and route—the dragoons were not -allowed to rally; nine of them were slain outright—not including the -captain; and the rest dispersed, to be picked up at a time of greater -leisure. At the moment when Coulter’s party were assembling at the -dwelling, Brough had succeeded in bringing the old couple together. Very -pitiful and touching was the spectacle of these two embracing with -groans, tears, and ejaculations—scarcely yet assured of their escape -from the hands of their hateful tyrant. - -But our attention is required within the dwelling. Rapidly extricating -himself from the body of the loyalist captain, Coulter naturally turned -to look for Frederica. She was just recovering from her swoon. She had -fortunately been spared the sight of the conflict, although she -continued long afterward to assert that she had been conscious of it -all, though she had not been able to move a limb, or give utterance to a -single cry. Her eyes opened with a wild stare upon her husband, who -stooped fondly to her embrace. She knew him instantly—called his name -but once, but that with joyful accents, and again fainted. Her faculties -had received a terrible shock. Coulter himself felt like fainting. The -pain of his wounded arm was great, and he had lost a good deal of blood. -He felt that he could not long be certain of himself, and putting the -bugle to his lips, he sounded three times with all his vigor. As he did -so, he became conscious of a movement in the corner of the room. Turning -in this direction, he beheld, crouching into the smallest possible -compass, the preacher, Veitch. The miserable wretch was in a state of -complete stupor from his fright. - -“Bring water!” said Coulter. But the fellow neither stirred nor spoke. -He clearly did not comprehend. In the next moment, however, the faithful -Brough made his appearance. His cries were those of joy and exultation, -dampened, however, as he beheld the condition of his young mistress. - -“Fear nothing, Brough, she is not hurt—she has only fainted. But run -for your old mistress. Run, old boy, and bring water while you’re about -it. Run!” - -“But you’ arm, Mass Dick—he da bleed! You hu’t?” - -“Yes, a little—away!” - -Brough was gone; and with a strange sickness of fear, Coulter turned to -the spot where Elijah Fields lay, to all appearance, dead. But he still -lived. Coulter tore away his clothes, which were saturated and already -stiff with blood, and discovered the bullet-wound in his left side, -well-directed, and ranging clear through the body. It needed no second -glance to see that the shot was mortal; and while Coulter was examining -it, the good preacher opened his eyes. They were full of intelligence, -and a pleasant smile was upon his lips. - -“You have seen, Richard, the wound is fatal. I had a presentiment, when -we parted this morning, that such was to be the case. But I complain -not. Some victim perhaps was necessary, and I am not unwilling. But -Frederica?” - -“She lives! She is here; unhurt but suffering.” - -“Ah! that monster!” - -By this time the old couple made their appearance, and Frederica was at -once removed to her own chamber. A few moments tendance sufficed to -revive her, and then, as if fearing that she had not heard the truth in -regard to Coulter, she insisted on going where he was. Meantime, Elijah -Fields had been removed to an adjoining apartment. He did not seem to -suffer. In the mortal nature of his hurt, his sensibilities seemed to be -greatly lessened. But his mind was calm and firm. He knew all around -him. His gaze was fondly shared between the young couple whom he had so -lately united. - -“Love each other,” he said to them; “love each other—and forget not me. -I am leaving you—leaving you fast. It is presumption, perhaps, to say -that one does not fear to die—but I am resigned. I have taken -life—always in self-defense—still I have taken life! I would that I -had never done so. That makes me doubt. I feel the blood upon my head. -My hope is in the Lord Jesus. May his blood atone for that which I have -shed!” - -His eyes closed. His lips moved, as it were, in silent prayer. Again he -looked out upon the two, who hung with streaming eyes above him. “Kiss -me, Richard—and you, Frederica—dear children—I have loved you always. -God be with you—and—me!” He was silent. - -Our story here is ended. We need not follow Richard Coulter through the -remaining vicissitudes of the war. Enough that he continued to -distinguish himself, rising to the rank of major in the service of the -state. With the return of peace, he removed to the farm-house of his -wife’s parents. But for him, in all probability, the estate might have -been forfeited; and the great love which the good old Dutchman professed -for King George might have led to the transfer of his grant to some one -less devoted to the house of Hanover. It happened, only a few months -after the evacuation of Charleston by the British, that Felix Long, one -of the commissioners, was again on a visit to Orangeburg. It was at the -village, and a considerable number of persons had collected. Among them -was old Frederick Sabb and Major Coulter. Long approached the old man, -and, after the first salutation, said to him—“Well, Frederick, have we -any late news from goot King Tshorge?” The old Dutchman started as if he -had trodden upon an adder—gave a hasty glance of indignation to the -interrogator, and turned away ex-claiming—“D—n King Tshorge! I don’t -care dough I nebber more hears de name agen!” - - * * * * * - - - - - AUDUBON’S BLINDNESS. - - - BY PARK BENJAMIN. - - - John James Audubon, the great American naturalist, has - entirely lost his sight. _Newspaper Paragraph._ - - Blind—blind! yes, blind—those eyes that loved to look - On the bright pictures in great Nature’s book. - Quenched is that visual glory which arrayed - All the winged habitants of grove and glade, - And hill and prairie, in a garb as fair - As their own plumage stirred by golden air. - - Alas! no more can he behold the beam - Of morning touch the meadow or the stream; - No more the noontide’s rays pervade the scene, - Nor evening’s shadows softly intervene, - But on his sense funereal Night lets fall - The moveless folds of her impervious pall. - - But he shall wake! and in a grander clime, - With vales more lovely, mountains more sublime, - There shall he view, without a film to hide, - Delicious pastures, streams that softly glide, - Groves clothed in living greenness, filled with plumes - Bright as the dawn, and various as the blooms - With which the early Summer decks his bowers— - Gems all in motion, life-invested flowers. - - Fairer than those, albeit surpassing fair, - His pencil painted with a skill so rare - That they, whose feet have never trod the far - And wondrous places where such creatures are, - Know all their beauty with familiar love— - From the stained oriole to the snow-white dove. - - Blind—blind! Alas! he is bereft of light - Who gave such pleasure to the sense of sight. - His eyes, that, like the sun, had power to vest - All forms with color, are with darkness prest: - Sealed with a gloom chaotic like the deep; - Shut in by shadows like the realm of sleep. - - Yet ’tis not meet to mourn a loss so brief— - A pain, to which time cannot yield relief— - But which Eternity must banish soon, - With beams more lustrous than the blaze of noon; - Yet softer than the evening is or morn, - When he to light immortal shall be born; - And with a vision purified behold - More than the prophets, priests and bards have told. - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNETS. - - - BY MARY SPENSER PEASE. - - - LOVE’S SUNSET. - - As shadows lengthen with the day’s declining, - Like troops of dusky spectres onward creeping, - Weaving swart stripes amid the golden shining - Where meadow, brook and moss-grown hill lie sleeping; - With murky fingers Nature’s sweet book closing— - Each bell and blossom and each three-leaved clover, - With stealthy march the sun’s glad sway deposing, - Till, widening, deepening, darkness shrouds earth over: - So, thy declining love casts o’er my spirit - Chill shadows, freezing all my soul’s warm giving, - Chill shadows, deadening all my soul’s best merit, - And making blackest night my brightest living: - A long, long, fearful night—that knows no morning, - Save in wild, glowing dreams, that speak thy love’s returning. - - - LOVE’S SUNRISE. - - As shadows vanish with the dawn’s advancing, - Like things of evil fleeing from Truth’s whiteness, - The mem’ry of their dark spell but enhancing - The warmth and light of morning’s dewy brightness; - Their chill power over—with a glad awaking - Starts to new life each sleeping leaf and flower, - Each bird and insect into wild song breaking— - All Nature’s heart-pulse thrilleth to the hour: - Thus, my life’s sun—its glory all pervading— - Fuses my soul with daylight warm and tender; - Thus, all strange fears, my spirit darkly shading— - All doubtings flee from its excess of splendor: - Thus, through my inmost heart—like joy-bells ringing— - The birds and honey-bees of thy dear love come singing. - - * * * * * - - - - - DOCTRINE OF FORM. - - -There is a connection natural and necessary between the forms and -essences of things; some law which compels figure and faculty into -correspondence; some tie which binds nature, function, and end to shape, -volume, and intrinsic arrangement. - -That a wheel must be circular, a lever inflexible, and a screw, wedge -and inclined plane shall have a determinate form, is clearly a condition -of adaptation to use; and because in machinery the arrangement of inert -matter is thus essential to the action and aim of all contrivance and -mutual adjustment of parts, we are apt to think configuration entirely a -question of mechanical fitness, and indifferent to and independent of -structures having no such office. But it is not so. Facts beyond number -show that it has definite and fixed relation to substance universally, -without limitation to a particular kind or sphere of use, or manner or -purpose of being. - -I. There are examples enough to prove that the fundamental law, -connecting shape and arrangement with function, is stronger in the vital -and spiritual than in the mechanical sphere, and even supercedes its -settled order and method. An instance of this overruling force:—The -elephant in general organization is a quadruped, eminently; but his -sagacity rises so high above the ordinary level of brutes as to require -the service of a proboscis, which is nearly equal in capabilities of use -to the human hand. Furnished with a sort of finger at the extremity of -this excellent instrument of prehension, he can draw a cork, lift a -shilling piece from the ground, or separate one blade of grass from a -number with dexterity and despatch. In this his eminence of intellect is -indicated, for external instruments are in accurate relation to internal -faculties, and considerable handicraft bespeaks a proportionately high -range of mental power. Now observe how his organization differs from -that of other quadrupeds, and approaches, against all the analogies of -classification, toward the arrangements of the human form. He has the -rudiments of five toes on each foot, shown externally by five toe-nails. -This is one toe more than belongs to any beast below the monkey tribe. -He has a kneepan on the hind leg, and the flexure of the limb is -backward, like the human, and unlike other quadrupeds. The breast of the -female is removed from its usual position upon the pelvis, to the chest -or breast bone, as in the more elevated races; and all the organs of -reproductive life correspond to those of the higher orders. All this is -unexplained by any mechanical necessity or advantage, and is so far, in -violation of the analogies of that lower constitution by which he is -linked to the order of four footed animals. Of his internal organization -I have no means of information within reach, but I am satisfied _a -priori_ that the human configuration and position of ports are -approximated wherever the quadruped form and attitude leaves it -possible. Comparative anatomists make great account of all instances of -mechanical accommodations which they meet with, but they are in nothing -so remarkable or so conspicuous as those which we are now noticing. They -have the advantage of being understood, and are therefore much insisted -upon; but the facts which we have given and hinted at are at once so -striking and so conclusive, as to leave no doubt and no necessity for -further proof of the preeminence of the law which they indicate. - -II. In looking over the world of animal and vegetable forms there is -nothing more remarkable than the continual sacrifice of strength to -beauty, and of quantity or bulk to symmetry and shapeliness. Use seems -postponed to appearance, and order, attitude and elegance take rank of -quantity in the forms of things. I suppose that the law under -consideration determines these conditions of structure; and that the -beauty to which the sacrifice is credited, as an end and object, is only -an incident; and, that the pleasure derived arises upon the felt -correspondence of such forms with our faculties, innately adjusted to -the harmonies of this universal law—in other words—that there is an -intrinsic force of essence which compels organization, limits its -dimensions, and determines its figure, and so, all substances take shape -and volume from a law higher and more general than individual use and -efficiency. Beauty, being but the name for harmony between faculty and -object, may well serve as a rule of criticism, but the efficient cause -which determines form lies deeper; it lies, doubtless, in the necessary -relation of organization and essence—structure and use—appearance and -office—making one the correspondent and exponent of the other in the -innermost philosophy of signs. - -The abrogation of a rule, and departure from an established method of -conformation, belonging to a whole class of natural beings, in order to -attain the forms and order of arrangement of another class into whose -higher style of constitution the lower has been somewhat advanced, as in -the case of the elephant; and, the clear evidence that mechanical -perfection is everywhere in the human mechanism subordinated to a law of -configuration, which has respect to another standard and a higher -necessity—each, in its own way, demonstrates that form is not only a -necessity of mechanics, but is still more eminently an essential -condition of all substance. Facts from these sources hold a sort of -raking position in the array of our argument, but the multitude and -variety of examples which muster regularly under the rule are, of -themselves, every way adequate to maintain it. - -III. Our proposition (to vary the statement of it) is, that form, or -figure, and, doubtless, dimension also, have a fixed relation to the -special qualities and characters of beings and things, and that it is -not indifferent in the grand economy of creation whether they be put -into their present shapes or into some other; but, on the contrary, the -whole matter of configuration and dimension is determined by laws which -arise out of the nature of things. - -In generals the evidence is clear, and it must, therefore, be true in -the minutest particulars; for the law of aggregates is the law of -individuals—the mass and the atom have like essential conditions. It -is, indeed, difficult to trace facts into the inmost nature of things, -and quite impossible to penetrate by observation as deep as principles -lead by the process of mental investigation—so much more limited in the -discovery of truth, even the truth of physics, are the senses than the -reasoning faculties. We need, however, but open our eyes to see that the -diversities of form among all created things are, at least, as great as -their differences of character and use; and whether there be a -determinate relation of appearance to constitution or not, there is at -least an unlikeness of configuration or dimension, or of both, wherever -there is unlikeness of quality; and that this difference of form thus -commensurate with difference of constitution, is not merely a matter of -arbitrary distinctiveness among the multifarious objects of creation, as -names or marks are sometimes attached to things for certainty of -reference and recognition, appears from such facts and considerations as -follow— - -1. All mineral substances in their fixed, that is, in their crystaline -form, are angular with flat sides and straight edges. This is not only a -general rule and an approximate statement, but exactly accurate and -universal; for in the few instances of crystals occurring with convex or -curvilinear faces, such as the diamond, it is known that their primary -forms have plane or flat faces and a parallel cleavage—making the rule -good against accidental influences and superficial appearances. - -Here then we have a mode of configuration appropriate to and distinctive -of one whole kingdom of nature. - -2. In vegetables we have a different figure and characteristic -conformation. Their trunks, stems, roots and branches are nearly -cylindrical, and uniformly so, in all individuals clearly and completely -within the class. - -Soon as we enter the precincts of life curvature of lines and convexity -of surface begin to mark the higher styles of existence, the law being -that nothing which lives and grows by the reception and assimilation of -food is angular, rectilinear or included within plane surfaces. Inert -bodies take straight, but life assumes curve lines. - -3. In animal forms the curve or life line is present of necessity, but -it undergoes such modification and departure from that which marks -vegetable existence as our law demands. We no longer have almost -cylindrical simplicity of shape as the sign of character and kind, but, -retaining curvity, which is common to vitality of all modes, we find the -cylinder shaped or tapered toward the conical, with continually -increasing approach to a higher style of configuration as we ascend -toward a higher character of function. - -In the human body all that belongs to the whole inferior creation is -represented and reproduced, for man is logically a microcosm, and in his -body we find the various orders of natural beings marked by their -appropriate modes of construction and configuration—from a hair to a -heart, the multifarious parts bring with them the forms native to their -respective varieties of being. - -The bones have in them the material of the mineral kingdom, and they -have conformity of figure. In the short, square bones of the wrist, in -the teeth, and several other instances, the flatness, straightness and -angularity proper to crystalized matter, marks its presence as an -element of the structure. - -The correspondence of the vascular system with the forms proper to -vegetation, is most striking. A good drawing of the blood vessels is a -complete picture of a tree. Now, animals and vegetables differ widely in -their manner of taking in food, but they are alike in the method and end -of the distribution of the nutritious fluids, and between them the -resemblance of form obtains only in this, as our law requires. There is -nothing in trees, shrubs or grasses, that has any outline likeness to -the esophagus, stomach or intestinal tube; nothing in them has any -resemblance of office, and nothing, therefore, is formed upon their -pattern. The roots of trees, which are the avenues of their principal -aliment, are merely absorbing and circulating instruments—a sort of -counterpart branches in function—and they have, therefore, what -scientific people call the arborescent arrangement wherever they find -it. - -If it is answered here that a hydraulic necessity determines the general -form of circulating vessels, and that certain immediate mechanical -advantages belong to the cylindrical over the square or polygonal shape -of tube, our point is not affected. We are showing, now, that the -expected conformity never fails. It is essential to our position that -mechanical requirements shall not over-rule the general law. The -instance given is in accordance, and a presumption rises that even -mechanical conformation itself is covered and accommodated by the great -principle which we are illustrating. It is enough for us, however, that -no facts contradict, though it be doubted whether all the instances -cited afford us the expected support. - -But, leaving the functions and organs, which belong to all living and -growing beings in common, and entering the province of animal life and -animal law proper, we everywhere observe a significant departure from -the angular and cylindrical forms of the mineral and vegetable kingdoms, -and an approach, in proportion to the rank and value of the organ and -its use, toward an ideal or model, which is neither conical nor -heart-shaped, exactly, but such a modification of them as carries the -standard figure farthest from that uniformity of curve which marks a -globe, from the parallelism of fibre which belongs to the cylinder, and -from the flatness of base and sharpness of apex which bound the cone. - -The limbs that take their shape from the muscles of locomotion, and the -internal parts concerned in those high vital offices, of which minerals -and vegetables are wholly destitute, are examples and proof of the -configuration proper to the animal kingdom. The thigh, leg, arm, -fore-arm, finger, the neck and shoulders, the chest, and the abdomen -meeting it and resting on the pelvic bones, are felt to be beautiful or -true to the standard form as they taper or conform to this intuitive -life-type. - -The glands are all larger at one end than the other, and those that have -the highest uses are most conspicuously so, and have the best defined -and most elegant contour. The descending grade of figure and function is -marked by tendency to roundness and flatness. In the uses, actions and -positions of these organs, there is nothing mechanical to determine -their figure. The human stomach is remarkable for an elegance of form -and conformity to the ideal or pattern configuration, to a degree that -seems to have no other cause, and, therefore, well supports the doctrine -that the importance of its office confers such excellence of shape. The -facts of comparative anatomy cannot be introduced with convenience, but -they are believed to be in the happiest agreement and strongest -corroboration. - -The heart, lungs and brain, are eminent instances of the principle. They -hold a very high rank in the organization, and, while their automatic -relations, uses and actions are _toto cœlo_ dissimilar, their agreement -with each other in general style of configuration, and their common -tendency toward the standard intimated, is most remarkable. - -Their near equality of rank and use, as measured by the significance of -form, over-rides all mechanical difference in their mode of working. The -heart is, in office, a forcing pump or engine of the circulation. The -lungs have no motion of their own, and the porosity or cellular -formation of the sponge seems to be the only quality of texture that -they require for their duty, which is classed as a process of vital -chemistry. The brain differs, again, into a distinct category of -function, which accepts no classification, but bears some resemblance to -electrical action. Yet, differing thus by all the unlikeness that there -is between mechanical, chemical and electro-vital modes of action, they -evidently derive their very considerable resemblance of figure from -their nearly equal elevation and dignity of service in the frame. This -near neighborhood of use and rank allows, however, room enough for their -individual differences and its marks. The heart is lowest of the three -in rank, and nearest the regularly conical form. The lungs, as their -shape is indicated by the cavity which they occupy, are more delicately -tapered at their apex, and more oblique and variously incurvated at -their base. And the brain, whether viewed in four compartments, or two, -or entire, (it admits naturally of such division,) answers still nearer -to the highest style and form of the life pattern; and with the due -degree of resemblance, or allusion to it, in its several parts, -according to their probable value; for the hemispheres are shaped much -more conformably to the ideal than the cerebellum or the cerebral -apparatus at the base of the brain, where the office begins to change -from that of generating the nervous power to the lower service of merely -conducting it out to the dependencies. - -IV. Hitherto we have looked for proof and illustration only to well -marked and clearly defined examples of the orders and kinds of things -examined. But the borders of kingdoms and classes, the individuals which -make the transitions, and the elements and qualities common to several -provinces which link kind to kind and rank to rank, confess the same -law, and even more nicely illustrate where, to superficial view, they -seem to contradict it. - -Every species of beings in the creation is a reproduction, with -modifications and additions, but a real reproduction, in effect, of all -that is below it in the scale; so that the simplest and the lowest -continues and reappears in all, through all variety of advancement, up -to the most complex and the highest; in some sense, as decimals include -the constituent units, and hundreds include the tens, and other -multiples of these embrace them again, until the perfect number is -reached, if there be any such bound to either numerals or natures. - -1. The rectilinear and parallel arrangement of parts proper to -crystalization, which is the lowest plastic power of nature known to us, -continues, proximately, in the stems and branches of vegetables. This -will accord with our theory, if ascribed to the abundant mineral -elements present in the woody fibre, and to its insensibility and -enduring nature, as shown by its integral preservation for ages after -death, to a degree that rivals the rocks themselves. But the stems of -trees are not exactly cylindrical and their fibres are not quite -parallel; for there is something of life in them that refuses the -arrangement of dead matter. From root to top they taper, but so -gradually that it is only decidedly seen at considerable distances or in -the whole length. - -2. A section of a timber tree shows a regular concentric arrangement of -rings—the successive deposits of sequent years—and its cleavage proves -that it has also a radiated disposition of fibres. In the flat bones of -the head this same arrangement of parts obtains. The cartilaginous base -of bone has a life of perhaps equal rank with that of the vegetable -structure; it has its insensibility, elasticity, and durability at -least, with scarcely any higher qualities; and the osseous deposit is -thrown into figure and order similar to the ligneous. - -3. The fruits, kernels, and seeds of plants, being the highest results -of the vegetable grade of living action, and so bordering upon the -sphere of animal existence, and even intruding into it, begin to take -its proper forms, and they are spheroidal, oblate spheroids, conical -exactly, ovoid, and even closely touch upon the heart-shaped; yet -without danger of confusion with the forms distinctive of the higher -style of life. This comparison, it must be remarked also, is between the -fruits of one kind and the organic structures of the other, and not of -organ with organ, which in different kinds shows the greatest diversity, -but of spheres of existence immediately contiguous, and therefore -closely resembling each other. - -V. Of these forms the globular is probably the very lowest; and, -accordingly, of it we have no perfect instance in the animal body, and -no near approach to it, except the eye-ball, where mechanical law -compels a rotundity, that muscle, fat, and skin seem employed to hide as -well as move and guard, and, in the round heads of bones, where the ball -and socket-joint is required for rotatory motion. But in both these -cases the offices which the roundness serves are mechanical, and so, not -exceptions to our rule. The perfectly spherical must rank as a low order -of form, because it results from the simplest kind of force, mere -physical attraction being adequate to its production, without any -inherent modifying power or tendency in the subject. It is, accordingly, -very repugnant to taste in the human structure; as, for instance, -rotundity of body, or a bullet-head. Nothing of that regularity of curve -which returns into itself, and might be produced upon a turning lathe, -and no continuity of straight lines within the capacity of square and -jack-plane, are tolerable in a human feature. Lips, slit with the -straightness of a button-hole, or conical precision, or roly-poly -globularity, would be equally offensive in the configuration of any -feature of the face or general form. Cheek, chin, nose, brow, or bosom, -put up into such rotundity and uniformity of line and surface, have that -mean and insignificant ugliness that nothing can relieve. In raggedest -irregularity there is place and space for the light and shade of thought -and feeling, but there is no trace or hint of this nobler life in the -booby cushiony style of face and figure. Nose and brows, with almost any -breadth of angle; and chin, with any variety of line and surface, are -better, just as crystalization, flat and straight and sharp as it is, -nevertheless, seems to have some share in its own make and meaning, -which rolls and balls cannot lay any claim to. - -VI. But the law under consideration cannot be restrained to shape only. -Dimension is also a result of intrinsic qualities, and must in some way -and to some extent, indicate the character to which it corresponds. -Druggists are so well aware of, and so much concerned with the -difference in the size of the drops of different fluids, that they have -constructed a table of equivalents, made necessary by the fact. Thus a -fluid drachm of distilled water contains forty-five drops, of sulphuric -ether one hundred and fifty, of sulphuric acid ninety, and of Teneriffe -wine seventy-eight. So that the law is absolutely universal, however -varied in expression, and a specific character in fluids and other parts -of the inanimate world declares itself as decidedly in bulk or volume, -as difference of constitution is shown by variety of figure in the -living and sentient creation. - -Among the crystals termed _isomorphous_ by chemists, the dominant -ingredient which is common to them all, controls the form, but -difference of size answers sufficiently to the partial unlikeness of the -other less active elements; and so in the instances of cubes and -octahedrons formed of dissimilar minerals where difference of -constitution is indicated by varied dimensions only. - -VII. Crystal and crystal, and, drop and drop, are alike within the -limits of the species, or their unlikeness, if there be any, is not -appreciable to our senses, and scarcely conceivable though not -absolutely impossible to thought; but we know certainly that clear -individuality of character is everywhere pursued and marked by -peculiarity of form and size throughout the entire universe. - -While among minerals and fluids dissimilarity occurs obviously only -between species, among plants it begins to be conspicuous between -individuals, growing more and more so as observation ascends in the -vegetable kingdom. Two stalks of grass may resemble each other as much -as two crystals of the same salt, but timber trees grow more unlike, and -fruit trees differ enough to make their identification comparatively -easy. But it is in the animal kingdom, eminently, and with increasing -distinctness as the rank rises, that individuals become distinguishable -from each other; for it is here that diversity of character gets -opportunity, from complexity of nature, freedom of generating laws, and -varied influence of circumstances, to impress dissimilarity deepest and -clearest. Crystals undergo no modification of state but instant -formation and the sudden violence which destroys them. Vegetables pass -through the changes of germination and growth, and feel the difference -of soil, and winds, and temperature, and to the limits of these -influences, confess them in color, size, and shape; but animals, endowed -with acuteness of sense, enjoying locomotion, and related to all the -world around them—living in all surrounding nature, and susceptible of -all its influences—their individual differences know no limits, and -they are universally unlike in appearance as in circumstances, training -and character. - -Even in the lower orders there is ample proof of this. The mother bird -and beast know their own young; the shepherd and the shepherd’s dog know -every one of their own flock from every other on all the hills and -plains; and among the millions of men that people the earth, a quick eye -detects a perfectly defined difference as broad as the peculiarity of -character which underlies it. - - _Narrowness of relations and Simplicity of function are as - narrowly restrained in range of conformation; Complexity makes - proportionate room for difference; and Variety is the result, - the sign, and the measure of Liberty._ - -Detailed illustrations of the law would interest in proportion to the -range of the investigation; and gratification and delight would keep -pace with the deepening conviction of its universality; but the limits -of an essay restrain the discussion to mere hints and suggestions, and -general statements of principles which reflection must unfold into -formal demonstration for every one in his own department of observation. - -Some inaccuracies of statement have been indulged to avoid the -complexity which greater precision would have induced. Broad, frank -thinking will easily bring up this looseness of language to the required -closeness of thought as the advancing and deepening inquiry demands. -Moreover, it may be difficult or impossible to meet every fact that -presents itself with an instant correspondence in the alleged law; but -such things cannot be avoided until people learn how to learn, and cease -to meet novel propositions with a piddling criticism, or a wrangling -spirit of controversy. Looking largely and deeply into facts in a -hundred departments of observation will show the rule clear in the focal -light of their concurrent proofs, or, looking out from the central -position of _a priori_ reasoning, it will be seen in every direction to -be a _necessary_ truth. - -It would be curious, and more than curious, to trace ascent of form up -through ascertained gradation of quality in minerals, plants, fruits, -and animal structures; and it would be as curious to apply a criticism -derived from this doctrine to the purpose of fixing the rank and -relations of all natural beings—in other words, to construct a science -of taste and beauty, and, striking still deeper, a science of universal -physiognomy, useful at once as a law of classification, and as an -instrument of discovery. The scale would range most probably from the -globular, as the sign of the lowest character, through the regularly -graded movement of departure which in nature fills up all the stages of -ascending function from a drop of fluid to the model configuration of, -perhaps, that cerebral organ which manifests the highest faculty of the -soul. - -The signs that substance and its states give of intrinsic nature and -use, or the connection of configuration and function, are not understood -as we understand the symbols of arithmetic, and the words of artificial -language; that is, the symbols of our own creation answer to the ideas -they are intended for, but the signs of the universal physiognomy of -nature are neither comprehended fully, nor translated even to the extent -that they are understood, into the formulæ of science and the words of -oral language. Many of them are telegraphed in dumb show to our -instincts, to the great enlargement of our converse with nature, both -sentient and inanimate; but still a vast territory of knowledge lies -beyond the rendering of our intuitions, and remains yet unexplored by -our understanding; a dark domain that has not been brought under any -rule of science, nor yielded its due tribute to the monarch mind. We -have no dictionary that shows the inherent signification of a cube, a -hexagon, an octagon, circle, ellipse, or cylinder; no tables of -multiplication, addition, subtraction, and division, which, dealing in -forms and their equivalents, might afford the products, quotients, and -remainders of their various differences and interminglings with each -other. States, qualities, and attitudes of structure, contribute much of -that natural language by which we converse with the animal world beneath -us, and with the angel world within us, but it remains as yet -instinctual, except so far only as the fine arts have brought it out of -the intuitive and oracular into rule and calculation, nor have we any -methodic calculus, universally available, by which these revelations of -nature may be rendered into demonstrative truth ruled by scientific -method. - -It is conceivable that the form of every natural being is a full report -of its constitution and use, but as yet, tedious and dubious chemical -analysis, observation, and experiment are our directory to the hidden -truth. In some things it is otherwise. We know perfectly a passion or -emotion, and the meaning of the attitudes, colors, and forms of limb, -person and feature which denote them; and the interior qualities of -texture, also, as they are intimated to the sight and touch, lead us -without reasoning, to definitive judgments of human character. Of -animals, in their degree, we receive similar impressions and with equal -conviction, but we know so little more about these things, than that we -know them, that we can make no advantage of such knowledge beyond its -most immediate purpose in our commerce with the living beings which -surround us. - -It remains, therefore, for mind to explore the philosophy of form, that -all which lies implied in it, waiting but still undiscovered, may come -out into use, and all that we instinctively possess of it may take a -scientific method, and so render the service of a law thoroughly -understood. - -The principle gives us familiar aid every day, yet without revealing its -own secret, in physiognomy, painting, statuary, architecture, and -elocution. It is obeyed in all the impersonations of metaphor, fable and -myth; it is active every instant in the creations of fancy, and -supplies, so to speak, the material for all the structures of -thought—ruling universally in the earth, and fashioning and peopling -the heavens. To the most delicate movements of the imagination it gives -a corresponding embodiment of beauty; and it helps, as well, to realize -the monstrous mixtures of man and beast occurring in human character by -the answering monstrosity of centaur, syren, sphinx, and satyr. The old -Greek theology held that the eternal Divinity made all things out of an -eternal matter, after the forms of eternal, self-subsisting patterns; a -statement, in its utmost depth beyond the discovery of human faculties, -certainly, but not too strong to express the universal prevalence of -this law in the creation. To the human intellect all things _must_ exist -in space, bounded and determined by figure appropriate to the subject; -in fact, we can conceive of nothing except under such conditions; and -our doctrine but refers this necessity of mind to a primordial necessity -of being, ranking it among the harmonies of existence, as an adaptation -of sense, thought, and feeling to the correspondent truth in the -constitution of the universe. - - E. - - * * * * * - - - - - ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL TAYLOR. - - - BY R. T. CONRAD. - - - _Quid me mortuum miserum vocas, qui te sum multo felicior? aut - quid acerbi mihi putas contigisse?_ - - Weep not for him! The Thracians wisely gave - Tears to the birth-couch, triumph to the grave. - ’Tis misery to be born—to live—to die: - Ev’n he who noblest lives, lives but to sigh. - The right not shields from wrong, nor worth from wo, - Nor glory from reproach; he found it so. - Not strong life’s triumphs, not assured its truth; - Ev’n virtue’s garland hides an aspic tooth. - His glorious morn was past, and past his noon;— - Life’s duty done, death never comes too soon. - Then cast the dull grave’s gloomy trappings by! - The dead was wise, was just—nor feared to die. - Weep not for him. Go, mark his high career; - It knew no shame, no folly and no fear. - More blest than is man’s lot his blameless life, - Though tost by tempests and though torn by strife. - ’Neath the primeval forest’s towery pride, - Virtue and Danger watched his couch beside; - This taught him purely, nobly to aspire, - That gave the nerve of steel and soul of fire. - No time his midnight lamps—the stars—could dim; - His matin music was the cataract’s hymn; - His Academe the forest’s high arcade— - (To Numa thus Egeria blessed the shade;) - With kindling soul, the solitude he trod— - The temple of high thoughts—and spake with God: - Thus towered the man—amid the wide and wild— - And Nature claimed him as her noblest child. - Nurtured to peril, lo! the peril came, - To lead him on, from field to field, to fame. - ’Twas met as warriors meet the fray they woo: - To shield young Freedom’s wild-wood homes he flew; - And—fire within his fortress, foes without, - The rattling death-shot and th’ infuriate shout— - He, where the fierce flames burst their smoky wreath, - And war’s red game raged madliest, toyed with death; - Till spent the storm, and Victory’s youngest son - Glory’s first fruits, his earliest wreath, had won. - Weep not for him, whose lustrous life has known - No field of fame he has not made his own: - In many a fainting clime, in many a war, - Still bright-browed Victory drew the patriot’s car. - Whether he met the dusk and prowling foe - By oceanic Mississippi’s flow; - Or where the southern swamps, with steamy breath, - Smite the worn warrior with no warrior’s death; - Or where, like surges on the rolling main, - Squadron on squadron sweep the prairie plain; - Dawn—and the field the haughty foe o’erspread, - Sunset—and Rio Grande’s waves run red; - Or where, from rock-ribbed safety, Monterey - Frowns death, and dares him to the unequal fray; - Till crashing walls and slippery streets bespeak - How frail the fortress where the heart is weak; - How vainly numbers menace, rocks defy, - Men sternly knit and firm to do or die; - Or where, on thousands thousands crowding, rush - (Rome knew not such a day) his ranks to crush, - The long day paused on Buena Vista’s height, - Above the cloud with flashing volleys bright; - Till angry Freedom, hovering o’er the fray, - Swooped down, and made a new Thermopylæ;— - In every scene of peril and of pain, - His were the toils, his country’s was the gain. - From field to field, and all were nobly won, - He bore, with eagle flight, her standard on: - New stars rose there—but never star grew dim - While in his patriot grasp. Weep not for him. - The heart is ne’er a castaway; its gift - Falls back, like dew to earth—the soul’s own thrift - Of gentlest thoughts by noblest promptings moved: - He loved his country, and by her was loved. - To him she gave herself, a sacred trust, - And bade him leave his sword to rest and rust; - And, awed but calm, nor timid nor elate, - He turned to tread the sandy stairs of state. - Modest, though firm; decided, cautious, clear; - Without a selfish hope, without a fear; - Reverent of right, no warrior now, he still - Cherished the nation’s chart, the people’s will; - Hated but Faction with her maniac brand, - And loved, with fiery love, his native land. - Rose there a foe dared wrong in her despite, - How eager leaped his soul to do her right! - Her flag his canopy, her tents his home— - The world in arms—why, let the armed world come! - Thus loved he, more than life, and next to Heaven, - The broad, bright land to which that life was given; - And, loving thus and loved, the nation’s pride, - Her hope, her strength, her stay—the patriot died! - Weep not for him—though hurried from the scene: - ’Twill be earth’s boast that such a life has been. - Taintless his truth as Heaven; his soul sincere - Sparkled to-day, as mountain brooklets clear. - O’er every thought high honour watchful hung, - As broods the eagle o’er her eyried young. - His courage, in its calmness, silent, deep, - But strong as fate—Niagara in its sleep; - But when, in rage, it burst upon the foe— - Niagara leaping to the gulf below. - His clemency the graceful bow that, thrown - O’er the wild wave, Heaven lights and makes its own. - His was a spirit simple, grand and pure, - Great to conceive, to do and to endure; - Yet the rough warrior was, in heart, a child, - Rich in love’s affluence, merciful and mild. - His sterner traits, majestic and antique, - Rivaled the stoic Roman or the Greek; - Excelling both, he adds the Christian name, - And Christian virtues make it more than fame. - To country, youth, age, love, life—all were given; - In death, she lingered between him and Heaven; - Thus spake the patriot in his latest sigh, - “_My duty done—I do not fear to die._” - Weep not for him; but for his country, tost - On Faction’s surges: “think not of the lost, - But what ’tis ours to do.”[2] The hand that stayed, - The pillar that upheld, in dust are laid; - And Freedom’s tree of life, whose roots entwine - Thy fathers’ bones—will it e’er cover thine? - Root, rind and leaf a traitor tribe o’erspread; - Worms sap its trunk and tempests bow its head. - But the land lives not, dies not, in one man, - Were he the purest lived since life began. - Upon no single anchor rests our fate: - Millions of breasts engird and guard the state. - Yet, o’er each true heart, in the nation’s night, - Will Taylor’s memory rise, a pillared light; - His lofty soul will prop the patriot’s pride, - His virtues animate, his wisdom guide. - Faction, whose felon fury, blind and wild, - Would rend our land, as Circe tore her child, - In sordid cunning or insensate wrath, - Scattering its quivering limbs along her path— - Ev’n Faction, at his name, will cower away, - And, shrieking, shrinking, shield her from the day. - Then up to duty! true, as he was true; - As pure, as calm, as firm to bear and do; - Nerve every patriot power, knit every limb, - And up to duty: but _weep not for him_! - ------ - -[2] _Non quos amisimus, sed quantum lugere par sit cogitemus._ - Cicero. - - * * * * * - - - - - “PSYCHE LOVES ME.” - - - BY THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH. - - - I have no gold, no lands, no robes of splendor, - No crowd of sycophants to siege my door; - But fortune in one thing at least is tender— - For Psyche loves me! Could I ask for more? - - I have no fame, nor to the height of honor - Will my poor name on tireless pinions soar; - Yet Fate has never drawn my hate upon her— - For Psyche loves me! Could I ask for more? - - I have no station, know no high position, - And never yet the robes of office wore; - Yet I can well afford to scorn ambition— - For Psyche loves me! Could I ask for more? - - I have no beauty—beauty has forsworn me, - On others wasting all her charming store; - Yet I lack nothing now which could adorn me— - For Psyche loves me! Could I ask for more? - - I have no learning—in nor school nor college - Could I abide o’er quaint old tomes to pore; - But this I know which passeth all your knowledge— - That Psyche loves me! Could I ask for more? - - Now come what may, or loss or shame or sorrow, - Sickness, ingratitude or treachery sore, - I laugh to-day and heed not for the morrow— - For Psyche loves me—and I ask no more. - - * * * * * - - - - - TO THE LOST ONE. - - - BY DUNCAN MOORE. - - - _Vale et Benedicite._ - - In joy we met; in anguish part; - Farewell, thou frail, misguided one! - Young Hope sings matins in thy heart, - While dirges ring in mine alone, - Solemn as monumental stone. - - Thy life is Spring, but Autumn mine; - Thy hope all flowers; mine bitter fruit, - For hope but blossoms to repine; - It seldom hath a second shoot;— - A shadow that evades pursuit. - - Though poets are not prophets here, - Yet Time must pass and you will see, - While o’er dead joys you drop the tear, - This world is one Gethsemane - Where all weep—die—still dream to be. - - Flowers spring, birds sing in the young heart, - But Time spares not the flowers of Spring; - The birds that sang there soon depart, - And leave God’s altar withering— - Flowerless and no bird to sing. - - God pronounced all things good in Eden; - Young Adam sang—not knowing evil, - Until the snake plucked fruit forbidden, - And made himself to Eve quite civil.— - Did he tempt her, or she the devil? - - True, she made Eden Adam’s heaven;— - Also the green earth Adam’s hell; - Tore from his grasp all God had given; - Cast him from bliss in sin to dwell; - To make her food by his sweat and blood. - - Then what should man from woman hope, - Who hurled from Paradise his sire? - Her frailty drew his horoscope, - And barred the gates of heaven with fire; - Changed God’s intent for her desire. - - And what should she from man expect - Who slew his God her soul to save? - A dreary life of cold neglect;— - For Eden lost;—a welcome grave, - Where kings make ashes with the slave! - - A welcome grave! man’s crowning hope! - All trust from dust we shall revive; - Despite our gloomy horoscope, - Incarnadined God will receive - His children who slew him to live. - - A frail partition but divides - Your husband from insanity; - He stares as madness onward strides - To crush each spark of memory— - I gave you all—this you give me! - _Vale et Benedicite._ - - * * * * * - - - - - COQUET _versus_ COQUETTE. - - - BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER. - - - _Benedict._ One woman is fair; yet I am well: - another is wise; yet I am well: another virtuous; - yet I am well: but till all graces be in one woman, - one woman shall not come in my grace. - _Much Ado About Nothing._ - - _Princess._ We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. - - _Rosaline._ They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. - That same Biron I’ll torture ere I go. - How will I make him fawn, and beg, and seek; - And wait the season, and observe the times, - And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes; - And shape his service wholly to my behests; - And make him proud to make me proud that jests! - So portent-like would I o’ersway his state - That he should be my fool, and I his fate. - _Love’s Labor Lost._ - - - CHAPTER I. - -Nature had been very profuse in bestowing her favors upon Mr. Frank -Gadsby. In the first place she had given him a very elegant person, tall -and of manly proportions; secondly, a pair of large, dark-hazel eyes, -which could beam with tenderness or become fixed in the “fine frenzy” of -despair, as best suited the pleasure of their owner. Above them she had -placed a broad, white forehead, and adorned it with waving hair, of a -dark, glossy brown. Next, a splendid set of teeth attested her skill and -favor; and, to complete the _tout ensemble_, whiskers and moustache were -unsurpassable. - -“Well,” said Fortune, rather ruffled, “if Nature has been so prodigal, -he shall have none of my assistance—not he! Let him make his way -through the world by his good looks, if he can. I will seek out some -ordinary looking fellow, whom nature has neglected, and with my golden -smiles atone for the want of those attractions which soonest win the -favor of the fair.” - -And thus, under the ban of Fortune, Frank Gadsby left college. - -He professed to study the law as a means of winning the favor of the -goddess, and had a small backroom, up three flights of stairs, furnished -with a table and two chairs, on which table several voluminous law-books -very quietly reposed, being seldom forced to open their oracular jaws to -give forth their sage opinions. This was his study. But the person who -should expect to find him there, I am sorry to say, would have a -fruitless visit, and drag up those steep stairs for nothing. He would be -much more likely to meet him promenading Chestnut street, gallanting -some beautiful young girl up and down its thronged _pavé_—or at the Art -Union, with an eye upon the living beauties there congregated, not upon -the pictures which adorn its walls. - -And yet I would not wish to convey an erroneous opinion, in thus hinting -at the usual whereabouts of Mr. Gadsby. If he did not study, it was not -for the want of talents or aptness; for he possessed a fine mind, and -only needed some impetus to call forth those brilliant traits which were -concealed beneath an exterior so vain and trifling—for vain he -certainly was, and trifling I think I can prove beyond dispute. The fact -is, being a general favorite with the ladies, he was inclined to push -his advantage a little too far; or, in other words, Frank Gadsby was a -coquet—a male coquet, of the first magnitude—insinuating, plausible, -soft-voiced, and, in the words of Spencer, - - “When needed he could weep and pray, - And when he listed he could fawn and flatter, - Now smiling smoothly, like to summer’s day, - Now glooming sadly so to cloke the matter.” - -But although, like the fickle zephyr, he wooed with light dalliance -every fair flower of beauty which came across his path, he yet managed -to retain his heart safe in his own lordly bosom, and Frank Gadsby, the -charmer, alone possessed that love sworn to so many. - -Yet, as one cannot very well live without money, especially in the -atmosphere which surrounded my hero, and as the law put little money in -his purse, and the small annuity left him by some deceased relative -almost as little, Mr. Gadsby resolved to make a rich match one of these -days; no hurry—there was time enough—he had but to pick and -choose—any lady would be proud to become Mrs. Frank Gadsby—and until -stern necessity forced it upon him, he would wear no conjugal yoke! And, -with this self-laudatory decision, he continued his flirtations. - -A conversation which passed between Mr. Gadsby and his friend Clarence -Walton, will serve better than any thing I can vouch to substantiate the -charge of trifling which I have preferred against him. - -This same charge Walton had been reiterating, but to which, with perfect -nonchalance, Gadsby answered: - -“A trifler—a coquet! Come, that is too bad, Walton! To be sure, I pay -the ladies attentions, such as they all expect to receive from the -gentlemen. I give flowers to one, I sit at the feet of a second, go off -in raptures at the music of a third, press the fair hand of a fourth, -waltz with a fifth, and play the gallant to all—but it is only to -please them I do it; and then, I say, Walton, if they will fall in love -with me, egad, how can I help it!” and, saying this, our coxcomb looked -in the glass, as much as to say, “poor things, _they_ surely cannot help -it!” - -“There was Caroline D——, for instance,” replied his friend; “why, as -well as I know your roving propensities, I was induced to think you -serious there!” - -“What, Cara D.! I smitten! O, no! I said some very tender things to her, -to be sure, and visited her every day for a month—wrote her notes, and -presented her daily with some choice bouquet; but I was honorable; as -soon as I saw she was beginning to like me too well, why, I retreated. -Did, upon my honor! Here is her last note—read it Walton!” taking one -from a private drawer, evidently crowded with a multitudinous collection -of faded bouquets, knots of ribbon, gloves, fans, billet-doux, and -silken ringlets of black, brown and golden hair. - -“No; excuse me, Frank, from perusing your love notes,” said Walton! “but -there was also Emma Gay.” - -“Ah, poor Emma! She was a bewitching little creature!” was the answer. -“I wrote some verses to her beautiful eyes, and gazed into them so -tenderly that they folded themselves in their drooping lids to hide from -me. She gave me a lock of her soft, brown hair—I have it somewhere; -but, faith, I have so many such tokens that it is difficult to find the -right one. O, here it is!” - -“And Cornelia Hyde!” - -“She was a splendid girl! Sang like an angel, waltzed like a sylph! Yes, -I flirted with her half a season. I believe she did get a little too -fond of me—sorry for it; upon my soul I meant nothing!” - -“But you can hardly say your attentions to Miss Reed meant nothing,” -said Walton, continuing the category. - -“Why, what could I do?” answered Gadsby. “Confound it, if she did not -send for me every third night to sing duets with her, and every other -morning to pass judgment upon her paintings. I could not be otherwise -than civil.” - -“Then, there was Julia Hentz, and her friend, Hatty Harwood.” - -“O, spare me, Walton! Julia was a sentimental beauty, doating upon the -moon, and stars, and charity children! On my soul, it is no unpleasant -thing to stroll in the beautiful moonlight with a pretty, romantic girl -leaning upon your arm, and to gaze down into her languishing eyes as -they turn their brilliant orbs to the less brilliant stars. I tell you -what, it is a taking way, and came pretty near taking me; for I was -nearer popping the question to the sentimental, moon-struck, star-gazing -Julia, than I love to think of now; see what I drew from her fair hand -on our last moonlight ramble,” (showing a delicate glove.) “As for her -friend Harriet, although not so handsome as Julia, she is a shrewd, -sensible girl—told me, with all the sang-froid imaginable, that I was -flirting a little too strongly—that she could not think of having me -dangling after her, for two reasons—conclusive ones. First was, she did -not like me; and, secondly, my professions were all feigned, for she -knew me to be the greatest coquet extant—a character which, she added, -with provoking coolness, she had no respect for!” - -“Good! A sensible girl, Frank!” said Walton, laughing. - -“Hang me if I did not begin to like her all the better after that,” -continued Gadsby, “and had a great mind to pursue the game in earnest; -but I found it would not pay the exertion. She is as poor as myself.” - -“What can you say of the sisters, Louise and Katrine Leslie, whom you -followed as their shadow for more than six weeks?” pursued the -indefatigable Walton. - -“The brunette and the blonde,” answered Gadsby. “Both charming girls. -Louise, with those large, tender, black eyes—why, she melted one’s -heart as though but a lump of wax; but, then, the roguish glances of -Katrine’s sparkling gray ones! Well, well; a sensible fellow might be -very happy with either. Fact is, they were jealous of each other—ha, -ha, ha. If I wrote poetry to Louise, then Katrine pouted, and her little -white dimpled shoulder turned very coldly upon me. So, I gave flowers to -Katrine and pressed her dimpled hand; then the bewitching Louise cast -her reproachful eyes upon me, and a sigh came floating to me on her -rose-scented breath, at which I placed myself at her feet, and read the -Sorrows of Evangeline in Search of her Lover, and begged for the ringlet -on which a tear had fallen; then Katrine—but no matter; they were both -very fond, poor things!” - -“In the words of the song, I suppose you might have sung, - - “‘How happy could I be with either, - If the other charmer were away,’” - -exclaimed Walton. - -“Precisely. Have you finished your catechism?” - -“I have; although many other names, whose fair owners you have trifled -with, are in my mind,” said Walton. “You must excuse my frankness, -Gadsby, when I tell you that your conduct is unworthy a man of honor or -principle. There is not one of the ladies of whom we have spoken, but -has had reason to think herself the object of your particular interest -and pursuit; and if, as you flatter yourself, they have seemed partial -to your attentions, that partiality has been awakened by those winning -words and manners which none better than yourself know how to assume. -Shame on the man, I say, who can thus insinuate himself into the -affections of a young, unsuspecting girl, merely to flatter his own -egregious vanity or his self-love! Coquetry, idle as it is, is more -properly the province of woman. Nature has given them sprightliness, -grace and beauty, which, in their hands, like the masterly fan in the -days of the Spectator, they are expected to use as weapons against us; -but for a man to assume the coquet, renders him contemptible. If there -is any thing which can add to its meanness, it is boasting of his -conquests—playing the braggart to his own vanity. Woman’s affections -are too sacred to be thus trifled with, nor should her purity be -insulted by the boasts of a—caricature, not a man! Burn all these idle -toys, Gadsby—trophies of unworthy victories—turn to more noble -pursuits, nor longer waste the talents which God has given you, nor the -time which can never be regained.” - -“As fine a lecture as I ever listened to,” quoth Gadsby, feigning a -laugh. “When do you take orders, most reverend Clarence? Why, you -deserve to be elected moralist of the age—a reformer in the courts of -Cupid. However, I will give you the credit of honesty, and more—for I -confess you have given me some pretty sharp home-thrusts, which I will -not pretend to parry; but you take things too seriously, upon my soul -you do. One of these days you shall behold me a sober, married man, in a -flannel night-cap; but until then, Walton, - - “_vive l’amour!_” - - - CHAPTER II. - -“Blue or pink, Charlotte?” - -“O, the blue, by all means, Lucia.” - -“And pearls or rubies?” - -“Pearls.” - -“Blue and pearls! Why, I shall personate the very ideal of maiden -simplicity. I might as well appear all in white!” - -“And it would be beautiful, Lucia,” answered her friend. - -“Think so? Well, I have a great mind to try it, for you must know it is -my desire to look uncommonly well to-night,” said Lucia. - -“But why to-night do you so particularly wish to shine?” inquired -Charlotte. - -“Why? Why, don’t you know we are to meet that renowned enslaver of -hearts, that coquet, Frank Gadsby! Is not that enough to inspire my -vanity?” replied the lively girl. - -“And you are resolved upon leading this renowned conqueror in your own -chains, Lucia?” - -“He shall not escape them, Charlotte. I will bring him to my feet, and -thus become the champion of my sex,” said Lucia. - -“And have you no fears for yourself? Where so many have yielded their -willing hearts, do you expect to escape without paying the same -penalty?” - -“Fears!” answered Lucia. “Why, Charlotte, you don’t think I would give -up my affections to one who has no heart, and never had one; or, if he -had, it has been so completely divided and sub-divided, quartered and -requartered, and parceled out by inches, that not a fragment is left to -hang a hope upon! Why, I should as soon think of falling in love with -one of those effigies of beau-dom—those waxen busts at a barber’s -window—as with this hollow-hearted Frank Gadsby.” - -“You are right, Lucia; for I certainly think that when you marry, it -would be well to have at least one heart between you and your _cara -sposa_, for I am sure you have none,” said Charlotte, laughing. - -“Now, that is the unkindest cut of all, Charlotte—I no heart! Why, I am -‘all heart,’ as poor Mrs. Skewton would say,” answered Lucia. - -“Ah, Lucia, it is conceded by all, I believe, that you are an arrant -coquette.” - -“I a coquette!” exclaimed Lucia. “I deny the charge; there is my gage!” -drawing off her little glove and throwing it at the feet of Charlotte. - -“I accept the challenge,” answered her friend. “In the first place, let -me remind you of a poor Mr. F——.” - -“You need not remind me of him,” answered Lucia. “I am sure I shall not -soon forget him, with his tiresome calls every day, nor his attempts to -look tender with those small, twinkling gray eyes of his. Imagine an owl -in love, that’s all.” - -“And yet you encouraged his visits. Then, there was young Dornton.” - -“Dornton! yes, I remember. Poor fellow, how he did torment me with his -execrable verses!” - -“Execrable! If I remember, Lucia, you once told me they were beautiful.” - -“Ah, I tired of them, and him too, in a fortnight. Why, Charlotte, it -was a perfect surfeit of antimony wrapped up in honey.” - -“Then, your long walks last summer with Dr. Ives.” - -“Were very pleasant walks until he grew sentimental, and suddenly popped -down upon his knees, one day, in the high grass, like a winged -partridge; he looked so ridiculous that really I could not help laughing -in his face. It was a bitter pill; doctor, as he was, he could not -swallow it.” - -“For six weeks you flirted with Henry Nixon,” continued Charlotte. “Why, -he was your shadow, Lucia; what could have tempted you to trifle with -him as you did? I am sure he loved you.” - -“There you are mistaken,” was the reply. “He was only flattered by my -smiles and proud of being in my train. Such magnificent bouquets, too, -as he brought me! It was party season, you know, and his self-love, thus -embodied in a flower to be worn by me, was quite as harmless to him as -convenient for myself.” - -“But not so harmless were the smiles and flattering words you bestowed -upon young Fairlie. O, Lucia, your thoughtless vanity ruined the -happiness of that young man, and drove him off to a foreign clime, -leaving a widowed mother to mourn his absence.” - -“Indeed, Charlotte,” replied Lucia, in a saddened tone, “I had no idea -James Fairlie really loved me until too late. He painted so exquisitely -that, at my father’s request, he was engaged to paint my portrait. I -believe I gave him a lock of my hair, and allowed him to retain a small -miniature which he had sketched of me; but, as I told him, when he so -unexpectedly declared his love, I meant nothing.” - -“Ah, Lucia,” said her friend, reproachfully, “and did you mean nothing -when you allowed the visits of Colonel W——?” - -“O, the gallant Colonel! Excuse me Charlotte—a pair of epaulettes -answer very well, sometimes, in place of a heart. The Colonel’s uniform -was a taking escort through the fashionable promenades; and, then, he -was so vain that it did one good to see him lose the ‘bold front of -Mars’ in the soft blandishments of Cupid; and not forgetting, even when -on his knees, to note, in an opposite mirror, the irresistible effect of -his gallant form at the feet of a fair lady! So far, I think, I have -supported my ground against your accusation of coquetry,” added Lucia. - -“On the contrary, my dear Lucia, I am sorry to say that you have but -proved its truth,” answered Charlotte. “Sorry, because there is, to my -mind, no character so vain and heartless as that of a coquette, and I -would not that any one whom I love should rest under such an imputation. -The moment a woman stoops to coquetry she loses the charm of modesty and -frankness, and renders herself unworthy the pure affection of any -noble-minded man. It betrays vanity, a want of self-respect, and an -utter disregard for the feelings of others. A coquette is a purely -selfish being, who, by her hollow smiles and heartless professions, wins -to the shrine of her vanity many an honest heart, and then casts it from -her as idly as a child the plaything of which he has tired. She is -unworthy the name of woman.” - -“Hollow smiles—heartless professions! Why, what is all this tirade -about, Charlotte?” interrupted Lucia, indignantly. “I do not understand -you. You surely do not mean to class me with those frivolous beings you -have named.” - -“It will do for young coxcombs and fops,” continued Charlotte, “whose -brains centre in an elegant moustache or the tie of a cravat, who swear -pretty little oaths, and can handle their quizzing glass with more skill -than their pen—it will do for them to inflate their vanity by the sighs -of romantic school-girls; but for a high-minded, noble woman, like you, -Lucia, to descend from the dignity of your position to the contemptible -artifices of a coquette—fie, Lucia, be yourself.” - -“From no other but you, Charlotte,” she replied, “would I bear the -unjust imputation you cast upon me, and I should blush did I think -myself deserving one half your censure. I do not feel that I have -descended at all from the ‘dignity of my position,’ as you are pleased -to term it, and consider a coquette quite as contemptible as you do.” - -“Ah, Lucia,” said Charlotte, archly, - - “O wad some power the giftie gie us, - To see oursel’s as ithers see us.” - -“Nonsense! I know I am not a coquette, Charlotte,” retorted Lucia. “Gay -and thoughtless I may have been; but I have never, nor would I ever, -trifle with the affections of one whom I thought any other feeling but -his own vanity had brought to my feet. But come, Madam Mentor, I will -make a truce with you. I must first vanquish this redoubtable Gadsby, in -honorable warfare, and with his own weapons, and then, I promise you, no -duenna of old Spain ever wore a more vinegar aspect than shall Lucia -Laurence, spinster.” - -“But, Lucia—” - -“No—no—no! stop! I know what you are going to say,” interrupted the -gay girl, playfully placing her little hand over the mouth of her -friend. “Positively I must have my way this time. And now for the -business of the toilet. Let me see—blue and pearls; no, white—white, -like a bride, Charlotte!” - - - CHAPTER III. - -A brilliant company swept through the elegant apartments of Mrs. De -Rivers. It was the opening soirée of the season, and here had gathered, -in the regal train of Fashion and Display, the wealth, wit, beauty, and -grace, of Penn’s fair city. Music’s enchanting strains breathed delight, -fair forms moved in the graceful dance, and through the thronged -assembly gay groups were gathered, - - “Where the swift thought, - Winging its way with laughter, lingered not, - But flew from brain to brain.” - -“Who is that queenly young lady, dressed with such elegant simplicity, -talking with Miss De Rivers?” inquired Frank Gadsby of a friend at his -elbow. - -“Where? ah, I see. Why, is it possible you do not know Miss Laurence? -She is the greatest coquette in Philadelphia. Beware—no one escapes who -comes under the influence of her bewitching eyes.” - -“A fair challenge—I will dare the danger. Will you introduce me?” was -the reply. - -“With pleasure—but remember my warning,” answered his friend. “Miss -Laurence is full of wit, and will cut up your fairest speeches to serve -her ridicule; she is proud, and leads her many captives after her with -the air of a Juno; she is sensible, and will carry out an argument with -the skill of a subtle lawyer. She is handsome—” - -“That is easily seen,” interrupted Gadsby. “Pray spare me further -detail, and give me an opportunity, if you please, to judge of the rest -for myself.” - -At the same moment when these remarks were passing between the -gentlemen, Lucia said to Miss De Rivers: - -“Pray tell me, Fanny, who is that stylish gent lounging so carelessly -near the door?” - -“Tall—talking with young Bright, do you mean?” - -“The same.” - -“Ah, beware!” was the answer; “that same gentleman wears a perjured -heart. He is no other than that gay deceiver—” - -“Who—Mr. Gadsby!” interrupted Lucia. - -“Yes, Frank Gadsby, whose vows of love are as indiscriminate as his -smiles.” - -“I have heard of him, Fanny. Well, he is certainly very handsome,” said -Lucia. - -“And as fascinating in his manners as he is handsome,” replied her -friend. “Why, he makes every woman in love with him—myself excepted, -Lucia; every fair lady elicits, in turn, the same homage, the same -tender speeches, and, in turn, finds herself the dupe of his flattery -and melting glances.” - -“Perfectly absurd!” exclaimed Lucia, with a toss of her head. - -“But see, Lucia, he has already marked you; look, he approaches, with -Earnest Bright. Now prepare for the introduction, which he has, no -doubt, solicited.” - -The presentation was gone through with in due form. Lucia assumed an air -of the most perfect indifference, scarcely deigning to notice the -elegant man of fashion, who, by his most courtly smiles and winning -compliments, endeavored to attract her favorable attention. But both -smiles and fine speeches were thrown away; and, not a little chagrined -at his reception from the fair Lucia, Gadsby at length turned coldly -away, and began chatting, in a gay tone, with Miss De Rivers, while, at -the same moment, Miss Laurence, giving her hand to a young officer, -joined the dancers. - -“Well, how do you like Miss Laurence, Frank?” said Earnest Bright, later -in the evening, touching the shoulder of Gadsby, who stood listlessly -regarding the gay scene. - -“She has fine eyes, although I have seen finer,” was the answer; “a good -figure, but there are others as good; ’pon my soul, I see no particular -fascination about her—I could pick out a dozen here more agreeable.” - -“Think so? Well, don’t be too secure, that’s all,” replied his friend. - -“Never fear. I have escaped heart-free too long to be caught at last by -one like Miss Laurence. Less imperiousness, and more of woman’s -gentleness, for me,” said Gadsby. “And yet, it were worth while to -subdue this inflexible beauty, and entangle her in her own snares,” he -mentally added. - -In the supper-room Charlotte Atwood found herself, for a moment, near -her friend Lucia. - -“Well, you have met the foe; what think you now, Lucia?” she whispered. - -“Of Mr. Gadsby, I suppose you mean,” she replied. “I am sadly -disappointed, to tell you the truth. I expected to find him too much a -man of the world to betray his own vanity. Why, he is the most conceited -fellow I ever met with.” - -“Do you wonder at it? Such a universal favorite as he is with the -ladies, has reason to be conceited,” said Charlotte. - -“Perhaps so. It would be doing him a kindness, therefore, to take a -little of this self-conceit out of him—don’t you think so?” Lucia -laughingly replied. - -These two invincible coquettes are now entered for a trial of their -skill, in fair and equal combat. “Let him laugh who wins,” but a crown -to the victor, I say. A too minute detail of this well-contested game, -might prove tedious; therefore, we will pass over three months of -alternate frowns and smiles, and allow the reader to judge, by the -following chapter, to whose side the victory most inclines. - - - CHAPTER IV. - -A pleasant spring morning found Frank Gadsby—where? Not promenading -Chestnut street—not lounging upon the steps of a fashionable hotel, nor -whispering smooth flatteries in the ear of beauty; but positively up -those three flights of stairs, in that gloomy back room dignified by the -name of study. Several books were open before him, and -papers—promising, business-like looking papers, with red tapes and huge -seals—were scattered around him. Indeed, the very man himself had a -more promising, business-like appearance; there was less of the dandy, -more of the gentleman, and the look of self-complacency lost in a more -serious, thoughtful expression. As I said before, Mr. Gadsby had -talents, hidden beneath the mask of frippery, which needed but some -impetus to bring into power, and this impetus seemed now to have been -supplied. - -For three months the fashionable world had wondered why so often its -most brilliant ornament had been missing from its gay gatherings; nor, -perhaps, wondered more than Mr. Gadsby himself at his own sudden -distaste for those pursuits which had but lately afforded him so much -pleasure. Perhaps the remonstrances of his friend Walton had awakened -him to a sense of the unprofitable life he was leading; but, as we have -more to do with effects than causes, at present, we will not pursue the -inquiry. - -For some time, perhaps half an hour, Gadsby steadily applied himself to -his studies—now turning over the pages of a folio, now lost in deep -thought, and then rapidly transferring his conclusions to paper. At -length, with a sigh of relief, as if he had mastered some complicated -problem of the law, he pushed books and papers from him, and, rising -from the table, walked back and forth the narrow limits of his study. - -“Are you ready?” said Clarence Walton, unceremoniously opening the door. - -“I believe I shall not go. Make my excuses, if you please, to the -ladies,” replied Gadsby, slightly embarrassed. - -“Not go! Why, what has come over you, man? The party are now only -waiting your presence to start. What will Miss Laurence think? It will -never do to slight her invitation in this way. Come!” - -“No!” answered Gadsby. “Say what you please for me to Miss Laurence; if -she chooses to take offense, it matters but little to me. The frowns of -one whose smiles are so general, are easily borne. I hope you will have -a pleasant ride.” - -“But what new freak is this? Last night you were in fine spirits for the -excursion, and I am sure you received the invitation of Miss Laurence -with undisguised pleasure.” - -“Think so? Well, I have altered my mind—that’s all,” said Gadsby, -carelessly. - -“Ah-ha! Are your wings scorched, that you thus shun the presence of the -irresistible Lucia?” - -“Cannot a man of business absent himself from the society of a flirt, -without giving a reason, Walton?” said Gadsby, tartly. - -“A man of business! Good—excellent! I will report that weighty concerns -of the law interfere with your engagements. You wont go, then?” - -“No!” and saying this, Gadsby took up a book and sat down, with a -dogged, resolute air. - -“Well, I must be off. _Au revoir._” - -No sooner did the door close after his friend, than, throwing away the -book, Gadsby started up, exclaiming: - -“No! this syren—this coquette—this all fascinating woman, as she is -called, shall find I am not so easily made her dupe! She is a perfect -mistress of art, that is certain; for who that did not know her would -think the light of her beautiful eyes shone only to deceive—they are -heavenly! Who would think that sweet, gentle smile which she sometimes -wears, and the soft, witching tones of her voice were but superficial. -In outward appearance she is a type of all that is most perfect in -woman; and if this beauty of mind and person but extended to the -heart—ah, I dare not think of it! I am told she considers me a vain, -conceited fellow—ha! ha! she shall find yet that I am not what I have -appeared, and that this vain, conceited fellow, has at least wit enough -to see through and despise her arts. What a beautiful morning for the -ride. I was foolish not to go; besides, she may think—no matter what -she thinks. But then I would not be uncivil; as I accepted the -invitation, I should have gone. I wish I had. Let me see, it is now ten -o’clock; perhaps I may yet be in time. Yes, I will show her that I can -meet her fascinations unmoved, and leave her without one sigh of -regret—heigh, ho!” And Mr. Gadsby ended his soliloquy by catching up -the broom-brush and rapidly applying it to his shoulders and arms, and -then with a glance at the small looking-glass, he seized his hat, and -rushing down stairs, swiftly thridded his way through the crowd until he -reached the residence of Miss Laurence, whence the party were to set -forth. Running up the steps, he rang the bell. - -Much to his mortification he learned the party had been gone about ten -minutes, and he was turning from the door, when the servant added, - -“Miss Laurence is at home—will you walk in, sir?” - -Then she had not gone! Strange!—no, he would not go in; but perhaps he -had better, and apologize for his apparent rudeness. Yes, he would go -in; and following the servant, he was ushered into the drawing-room. - -Sending up his card, Gadsby sat down to await the entrance of the lady. -Opposite the sofa on which he reclined hung the full length portrait of -Miss Laurence—the work of the unfortunate young painter whom love of -her had driven from his native land. It was a beautiful creation of art, -but not more beautiful than the fair original herself. There was grace, -dignity, and repose in the attitude, harmonizing so perfectly with the -sweet expression of the features. The eyes of Gadsby were soon riveted -upon it, and rising from his seat, he approached nearer, and remained -standing before it, lost in contemplating its loveliness. - -“Charming girl!” he exclaimed inadvertently aloud; “but false as thou -art charming!” - -Imprudent man! These words were not lost; even as he spoke the fair -Lucia herself stood very near him, waiting for him to turn around that -she might address him; but as she caught this expression, a glow of -indignation suffused her features, and with noiseless footsteps she -glided from the room. - -“How dare he say this of me!” she exclaimed, as she closed the door of -her chamber; “what reason have I given him for such a supposition! He -judges of me by his own false and fickle heart; yet why should I care -for the opinion of such a man as he is. How stupid in John to say I was -at home. I believe I will send word I am engaged; no, I will even see -him, and let him know by my indifference how little value I place either -on his society or his opinion.” - -And Lucia re-entered the drawing-room with a stately step, and received -the salutation of her visiter with the utmost hauteur of manner. - -“I have called, Miss Laurence, to apologize for my apparent incivility -in not keeping the engagement formed with you last evening,” said -Gadsby, with evident embarrassment. - -“It was not necessary, Mr. Gadsby, to take so much trouble for that -which is of so little consequence,” answered Lucia, coldly. - -“Pardon me, Miss Laurence, nothing but—but imperative business—” - -“Pray do not exhaust your invention, sir, for excuses.” - -Gadsby’s face crimsoned. - -“Let me hope nothing serious prevented your accompanying the party, Miss -Laurence,” he at length said. - -“To be more honest than you, I had no inclination to go, and therefore -did not.” - -“But last evening—” - -“O, last evening I arranged the excursion merely for my friends, not -feeling, of course, obliged to go with them,” was the answer. - -“Then I certainly cannot regret so much the cause which prevented my -joining them, since the only attraction would have been wanting.” - -This implied compliment was noticed only by a haughty bow. - -“Cold, unyielding beauty!” thought Gadsby, carelessly turning over the -leaves of an annual. - -“False, idle flatterer!” thought Lucia, pulling her bouquet to pieces. - -“Those are beautiful flowers, Miss Laurence—what have they done to -merit such treatment at your fair hands!” said Mr. Gadsby, glad of the -opportunity to say something, for he felt himself completely embarrassed -by her repulsive manners. “You treat them with as little favor as you do -your admirers, and throw them from you with as little mercy. Fair, -beautiful flowers!” he added, gathering up the leaves of a rose from the -rich carpet, “fit emblems they are in their fragility of woman’s -short-lived faith and truth.” - -“A lesson upon faith and truth from Mr. Gadsby is a paradox well worth -listening to!” retorted Lucia, with a sarcastic smile. - -“Why so—do you then believe me destitute of them?” - -“I have never deemed the subject worthy of reflection; yet, if I mistake -not, the world does not burthen you with such attributes.” - -“And the world is probably right, Miss Laurence,” answered Gadsby, -piqued and angry. He arose, and walked several times across the room, -then again pausing before her, he said in a softened tone, “And yet, -although our acquaintance has been but brief, I trust I have given you -no reason to pass such severe censure upon me.” - -A quick retort rose to the lips of Lucia, but as she raised her eyes, -they met those of Gadsby fixed upon her with an expression such as she -could not well define, so strangely were reproach and tenderness -blended. She was embarrassed, a deep blush mantled her face, and the -words were unspoken. - -“She is not, then, utterly heartless—that blush belies it!” thought -Gadsby. “Say, Miss Laurence, may I not hope for a more lenient judgment -from you than the world accords?” he said, again addressing her. - -“What ails me? Why do I tremble thus? Am I really to be the dupe of this -deceiver. No! let me be true to myself!” mentally exclaimed Lucia; and -then, with a look which instantly chilled the warm impulse in the heart -of Gadsby, she said, - -“My opinion can be of very little consequence to Mr. Gadsby.” - -“True, Miss Laurence. I wish you good morning,” and proudly bowing -himself out of the room, Gadsby took leave. - -“Fool that I am to blush before him, who of all men has the least power -over me. It is well I know him, or even I might be deceived by such -looks as he just now cast upon me!” cried Lucia, as the door closed -after her visiter. - - - CHAPTER V. - -It was some weeks after this ere Mr. Gadsby so far mastered his pride as -to call again upon the disdainful Miss Laurence. To his great regret he -was then informed that she was ill, very ill; and for many days his -inquiries were all met by the same painful answer. There is nothing -sooner breaks down the barrier of feigned indifference than the illness -of one whom we are schooling ourselves to avoid; and thus, in the heart -of Gadsby, coldness, distrust, disdain, yielded at once to the most -painful solicitude and deep tenderness. This sudden revulsion quite -overcame even the caution of this redoubtable coquet, so captious of any -appearance of surrendering the long boasted freedom of his heart; and -careless of what “the lookers on in Venice” might say, he called daily -to make inquiries, and sent to the fair invalid the most beautiful -flowers as delicate memorials of his sympathy, however he might once -have named them as fit emblems of the frailty of woman’s vows. - -One morning early Clarence Walton entered the office of Gadsby. - -“Good morning. Have you heard from Miss Laurence to-day, Walton?” was -the first inquiry. - -“I am sorry to say she is not so well.” - -“Is it possible! Who told you—are you sure?” said Mr. Gadsby, turning -quite pale. - -“Yes; I am told she is better of the old complaint, but her friends -think now that she has a confirmed heart disease!” answered Walton, -gravely. - -“Good God! you don’t say so! Is it incurable—is there no hope?” -exclaimed Gadsby, starting from his seat. - -“Heart complaints are very dangerous in all cases, I believe,” replied -Walton, turning his head to conceal a smile, “yet I hope Miss Laurence -is not incurable; indeed, I feel quite confident that if she would but -call in a physician I could recommend, she might soon be restored.” - -“And wont she? Have you spoken to her friends? Where is he to be -found—for not a moment should be lost; it is your duty to insist upon -it!” cried Gadsby, catching the arm of his friend, who seemed -provokingly indifferent. - -“If she will only consent to see him, I shall gladly name him to -you—but why are you so much interested? To be sure, common kindness -dictates sympathy for the illness of one so young and beautiful; but why -you should take her sickness so much at heart, quite astonishes me,” -said Walton. - -“Then, Walton, let me tell you that it is because I love her; yes, love -her more than my life!” replied Gadsby. “I know she despises me, for I -have appeared to her in a false light, for which I may thank my own -folly, and in giving my heart to her, I have sealed my own -wretchedness.” - -Walton respected the feelings of his friend at this candid avowal, and -checking the well-merited jest which rose to his lips, said, - -“In so hasty a decision, and one so fatal to your happiness, I think you -do both Miss Laurence and yourself injustice; if you really love her, -pursue the game boldly—I think you need not despair.” - -Grateful for his forbearance on a point to which he was aware he was a -fair subject for ridicule, and somewhat encouraged by the words and -manner of Walton, Gadsby frankly continued, - -“If her life is spared, I will show her that I am not what she has -thought me. Yes, I will study to win her love. O, my friend, should I -succeed—should I gain that rich treasure of beauty and intelligence, my -whole life shall be devoted to her happiness!” - -What think you now, dear reader, of our invincible coquet? - -Let us now change the scene to the sick room of Lucia. - -“Look, my darling! see what beautiful flowers have been sent you this -morning!” said Mrs. Laurence, as Charlotte Atwood entered the room, -bearing in her hands two large and splendid bouquets. - -“How beautiful!” cried Lucia, a faint color tinging her pale cheek. - -“Yes, they are beautiful,” said her friend Charlotte; “really, Lucia, to -be so tenderly remembered in sickness, compensates for a great deal of -suffering. But you are favored; now I dare say poor I might look in vain -for any such fragrant tokens of kindness.” - -“You carry them always with you, dear Charlotte; your heart is a perfect -garden of all fair and beautiful flowers,” said Mrs. Laurence, smiling -gratefully at the affectionate girl, who had shared with her so -faithfully the cares and anxieties of her child’s sick bed. - -“Do you know who sent them?” asked Lucia, as she bent her head to inhale -their sweetness. - -“That I shall not tell you,” answered Charlotte, catching the flowers -from her hand. “They are offerings from your captive knights, fair -princess; now choose the one you like best, and then I will tell you; -but be as wary as Portia’s lovers in your choice, for I have determined -in my mind that on whichever your selection falls, the fortunate donor -shall also be the fortunate suitor for your hand—come, choose!” - -The bouquets were both beautiful. One was composed of the rarest and -most brilliant green-house flowers arranged with exquisite taste; the -other simply of the modest little Forget-me-not, rose-buds, and sweet -mignonette. - -“In the words of Bassanio, then, I will say, - - Outward shows be least themselves, - The world is still deceived with ornament; - -and thus I make my choice,“ answered Lucia, smiling, and blushing as she -took the forget-me-not, and pressed them to her bosom. - -“O happy, happy Mr. Gadsby!” cried Charlotte, laughing and clapping her -hands. - -“Are these from him, then!” exclaimed Lucia, as she cast the beautiful -flowers from her. “Then pardon me, Charlotte, if I make a new choice; -Mr. Gadsby is too officious—pray bring me no more flowers from him!” - -“You are really ungenerous, Lucia,” said Mrs. Laurence; “no one has been -so attentive in their inquiries since you have been ill as Mr. Gadsby. I -believe not a day has passed without his calling; they have not been -merely formal inquiries either—his countenance betrays a real -interest.” - -Lucia colored, and a gentle sigh heaved her bosom—but she said, coldly, - -“It is not difficult, dear mother, for Mr. Gadsby to feign an interest -for any lady upon whom he chooses to inflict his attentions.” - -“Now, Lucia, I take a bold, defensive ground for Mr. Gadsby,” exclaimed -Charlotte. “You have abused the poor man unmercifully since you first -knew him, nor given him credit for one honest feeling. Well, there is -one comfort, you do not think worse of him than he does of you.” - -“Then there is no love lost!” said Lucia, rather hastily. - -“No, I am sure of that!” replied Charlotte, laughing. “There is none -lost, it is true, but treasured in your very hearts, hidden away as fire -beneath the snowy surface of Hecla, and which will one day suddenly -burst its frigid bonds—now mark my words!” - -“You talk in enigmas, Charlotte, and I am too weary to solve them,” said -Lucia. - -“Pardon me, dearest, I forgot you were sitting up so long—you must lie -down;” and as Charlotte turned to arrange the pillows for the fair -invalid, in an opposite mirror she saw Lucia take up the discarded -flowers, and—_press them to her lips_. - - - CHAPTER VI. - -For the first time for many weeks, Lucia once more left her chamber, and -was able to receive the congratulatory visits of her friends. It was not -long ere Mr. Gadsby took advantage of her convalescence to express in -person his own pleasure at her recovered health. - -She had never looked more lovely in his eyes than when he thus met her. -If, at the moment when he first looked upon her, her paleness pained -him, the bright color which instantly mantled her cheek, and the -agitation of her manner, sent a thrill of happiness to his heart. He -took her small, attenuated hand, and pressed it tenderly, as, in an -agitated voice, he told the happiness it gave him to see her again; and -as Lucia raised her eyes to reply, she saw his fine countenance beaming -with an expression which deepened her bloom and increased her -embarrassment. - -“You have been very kind, Mr. Gadsby, during my illness,” she said, at -length, averting her face, “and I have to thank you for the many -beautiful flowers with which you have cheered my sick chamber.” - -These kind words from her—from the proud Lucia, rendered Gadsby almost -beside himself with joy. - -“Do not thank me for so trifling a favor, when, if I could, I would so -gladly have poured out my life’s blood to have saved you a moment’s -pain! O, my dear Miss Laurence—” - -Now spare me, kind reader; I was never good at a love scene. Only just -fancy as pretty a declaration of love as you ever listened to, or poured -from your own throbbing heart, and you will have the result of Mr. -Gadsby’s interview with the fair Lucia, the self-styled “champion of her -sex”—yet proving herself a recreant, after all her boasting; for I have -been told, confidentially, that, so far from spurning this -“hollow-breasted Frank Gadsby” from her feet, when Miss Atwood rather -abruptly entered the drawing-room, she actually found her with her -beautiful head resting on his shoulder, while his manly arm was thrown -around her delicate waist—you must remember she was an invalid, and -required support! - -There is a snug little house not a stone’s throw from the residence of -Mr. Laurence. It is furnished with perfect neatness and taste, and -there, loving and beloved, our two coquettes have settled themselves -down, in the practice of those domestic virtues and kindly affections -which contribute so largely to the happiness of life. Frank Gadsby is -now respected as an able lawyer, and bids fair to attain to great -eminence in his profession; and never did Lucia, even in the most -brilliant assembly, receiving the homage of so many eyes and hearts, -look more lovely than now, as in her neat morning dress, with her -beautiful hair in “braided tramels ’bout her daintie ears,” and - - “Household motions light and free, - And steps of virgin liberty,” - -she goes about dispensing order in her cherished home. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE GENIUS OF BYRON. - - - BY REV. J. N. DANFORTH. - - -Twenty-five years ago it was announced, in an Edinburgh Journal, by Sir -Walter Scott: “That mighty genius, which walked among men as something -superior to ordinary mortality, and whose powers were beheld with -wonder, and something approaching to terror, as if we knew not whether -they were of good or of evil, is laid as soundly to rest as the poor -peasant, whose ideas never went beyond his daily task. The voice of just -blame, and that of malignant censure, are at once silenced; and we feel -almost as if the great luminary of heaven had suddenly disappeared from -the sky, at the very moment when every telescope was leveled for the -examination of the spots which dimmed its brightness.” Thus did the -great “Wizard of the North” open his beautiful tribute to the memory of -the Noble Enchanter of the South, within whose fascinated circle had -been drawn the beauty, fashion, genius and literature of England. It was -as if the light of one star answered to that of another, or as if the -music of the one responded to the dying strains of the other—each in -his exalted sphere, when the “Great Unknown” thus uttered his voluntary -eulogy on a kindred genius, not to say imperial rival, of the first -magnitude, if the magnanimous spirit of the former could so conceive of -any cotemporary. The first fervor of admiring enthusiasm of the genius -of Byron having been cooled by the lapse of time, we are enabled to form -a more judicious estimate of it, and of the treasures it poured forth -with such lavish profusion. It is not now the image of the young lord we -see in the brilliant saloon, surrounded by gay admirers, with a face of -classic beauty, expressive eyes, an exquisite mouth and chin, hands -aristocratically small and delicately white, while over his head strayed -those luxuriant, dark-brown curls, that seem to constitute the mystery -of finishing beauty about the immortal brow of man and womankind, and -quite to defy the art of the sculptor. It is not such an one we see—a -living, moving form, like our own; but we think of the ghastly image of -death, we revert to the form mouldering in its subterranean bed, -relapsing into as common dust as that of the poorest beggar. But the -MIND remains—that which has stamped its burning thoughts on the poetic -page; it survives, imperishable, in another, an etherial sphere. It has -sought congenial companionship in one of the two states of perpetual -being, as inevitably demonstrated by reason as taught by revelation. -Byron himself might scorn to aspire after celestial purity and glory, -but he could draw with a dark and flagrant pencil the terrors of remorse -and retribution. He believed in the future existence of the soul, -whatever words of ominous meaning might at times be inserted to complete -a line or to indulge a whim of fancy. “Of the immortality of the soul,” -said he, “it appears to me there can be but little doubt, if we attend -for a moment to the action of mind; it is in perpetual activity. I used -to doubt it, but reflection has taught me better. It acts also so very -independent of the body—in dreams, for instance. . . I have often been -inclined to materialism in philosophy, but could never bear its -introduction into Christianity, which appears to me essentially founded -on the soul. For this reason Priestly’s materialism always struck me as -deadly. Believe the resurrection of the _body_, if you will, but not -without the _soul_.” Thus there were times when the “divinity stirred -within him,” and the soul asserted its regal prerogatives, and -vindicated its own expectations of the future. Nay, the sentiment must -have been habitual, for how often is it naturally implied in the ardor -of composition, as in those beautiful lines: - - “Remember me! Oh, pass not thou my grave, - Without one thought whose relics there recline. - The only pang my bosom dare not brave, - Would be to find forgetfulness in thine.” - -But our chief concern is with the _Poet_ Byron, not with the Philosopher -or the Peer. It has been said that in reviewing the lives of the most -illustrious poets—the class of intellect in which the characteristic -features of genius are most strongly marked—we shall find that, from -Homer to Byron, they have been restless and solitary spirits, with minds -wrapped up, like silk-worms, in their own tasks, either strangers or -rebels to domestic ties, and bearing about with them a deposit for -posterity in their souls, to the jealous watching and enriching of which -most all other thoughts and considerations have been sacrificed. In -accordance with this theory, Pope said: “One misfortune of extraordinary -geniuses is, that their very friends are more apt to admire than to love -them.” True, they have often “dwelt apart,” have been so engaged in -cultivating the imaginative faculty, as to become less sensible to the -objects of real life, and have substituted the sensibilities of the -imagination for those of the heart. Thus Dante is accused of wandering -away from his wife and children to nurse his dream of Beatrice, Petrarch -to have banished his daughter from his roof, while he luxuriated in -poetic and impassioned ideals, Alfieri always kept away from his mother, -and Sterne preferred, in the somewhat uncouth language of Byron, -“whining over a dead ass to relieving a living mother.” But did not -Milton love his daughter with an intense tenderness? Than Cowper who a -more filial and devoted son to the memory of his mother? A fond father -as well as faithful son was Campbell. Burns, too, delighted in his -“fruitful vine,” and “tender olive plants.” In Wordsworth the beauty and -purity of domestic life shone forth to the end. Southey had a home of -love and peace. Scott was a model of a husband and father. Nothing can -exceed the exquisite tenderness of some passages in his diary at the -death of his wife. Goldsmith was neither husband nor father, yet his -fine poetry never alienated his heart from the softer scenes and -sympathies of life. It seemed rather to augment their claims, and the -clear current from the fountain of the imagination is seen to flow right -through the channel of the heart, sparkling with beauty and murmuring -natural music in the enchanted ear. Even the voluptuous Moore is said to -have repaired his fame and prolonged his days by settling down into the -sobrieties of domestic life. - -To return to Byron. He might be said to be unfortunate in his cradle. -His young days were brought under sinister influences and associations. -The youth that is deprived of a healthy maternal guardianship, is to be -pitied. Such was Byron’s lot. Alternately indulged and abused, petted -and irritated, his temper was formed in a bad mould. Never could he -forget the feeling of horror and humiliation that came over him when his -mother, in one of her fits of passion, called him a “lame brat.” - -Now, as men of genius, being by a law of genius itself susceptible of -strong impressions, are in the habit of reproducing those impressions in -their works, a man of a sensitive poetic temperament, like Byron, and -one so highly, so dangerously endowed with intellect, and a vigorous -power of expression, would give to all these thoughts and associations a -local habitation, a living permanence in poetry, romance, and even in -history, so far as it could be turned to such a purpose. In his Deformed -Transformed, Bertha says: “Out, hunchback!” Poor Arnold replies: “I was -born so, mother!” If, then, we find the traits of misanthropy, scorn, -hate, revenge, and others of the serpent brood, so often obtruding -themselves in his poetry as to compel us to believe they were combined -with the very texture of his thoughts and the action of his imagination, -imparting to it a sombre and menacing aspect, we must refer much of this -melancholy idiosyncracy to his early education. He was always grieving -over the malformation of his foot. Far more lamentable was the -malformation of his mental habits. But this, unlike the other, could be -corrected. He should have exerted himself to achieve so noble a victory. -Instead of this he resigned himself to the strength of the downward -current, and was finally dashed among the rocks, where other stranded -wrecks uttered their warning voice in vain. There did he take up the -affecting lamentation: - - “The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree - I planted—they have torn me, and I bleed. - I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.” - -Goethe said of him, that he was inspired with the _genius of Pain_. The -joyous, cheerful spirit that pervades the works of men who, like Scott -and Southey, were educated under auspicious influences, and by a healthy -process grew up to manhood with an habitual regard to the sacred -sanctions annexed to their physical and moral being, contrasts strongly -with the morbid, gloomy, and often bitter and sarcastic temper of that -poetry, which seems to flow as if from some poisoned fountain of -Helicon. Sometimes, indeed, he forgets his fancied wrongs and real woes, -as when walking amid the ruins of imperial Rome, and kindred -contiguities, he throws himself back into the very bosom of classic -antiquity, and pours out the purest strains of eloquence, enriched with -the glowing sunlight of poetry. For a time the shadow of the evil spirit -appears to depart from him, and the true glory of his genius shines -forth without a cloud, while the sentiments that rise in his soul ascend -to a pitch of moral sublimity beyond which the ambition of the human -imagination could not desire to go. In the fourth canto of Childe Harold -his power of conception and expression culminated, and the publication -of that poem called forth a judgment of the Lord Chief Justice of the -Bench of Literature, Francis Jeffrey, which almost deserves a coequal -immortality with the poem itself, and it is impossible to account for -this splendid piece of criticism being left out of the recent collection -of the elegant Critic and Essayist, except on the supposition that the -most accomplished judges of other men’s works are some times incompetent -to fix the right estimate of their own. Genius does not always -accurately weigh its own productions, since Milton preferred his -Paradise Regained to his Paradise Lost, and Byron himself was -inveterately attached to a poem, or rather a translation, to restrain -him from publishing which cost the strongest efforts of his most -influential friends. - -He was then a voluntary exile from his native land, that noble England, -which should be dear to all great men, because the mother of so many; he -was nursing many fictitious sorrows; affecting a scorn for his country -he could not feel; defying the judgments of men to which he was -painfully sensitive; mourning over the blasted blossoms of domestic -happiness; seeking new sources of gratification, or old gratifications -in new forms; in the midst of all he plunges into the arcana of classic -lore; he dives into the crystal depths of classic antiquity, to draw -forth beautiful gems, dripping with the sparkling element, untainted by -its passage through centuries of time. He reconstructs the whole scene -to our view, mingling his illustrations from those severer arts with the -sweet and graceful touches of a pencil that seems capable of catching -and delineating every form of beauty that can engage the fancy or awaken -the imagination. We have been filled with admiration, we have been fired -with enthusiasm, at some of these magnificent strains of poetry, noble -ideas, burning thoughts, assuming precisely the dress, the costume, -which best became them. Whether the poet takes us along the bank of some -classic stream, places us before some romantic city, flies over the -battle-field, luxuriates in a moonlight scene, lingers amid broken -columns and bubbling fountains, gazes on the splendid remnants of -statues that almost seem instinct with the breath of life, conducts us -to the roaring of the cataract, across whose dread chasm, “the hell of -waters,” is arched here and there the lovely Iris, with her seven-fold -dyes, “like Hope upon a death-bed,” then upward passes and beholds the -solemn mountains, the Alps or Appenines, scenes of heroic daring and -suffering, contemplates the mighty ocean, “dark, heaving, boundless, -endless and sublime, the image of eternity,” over whose bosom ten -thousand fleets have swept, and left no marks; finally, if he leads us -back to the Eternal City, not as in her pride of place and power, but as -oppressed with the “double night of ages,” as the “Niobe of nations,” -the “lone mother of dead empires,” sitting in solitude, “an empty urn -within her withered hands,” and draws mighty lessons from all these -objects, in all this we behold the splendor of true genius; we feel its -power; we wonder at the gifts of God thus bestowed; we tremble at the -responsibility of the man thus rarely endowed by his Creator. That regal -imagination, disdaining at times the vulgarities to which a depraved -heart would subject it, asserts its native dignity, and as it ranges -among more quiet scenes utters, with the solemnity of a prophet, such a -lesson as this: - - “If from society we learn to live, - ’Tis solitude should teach us how to die. - It hath no flatterers; vanity can give - No hollow aid; alone, man with his God must strive.” - -Besides that ORIGINALITY, which is a distinguishing attribute of the -genius of Byron, there is in his language a power of concentration, -which adds greatly to its vigor; some condensing process of thought is -going on, the result of which is much meaning in few words, and those -words kept under the law of fitness with more than military precision, -yet without constraint. Few feeble words or straggling lines disfigure -his poetry. That infamous effusion of a putrid mind, Don Juan, has most -of them, while it has also some exquisite gems of beauty. As the last -offspring of a teeming mind, it evidences a progress in sensual -depravity, and an effrontery in publishing it to the world, seldom -adventured by the most reckless contemner of the opinion of his fellow -men, or the most impious blasphemer of the majesty of God. Indeed, his -moral sense must have reached that region said to be inhabited by -demons, who “impair the strength of better thoughts,” - - “Making the sun like blood, the earth a tomb, - The tomb a hell, and hell itself a murkier gloom.” - -It was of this last, deeply characteristic work, that Blackwood’s -Magazine said, at the time: “In its composition there is unquestionably -a more thorough and intense infusion of genius and vice, power and -profligacy, than in any poem which had ever been written in the English, -or indeed in any other modern language.” No poem, perhaps, ever -exhibited a more remarkable mixture of ease, strength, fluency, gayety, -mock-seriousness, and even refined tenderness of sentiment along with -coarse indecency. Love, honor, purity, patriotism, chastity, religion, -are all set forth or set at naught, just as suits the present, vagrant -fancy of the author. The Edinburgh Review justly said: “We are -acquainted with no writings so well calculated to extinguish in young -minds all generous enthusiasm and gentle affection, all respect for -themselves, and all love for their kind; to make them practice and -profess hardly what it teaches them to suspect in others, and actually -to persuade them that it is wise and manly, and knowing, to laugh, not -only at self-denial and restraint, but at all aspiring ambition, and all -warm and constant affection.” - -The opinion of admiring and impartial critics, indeed, was, that the -tendency of his writings was to destroy all belief in the reality of -virtue, to make constancy of devotion ridiculous; not so much by direct -maxims and examples of an imposing or seducing kind, as by the habitual -exhibition of the most profligate heartlessness in the persons who had -been represented as actuated by the purest and most exalted emotions, -and in the lessons of that same teacher who, a moment before, was so -pathetic and eloquent in the expression of the loftiest conceptions. - -How nobly different was Burns, the peer of Byron in genius—analogous to -him, as well in the strength of passion as in the beauty of imagination; -attracted, like him, by the Circean cup, absorbed at times in his -convivialities, but never jesting with virtue, jeering at religion, or -scorning the recollections of a pious home and a praying father. They -rose by the force of their genius—they fell by the strength of their -passions; but the fall of the one was only a repetition of the lapses of -apostate humanity—guilty, indeed, but profoundly self-lamented, often -expiated in tears wept on the bosom of domestic affection. The fall of -the other was like that of the arch-angel ruined, defying Omnipotence, -even when rolling in agony on a sea of fire. Even when feeding his fancy -and invigorating his imagination amid the rural charms and sublimities -of Switzerland, Byron thus writes in his journal: “I am a lover of -nature and an admirer of beauty. I can bear fatigue and welcome -privation, and have seen some of the noblest views in the world. But in -all this, the recollection of bitterness, and more especially of more -recent and more home desolation, which must accompany me through life, -have preyed upon me here; and neither the music of the shepherd, the -crashing of the avalanche, nor the torrent, the mountain, the glacier, -the forest, nor the cloud, have for one moment lightened the weight upon -my heart, nor enabled me to lose my own wretched identity in the -majesty, and the power, and the glory around, above, and beneath me.” -Or, as expressed in another form: - - “——I have thought - Too long and darkly, till my brain became, - In its own eddy, boiling and o’er wrought— - A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame.” - -Why all this? A part of the secret is disclosed by himself, in a letter -to his friend Dallas: “My whole life has been at variance with -propriety, not to say decency. . . . My friends are dead or estranged, -and my existence a dreary void.” It had not been so had passion been -held in check by principle, instead of principle being subjected to -passion. There is, indeed, too much reason to believe the truth, that in -connection with great versatility of powers, there is too often found a -tendency to versatility of principle. So the unprincipled Chatterton -said: “he held that man in contempt who could not write on both sides of -a question.” Byron delights in sketching the most odd and opposite sorts -and styles of pictures, and in abruptly bringing into rude collision the -most opposite principles, as if he would amuse himself with the shock -while he distresses the sensibilities of others. His powers were mighty, -various, beautiful; but they needed adjustment. There was no regular -balance-wheel in his intellectual and moral system. In another, or more -painful sense, than the pensive and drooping genius of Cowper expressed -it, might Byron say: - - “The howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, - Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost, - And day by day some current’s thwarting force - Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.” - -His refined and exquisite sense of the beautiful in poesy could not be -surpassed. His pictures of mortal loveliness are quite inimitable, and -there is at times in the strains of his muse, in the very structure of -his language, a tenderness, which it would seem impossible could -co-exist with that severity so often, so naturally sharpening into -sarcasm, as if it were a part of the staple of his mind. The lash of -criticism having first roused up the dormant energies of his genius, his -first impulse was to seize the sharpest weapons of satire he could find, -and even the poisoned arrows of vituperation and slander, and with a -power and precision of archery seldom surpassed, to take his full -measure of retaliation. Nay, he became so fond of the sport, or so -unable otherwise to satisfy his revenge, that he multiplied innocent -victims, assailing his own relations, and even the noble, generous, -genial Scott, whose maxim it was never to provoke or be provoked, -especially in his intercourse with the irritable tribe of authors. -Firmly and calmly Scott resolved to receive the fire of all sorts of -assailants, who were engaged in the “raving warfare of satire, parody, -and sarcasm.” This sudden, bellicose production of Byron’s impulsive -genius—English Bards and Scotch Reviewers—cost even him shame and -sorrow the rest of his life. But still he was ever fond of sailing on -that quarter. His impulses must ever be of the fiery, fitful kind. It is -a wonder that, among all his paradoxes and peregrinations, he did not -pay a visit to the _Dead Sea_. That _would_ have been a congenial -pilgrimage for Childe Harold; and, then, for such a drake as he was to -swim in its waters! The exploit of Leander was only repeated by him from -Sestus to Abydos. The other would have been an original feat, worthy of -the taste of a man who preferred drinking out of a skull to the usual -mode of potation out of the ordinary goblets of civilization. - -Severe, scornful, passionate, vengeful, as he often was, how do those -stern features relax, and the milder sensibilities rise into tender -exercise, when, as a father in exile, he writes: - - “My daughter! with thy name this song begun, - My daughter! with thy name thus much shall end. - I see thee not—I hear thee not—but none - Can be so wrapt in thee; thou art the friend - To whom the shadows of far years extend; - Albeit my brow thou never shouldst behold, - My voice shall with thy future visions blend, - And reach into thy heart—when mine is cold, - A token and a tone, even from thy father’s mould.” - -Thus, with a certain style of uniformity everywhere observable, -especially in his characters, there is much variety of thought, emotion -and passion, evidential of great fertility of mind. If he does reproduce -the same hero under different names, and even give strong indications of -his identification with himself, still the wand of the enchanter invests -him with so many brilliant aspects, places him in so many imposing -attitudes, as to produce all the effect of novelty. His muse less -delights in planning incidents and grouping characters, than in working -out, as with the sculptor’s energetic art, single, stern, striking -models of heroic humanity, albeit stained with dangerous vices. His very -genius has been declared to be inspired with the classic enthusiasm that -has produced some of the most splendid specimens of the chisel; “his -heroes stand alone, as upon marble pedestals, displaying the naked power -of passion, or the wrapped up and reposing energy of grief.” Medora, -Gulnare, Lara, Manfred, Childe Harold, might each furnish an original -from which the sculptor could execute copies, that would stand the proud -impressive symbols of manliness or of loveliness, satisfying even those -intense dreams of beauty which poets and lovers sometimes indulge in -their solitary musings. - - “There, too, the goddess loves in stone, and fills - The air around with beauty; we inhale - The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils - Part of its immortality.” Childe Harold. - -This poem, indeed, is a perfect gallery of art, whose paintings and -statues are drawn and fashioned from the life, with the skill of a -consummate master and the facility of a powerful creative, divinely -endowed genius. He places his hand on the broad canvas of life, and -behold the figures that rise under his magic pencil! They are, indeed, -too often dark, stern, mysterious and awful, stained with vices, and -pre-doomed, for their guilt, to the pains of a terrible reprobation. -With such characters the genius of Byron had a strange sympathy. Hence -his admiration of that historical passage in the Scriptures, in which -the crime and the doom of Saul is so solemnly set forth at the tomb of -the prophet Samuel, whose sepulchral slumbers were so rudely disturbed -by the intrusion of the anxious and distressed monarch, now forsaken by -his God. Shakspeare, having finished off one of these dark and repulsive -pictures, as in his Macbeth or Lear, passes to the sketching of more -cheerful and even humorous portraits; but Byron, for the most part, -delights to dwell in darkness. Thus, in this poem, when the curse is -imprecated, the time midnight, the scene the ruined site of the temple -of the Furies, the auditors the ghosts of departed years, the imprecator -a spirit fallen from an unwonted height of glory to the depths of wo. -Principals and accessaries assume the sombre coloring of his -imagination, from which, however, at times, shoots a gleam of beauty, -that imparts loveliness to the whole scene. Milton, with his almost -perfect sense of beauty, and the fitness of things, would never have put -such words as these in the mouth of his Eve: - - “May the grass wither from thy foot! the woods - Deny thee shelter—earth a home—the dust - A grave! the sun his light! and Heaven her God!” - Cain. - -It was quite suitable for Byron to talk so in his Cain, but he has not -unsettled the position of the world’s estimate of its first mother, so -firmly established by Milton. He was, at the time, perhaps, thinking of -himself as Cain, and of his own mother as in one of her imprecating -paroxysms. Alas, that he should have gone on in lawless indulgence, -insulting, both in poetry and practice, the sanctity of domestic, -heaven-constituted, earth-blessing ties, until, after an abortive, -ill-directed struggle for poor Greece, he sunk into an early grave, at -36 aet., the very meridian of life! He was never satisfied with his -earthly lot, not even with the rare gifts of his genius, nor with the -achievements it made. He professed to consider a poet, no matter what -his eminence, as quite a secondary character to a great statesman or -warrior. As he had failed in the first character, he resolved to try the -second, and strike for the liberty he had sung. But Fame had no place -for him in this part of her temple. With the rest of the tuneful tribe, -he descends to the judgment of posterity as a Poet; with all men of -genius above the million, as more deeply responsible than they to the -author of all mercies; with all men whatever, as a MORAL AND IMMORTAL -BEING, accountable at the tribunal of God. - -The mind would fail in any attempt to estimate the immense influence of -his genius and writings upon the youthful mind and morals of the past -generation—an influence to be augmented in a geometrical ratio in the -future. What is written, is written, constituting a portion of the -active influence circulating in the world—not to be recalled, not to be -extinguished, but to move on to the end of time, and finally to be met -by its originator, where all illusions will vanish, and all truth, -justice and purity be vindicated. - - * * * * * - - - - - OUTWARD BOUND. - - - BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. - - - Fare ye well, our native valleys, - And our native hills farewell; - Though we part, your blessed memory - Shall be with us like a spell:— - - For with you are souls in silence - Breathing for us hopes and prayers, - Loving eyes that weep in secret - Gazing on the vacant chairs. - - Tender hearts made dear unto us - By unnumbered sacred ties, - Bend at eve their tearful vision - To the stars that o’er us rise. - - There are children, darling children, - In the April of their years, - In their play they cease and call us, - And their laughter melts to tears. - - There are maidens overshadowed - With a transient cloud of May, - There are wives who sit in sorrow - Like a rainy summer day. - - There our parents sit dejected - In the darkness of their grief, - Mourning their last hope departed - As the autumn mourns its leaf. - - But the prayers of these are with us - Till the winds that fill the sails - Seem to be the breath of blessings - From our native hills and vales. - - Then farewell, the breeze is with us, - And our vessel ploughs the foam; - God, who guides the good ship seaward - Will protect the loved at home. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: HE COMES NOT. - -Painted by W. Brown and Engraved expressly for Graham's Magazine by W. - Holl] - - * * * * * - - - - - HE COMES NOT. - - - [WITH AN ENGRAVING.] - - - BY C. SWAIN. - - - Night throws her silver tresses back, - And o’er the mountain-tops afar - She leaves a soft and moonlight track, - More glorious than the day-beams are; - And while she steers her moonlight barque - Along that starry river now, - Each leaf, each flower, each bending bough, - Starts into beauty from the dark; - Each path appears a silver line, - And naught in earth—but all divine. - - Oh, never light of moon was shed - Upon a maid’s more timid tread; - And never star of heaven shone - On face more fair to look upon. - Hark! was not that a whisper light? - A step—a movement—yet so slight, - That silence holds its breath in vain - To catch that fleeting sound again. - Well may’st thou start, lone, timid dove, - To-night he comes not to thy love. - - * * * * * - - - - - RAIL AND RAIL SHOOTING. - - -BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF FRANK FORESTER’S “FIELD SPORTS,” “FISH - AND FISHING,” ETC. - - -[Illustration: THE VIRGINIA RAIL. (_Rallus Virginianus._) -THE SORA RAIL. (_Rallus Carolinensis._)] - -With the present month commences the pursuit of this singular and -delicious species of game, and, although as a sport it is not to be -compared with the bolder and more varied interest of shooting over dogs -on the upland, still the great numbers which are killed, and the -rapidity with which shot after shot is discharged in succession, render -Rail-shooting a very favorite pastime, more especially with the -sportsmen of Philadelphia, in the vicinity of which city this curious -little bird is found in the greatest abundance. - -Of the _rallidæ_, or Rail family, there are many varieties in America, -all of them more or less aquatic in their habits, and none of them -being, as the Corncrake, or Land Rail, of Europe, purely terrestrial; -though the little Yellow-Breasted, or New York Rail, _Rallus -Noveboracencis_, approaches the most nearly to that type, being -frequently killed in upland stubble or fallow fields. - -The principal of these species, and those most worthy of notice, -are—the Clapper Rail, or great Salt-Water Rail, variously known as the -Meadow Hen, or Mud Hen; found very extensively along all the tide -morasses, and salt meadows of the Atlantic coast, but more especially on -the shores of Long Island, and in New Jersey, at Barnegat and Egg -Harbor. This, the scientific name of which is _Rallus crepitans_, is the -largest of the species; it is shot from row boats in high spring tides, -when the water has risen so much as to render it impossible for the -Rails either to escape by running, which they do at other times with -singular fleetness, baffling the best dogs by the celerity with which -they pass between the thick-set stalks of the reeds and wild oats, -constituting their favorite covert, or to lurk unseen among the dense -herbage. - -This Rail, like all its race, is a slow and heavy flyer, flapping -awkwardly along with its legs hanging down and a laborious flutter of -the wings. It is, of course, very easily shot, even by a bungler, and -there is little or no sport in the pursuit, though its flesh is tender -and delicate, so that it is pursued on that account with some eagerness. - -Second to the Clapper Rail, in size, and infinitely superior to it in -beauty and excellence of flesh, is the King Rail, _Rallus elegans_, -which is by far the handsomest of the species. It is commonly known as -the Fresh-Water Meadow Hen, though it is not with us to the northward a -frequent or familiar visitant, the Delaware river being for the most -part its northeastern limit, and very few being killed to the eastward -of that boundary. A few are found, it is true, from time to time, in New -Jersey, and it has occurred on Long Island, and in the southern part of -New York, though rather as an exception than as a rule. - -Next to these come the Virginia Rail, which is represented to the right -hand of the cut at the head of this paper, and the Sora, which -accompanies it. - -The Virginia Rail, _Rallus Virginianus_, notwithstanding its -nomenclature, which would seem to indicate its peculiar local -habitation, is very generally found throughout the United States, and -very far to the northward of the Old Dominion. I have myself killed it -in the State of Maine, as well as in New York, New Jersey, and -Pennsylvania, at the marsh of the _Aux Canards_ river, in Canada East, -and on the head waters of the Lake Huron Rivers. In the great wild rice -marshes of the St. Clair river, the Virginia Rail, like most of the -aquatic birds and waders, is very common. It is rather more upland in -its habits than its companion, the Sora, which delights in the wettest -tide-flowed swamps where the foot of man can scarcely tread, being -frequently killed by the Snipe-shooter in wet inland meadows, which is -rarely or never the case with the Sora. - -The Virginia Rail is, however, not unfrequently found in company with -the other on the mud flats of the Delaware, and, with it, is shot from -skiffs propelled by a pole through the reed beds at high water. - -The Virginia Rail is a pretty bird, measuring about eight inches in -length. The bill is about an inch long, slightly decurved, red at the -base and black at the extremity; the nostrils linear. The top of the -head is dark-brown, with a few pale yellowish streaks; a blackish band -extends from the base of the bill to the eye, and a large, ash-colored -spot, commencing above the eye posteriorily, occupies the whole of the -cheeks. The throat, breast, and belly, so far as to the thighs, which -partake the same color, are of a rich fulvous red, deepest on the belly. -The upper parts, back of the neck, scapulars, and rump, are dark -blackish-brown, irregularly streaked and dashed with pale -yellowish-olive. The wing-coverts are bright bay, the quills and tail -blackish-brown. The vent black, every feather margined with white. The -legs are red, naked a little way up the tibia. It is a very rapid -runner, but flies heavily. It affords a succulent and highly flavored -dish, and is accordingly very highly prized, though scarcely equal in -this respect to its congener, the Sora, which is regarded by many -persons as the most delicious of all game, though for my own part I -would postpone it to the Canvas-Back, _Fuligula valisneria_, the Upland -Plover, _Totanus Bartramius_, and the Pinnated Grouse, or Prairie Fowl, -_Tetrao cupido_. - -The Sora Rail, _Rallus Carolinus_, which is more especially the subject -of this paper, is somewhat inferior in size to the last species, and is -easily distinguished from it by the small, round head, and short bill, -in which it differs from all the rest of its family. This bill is -scarcely half an inch in length, unusually broad at the base, and -tapering regularly to a bluntly rounded point. At the base and through -nearly the whole length of the lower mandible it is pale -greenish-yellow, horn-colored at the tip. The crown of the head, nape, -and shoulders, are of a uniform pale olive-brown, with a medial black -stripe on the crown. The cheeks, throat, and breast, pale rufous brown, -fading into rufous white on the belly, which is mottled with broad -transverse gray lines. The back, scapulars, wing-coverts, and rump, are -olive-brown, broadly patched with black, and having many of the feathers -margined longitudinally with white, the quills dark blackish-brown, the -tail dark reddish-brown. The lower parts from the tail posteriorily to -the vent transversely banded with black and white. The legs long and -slender, bare a short way up the tibia, of a pale greenish hue. The iris -of the eye is bright chestnut. The male bird has several black spots on -the neck. - -This bird is migratory in the United States, passing along the sea-coast -as well as in the interior; a few breed in New Jersey, on the Raritan, -Passaic, and Hackensack rivers; but on the Delaware and its tributaries, -which abound with wild rice, it is exceedingly abundant, as it is also -in the great northwestern lakes and rivers which are all plentifully -supplied with this its favorite food. It is rarely killed in New York or -to the eastward, though a few are found on the flats of the Hudson. It -winters for the most part to the south of the United States, although a -few pass the cold season in the tepid swamps and morasses of Florida and -Louisiana. All this is now ascertained beyond doubt, but till within a -few years all sorts of strange fabulous tales have been in circulation -concerning the habits of this bird; arising from the circumstance of its -very sudden and mysterious arrival and disappearance on its -breeding-grounds, the marshes being one day literally alive with them, -and the next solitary and deserted. Add to this its difficult, short, -and laborious flight, apparently so inadequate to the performance of -migrations thousands of miles in length, and it will be easy to conceive -that the vulgar, the ignorant, and the prejudiced, should have been -unable to comprehend the possibility of its aërial voyages, and should -have endeavored to account for their disappearance by insisting that -they burrow into the mud and become torpid during the winter, as I have -myself heard men maintain, incredulous and obstinate against conviction. -Audubon has thought it necessary gravely, and at some length, to -controvert this absurd fallacy, and in doing so has recorded the -existence of a planter on the James River, in Virginia, who is well -convinced that the Sora changes in the autumn into a frog, and resumes -its wings and plumage in the spring, thus renewing the absurd old legend -of Gerardus Cambrensis in relation to the tree which bears shell-fish -called _barnacles_, whence in due season issue _barnacle geese_. - -The Sora Rail arrives in the Northern States in April or May. I saw one -killed myself this spring in a deep tide marsh on the Salem creek, near -Pennsville, in New Jersey, on the 25th of the former month, which was in -pretty good condition. They migrate so far north as to Hudson’s Bay, -where they arrive early in June, and depart again for the south early in -the autumn. They breed in May and June, making an inartificial nest of -dry grass, usually in a tussock in the marsh, and laying four or five -eggs of dirty white, with brown or blackish-white spots. The young run -as soon as they are hatched, and skulk about in the grass like young -mice, being covered with black down. The Sora Rail is liable to a -curious sort of epileptic fit, into which it appears to fall in -consequence of the paroxysms of fear or rage to which it is singularly -liable. - -The following account of the habits and the method of shooting this -bird, from Wilson’s great work on the Birds of America, is so admirably -graphic, truthful, and life-like, that I prefer transcribing it for my -own work on Field Sports, into which I copied it entire as incomparably -superior to any thing I have elsewhere met on the subject, to recording -it myself with, perhaps, inferior vigor. - -“Early in August, when the reeds along the shores of the Delaware have -attained their full growth, the Rail resort to them in great numbers, to -feed on the seeds of this plant, of which they, as well as the -Rice-birds, and several others, are immoderately fond. These reeds, -which appear to be the _Zizania panicula effusa_ of Linnæus, and the -_Zizania clavulosa_ of Willenden, grow up from the soft muddy shores of -the tide-water, which are, alternately, dry, and covered with four or -five feet of water. They rise with an erect tapering stem, to the height -of eight or ten feet, being nearly as thick below as a man’s wrist, and -cover tracts along the river for many acres. The cattle feed on their -long, green leaves, with avidity, and wade in after them as far as they -dare safely venture. They grow up so close together, that except at or -near high water, a boat can with difficulty make its way through among -them. The seeds are produced at the top of the plant, the blossoms, or -male parts, occupying the lower branches of the panicle, and the seeds -the higher. The seeds are nearly as long as a common-sized pin, somewhat -more slender, white, sweet to the taste, and very nutritive, as appears -by their effects on the various birds that feed on them at this season. -When the reeds are in this state, and even while in blossom, the Rail -are found to have taken possession of them in great numbers. These are -generally numerous, in proportion to the full and promising crop of the -former. As you walk along the embankment of the river, at this season, -you hear them squeaking in every direction, like young puppies. If a -stone be thrown among the reeds, there is a general outcry, and a -reiterated _kuk, kuk, kuk_—something like that of a Guinea-fowl. Any -sudden noise, or discharge of a gun, produces the same effect. In the -meantime, none are to be seen, unless it be at or near high water—for -when the tide is low, they universally secrete themselves among the -insterstices of the reeds; and you may walk past, and even over them, -where there are hundreds, without seeing a single individual. On their -first arrival, they are generally lean and unfit for the table, but as -the seeds ripen, they rapidly fatten, and from the 20th September to the -middle of October, are excellent, and eagerly sought after. The usual -method of shooting them in this quarter of the country is as follows. - -“The sportsman furnishes himself with a light batteau, and a stout, -experienced boatman, with a pole of twelve or fifteen feet long, -thickened at the lower end, to prevent it from sinking too deep in the -mud. About two hours or so before high water, they enter the reeds, and -each takes his post—the sportsman standing in the bow, ready for -action, the boatman on the stern-seat, pushing her steadily through the -reeds. The Rail generally spring singly as the boat advances, and at a -short distance a-head, are instantly shot down, while the boatman, -keeping his eye on the spot where the bird fell, directs the boat -forward, and picks the bird up, while the gunner is loading. It is also -the boatman’s business to keep a sharp look out, and give the word -‘Mark,’ when a Rail springs on either side, without being observed by -the sportsman, and to note the exact spot where it falls, until he has -picked it up; for this once lost sight of, owing to the sameness in the -appearance of the reeds, is seldom found again. In this manner the boat -moves steadily through and over the reeds, the birds flushing and -falling, the gunner loading and firing, while the boatman is pushing and -picking up. The sport continues an hour or two after high water, when -the shallowness of the water, and the strength and weight of the -floating reeds, as also the backwarkness of the game to spring, as the -tide decreases, oblige them to return. Several boats are sometimes -within a short distance of each other, and a perpetual cracking of -musketry prevails above the whole reedy shores of the river. In these -excursions, it is not uncommon for an active and expert marksman to kill -ten or twelve dozen in a tide. They are usually shot singly, though I -have known five killed at one discharge of a double-barrelled piece. -These instances, however, are rare. The flight of these birds among the -reeds, is usually low, and shelter being abundant, is rarely extended to -more than fifty or one hundred yards. When winged, and uninjured in -their legs, they swim and dive with great rapidity, and are seldom seen -to rise again. I have several times, on such occasions, discovered them -clinging with their feet to the reeds under the water, and at other -times skulking under the reeds, with their bills just above the surface; -sometimes, when wounded, they dive, and rising under the gunwale of the -boat, secrete themselves there, moving round as the boat moves, until -they have an opportunity of escaping unnoticed. They are feeble and -delicate in every thing except the legs, which seem to possess great -vigor and energy; and their bodies being so remarkably thin, and -compressed so as to be less than an inch and a quarter through -transversely, they are enabled to pass between the reeds like rats. When -seen, they are almost constantly jetting up the tail, yet though their -flight among the reeds seems feeble and fluttering, every sportsman who -is acquainted with them here, must have seen them occasionally rising to -a considerable height, stretching out their legs behind them, and flying -rapidly across the river, where it is more than a mile in width. Such is -the mode of Rail shooting in the neighborhood of Philadelphia. - -“In Virginia, particularly along the shores of James River, within the -tide-water, where the Rail, or Sora, are found in prodigious numbers, -they are also shot on the wing, but more usually taken at night in the -following manner:— - -“A kind of iron grate is fixed on the top of a stout pole, which is -placed like a mast in a light canoe, and filled with fire. The darker -the night, the more successful is the sport. The person who manages the -canoe, is provided with a light paddle, ten or twelve feet in length; -and about an hour before high water, proceeds through among the reeds, -which lie broken and floating on the surface. The whole space, for a -considerable way round the canoe, is completely enlightened—the birds -start with astonishment, and, as they appear, are knocked over the head -with a paddle, and thrown into the canoe. In this manner, from twenty to -eighty dozen have been killed by three negroes in the short space of -three hours. - -“At the same season, or a little earlier, they are very numerous in the -lagoons near Detroit, on our northern frontier, where another species of -reed, of which they are equally fond, grows in shallows, in great -abundance. Gentlemen who have shot them there, and on whose judgment I -can rely, assure me that they differ in nothing from those they have -usually killed on the shores of the Delaware and Schuylkill; they are -equally fat, and exquisite eating.” - -To this I shall only add, that a very light charge of powder and -three-quarters of an oz. of No. 9 shot will be found quite sufficient to -kill this slow flying bird. I have found it an excellent plan to have a -square wooden box, with two compartments, one holding ten lbs. of shot, -with a small tin scoop, containing your charge, and the other containing -a _quantum suff._ of wadding, placed on the thwarts of the boat, before -you, and to lay your powder flask beside it, by doing which you will -save much time in loading; a great desideratum where birds rise in such -quick succession as these will do at times, a couple of hundred being -some times killed by one gun in a single tide. - -A landing net on a long light pole will be found very convenient for -recovering dead birds. No rules are needed for killing rail, as they lie -so close and fly so slowly that a mere bungler can scarce miss them, -unless he either gets flurried or tumbles overboard. When dead he is to -be roasted, underdone, like the snipe, served on a slice of crisp -buttered toast, with no condiment save a little salt and his own gravy. -If you are wise, gentle reader, you will lay his ghost to rest with red -wine—Burgundy if you can get it, if not, with claret. For supper he is -undeniable, and I confess that, for my own part, I more appreciate the -pleasure of eating, than the sport of slaying him; and so peace to him -for the present, of which he surely will enjoy but little after the -twentieth of September, until the early frosts shall drive him to his -asylums, in the far southern wilds and waters. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE FINE ARTS. - - -Twenty-Seventh Annual Exhibition of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine -Arts.—Viewed in all its bearings and relations, we believe this to have -been the most important exhibition of this excellent institution. Not -that we think the present by any means the best collection of paintings -we remember to have seen in these same rooms. We believe it is generally -known that for some time past a considerable business has been done in -the way of importing paintings, statues, etc., for purposes of -speculation. Through the exertions of the individuals engaged in this -traffic, scores of foreign pictures have been scattered over the -country. With this business it is not our purpose to meddle. Undoubtedly -these gentlemen possess the right to invest their money in whatever will -yield the largest per centage, and we are glad to perceive that a -fondness for art exists to such an extent as tempts shrewd speculators -and financiers to enter into operations of this description. But, -keeping in view the state of affairs induced by the exertions of these -gentlemen, no surprise will exist in the mind of any one at the -unparalleled interest created in the public mind by the announcement -that the Directors of the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, impelled by -a laudable desire to patronize art and artists, had offered certain -“prizes or sums of money,” to be competed for by artists all over the -world. The mere announcement put public curiosity on the _qui vive_. -Expectation was on tip-toe. At length, after protracted delay, on the -16th of May last, the Academy was thrown open to the public. - -The two galleries—the south-east and the north-east—those usually -appropriated to the new works, contained one hundred and eighty -pictures, which, with some half dozen scattered through the old -collection, made about one hundred and ninety new pictures, by modern -artists. Of this number some seventy or eighty were foreign—the -majority of these German. How many were submitted for the “prizes or -sums of money” we are not informed. - -328 of the catalogue—Death of Abel, etc., by Edward du Jardin, is -probably, so far as subject is involved, the most important work in the -collection. As a whole, we look on these pictures as a failure, as a -_dead failure_. Parts of the works are well drawn, and carefully, even -laboriously studied, but what could be more absurd than the habiliments, -attitude and expression of the angel in the first of the three? The Adam -in the centre is a regular _property_ figure—one of those _stock_ -studies which embellish the portfolio of every young artist who has ever -been to Europe. The attitude and expression are such as can be purchased -by the franc’s worth from any one of the scores of models to be found in -almost every city in Europe. The Eve possesses more of the character of -a repentant Magdalene than the “mother of mankind.” The third picture is -to our mind the best; but, taken all together, the works are barely -passable—not by any means what we should have expected from a professor -of painting in one of the first schools in Europe. Religious art -requires abilities and perceptions of the first order—feelings -different from any manifested in this production. - -Of a different order is 56—Rouget de Lisle, a French officer, singing -for the first time the Marsellaise Hymn, (of which he was the author,) -at the house of the Mayor of Strasburg, 1792—Painted by Godfroi -Guffens. Every thing here is fire and enthusiasm—the enthusiasm that -ought to pervade _every work of art_—which makes the intelligent -spectator _feel_ as the artist felt in its production. We have heard -various and conflicting remarks made upon this work, and the general -feeling among competent judges is that it is the best of the foreign -works. In our opinion it is, perhaps, _the best_ modern picture in the -collection. The grouping, actions, and expressions of the figures are in -admirable keeping with the subject, and the color is rich, agreeable, -and subdued. - -_Murray’s Defense of Toleration._—P. F. Rothermel. If to the exquisite -qualities of color, composition, etc., Mr. Rothermel would add (we know -he can) _expression_, he would unquestionably be _the_ historical -painter of America. In a refined, intellectual perception of the general -character of his subject, Mr. R. is unsurpassed, perhaps unapproached by -any painter in the country. His pictures give evidence of the greatest -care and study—no part is slighted—nothing done with the “that will -do” feeling, which dreads labor. The picture under consideration -embraces a great number of figures—in fact the canvas is literally -covered, but not crowded, every inch giving evidence of intelligence and -design. Concerning the work, we have heard, from the public press as -well as from individuals, but one expression, that of the strongest -commendation—in which we heartily concur. - -150, from the Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act IV., Scene 1st., also by Mr. -Rothermel, is conceived in the true feeling of the great poet. The -figures of Bottom, and Titania and the other fairies, are fine -conceptions. Some comparatively unimportant defects in drawing might be -remedied, without injuring the general effect. - -Mr. Winner contributes a large work—Peter Healing the Lame Man at the -Beautiful Gate of the Temple. This picture possesses great merit, and -evinces a most commendable ambition. The grouping is well managed—the -expressions of Peter and John are good—the cripple capital. A stumpy -shortness of the figures mars the general character of this otherwise -beautiful production. Mr. Winner paints drapery well, and perhaps -unconsciously loads his figures with it. This defect is conspicuous in -his grand work of “Christ raising the Daughter of Jairus,” now in our -Art Union Gallery. The heads and extremities of Mr. Winner’s pictures -are perfect studies of color and modeling, and evince a masterly -knowledge of anatomy. We should be rejoiced to see the efforts of our -artists liberally sustained, as they ought to be, in the higher -departments of art. - -41, The Happy Moment—105, The Recovery—Carl Hubner. These, no doubt, -are _popular_ works—as works of certain classes always will be. We have -heard much said in praise of them. They are beautifully, exquisitely -painted—especially the “Happy Moment,” in which the color and execution -are admirable. But in _sentiment_, or any of the _ideal_ qualities of -such subjects, they are lamentably deficient. Like nearly all the German -painters, Carl Hubner possesses much greater _executive_ than -_imaginative_ powers—he is more of a _mechanic_ than an _artist_. He -gratifies the _eye_ at the expense of the _mind_. Surely rustic love is -suggestive of something more than any thing hinted at in the “Happy -Moment.” “The Recovery” is composed of the usual conventional material -of such subjects—a simpering physician, with a nice diamond ring on his -finger, friends, with the old, upturned eyes and clasped hands, are -mechanically put together—all standing or sitting evidently on purpose -to be painted. - -In landscape, the best works in the collection are Nos. 35 and 136, by -Diday, a Geneva artist—a Moonlight, No. 46, B. Stange, and No. 78, a -Roman Aqueduct at Alcala, with caravans of muleteers, F. Bossuet. The -two first are grand and imposing representations of scenery in the High -Alps—in color they are deep and rich in tone. The Moonlight, by Stange, -is the best we have ever seen. The tremulous luminousness of the -moonshine is rendered with matchless truth. The Roman Aqueduct, by -Bossuet, is, beyond question, the finest landscape in the collection. -Sunlight, local color, and texture were never painted with greater truth -than in this splendid production. Light and heat pervade every nook and -corner of the picture, from the dry, dusty foreground, off to the -distant mountains which close the scene. The work furnishes a grand -example of artistic execution and detail. No 52—Lake George—Russel -Smith—is a beautiful piece of open daylight effect, possessing great -truth. A Scene on the North River—Paul Weber—possesses much merit. The -color is fresh and natural, and the sky is the best we have seen by this -artist. - -In the Marine department we have works from Schotel, De Groot, Pleysier, -Mozin, and other foreign artists, and from Birch, Bonfield, and -Hamilton, American. Hamilton stands preeminent in this department—his -“Thunder Storm,” and a poetic subject from Rogers’ Columbus, are the -best marines in the Academy. All his works in the present exhibition -have been so minutely described in the daily and weekly papers, and so -universally commended, that we deem it unnecessary to do more than add -our unqualified acquiescence in the favorable judgment thus far -expressed concerning them. Not one of our artists is attracting so much -attention at the present moment as Mr. Hamilton. We have no doubt he is -fully able to sustain the high expectations created by his works within -the last two years. Birch and Bonfield, each, maintain their well-earned -and well-deserved reputations. Of the foreign marines, those of Pleysier -and De Groot are the best—but there is nothing remarkable in either. - -A Still Life piece by Gronland, a French artist, is a splendid example -of its class—as is, also, one of a similar character by J. B. Ord, the -best painter of such subjects in the United States. - -Want of space prevents our entering into the discussion of the -comparative merits of native and foreign works. We feel no hesitation, -however, in saying that our artists, as a body, have every reason to -congratulate themselves upon the probable results of the present -exhibition. - - * * * * * - -The Madonna del Velo.—Among the many works of art, which the unsettled -state of the Continent has brought into the London market, are a -collection formerly the property of the Bracca family of Milan. The gem -of the gallery is a remarkably fine and beautifully finished Madonna del -Velo by Raffaelle. This attractive picture derives its title from the -Virgin being represented as lifting a transparent veil from the face of -the sleeping Jesus. She is gazing on the infant with all the devoted -love of a mother, and with all a Madonna’s reverence beaming from her -eyes and depicted in her countenance and her posture; while the young -St. John is standing by, an attentive and interested spectator of the -proceeding. The colors are very beautiful, and are blended with the -highest taste and judgment. The details of the painting bear the closest -examination, and every new inspection brings to view some unobserved -charm, some previously undetected beauty. The figures are worthy in all -respects of the highest praise, and the landscape forms a delightful and -effective back-ground. To mention one little example of the singular -skill and finish displayed in this beautiful work, the veil which the -Virgin is represented as lifting from the sleeping infant’s face, is -marvelously painted. It is perfectly transparent, and seems so -singularly fine, filmy and light, that it has all the appearance of what -a silken cobweb might be imagined to be. It is a remarkable specimen of -the skill of the great artist even in the most difficult and delicate -matters. Indeed, the whole painting is a “gem of purest ray.” - - * * * * * - -“La Tempesta”—a new opera, the joint composition of Halevy and Scribe, -has been produced in London, with Sontag as Miranda, Lablache as -Caliban, Coletti as Prospero, and Carlotta Grisi as Ariel. Whether its -original source, the renown of the author of the libretto, the -reputation of the composer, or the combination of artistic talent -engaged, be considered, the opera is a work of unprecedented magnitude, -and naturally excited unusual interest on the part of all lovers of art. -Monsieur Scribe has made legitimate use of Shakspeare’s “Tempest” in its -transmutation into a libretto—supernatural agency and music are -employed, even Caliban sings, and Ariel, besides being an essentially -musical part, heads a band of sprites and elves “who trip on their toes, -with mops and mows.” But it was necessary, for lyrical purposes, that a -greater intensity of human interest should be added. M. Scribe has found -means of drawing these new points from Shakspeare’s own text. He says in -a letter to the lessee of Her Majesty’s Theatre, “I have done the utmost -to respect the inspirations of your immortal author. All the musical -situations I have created are but suggestions taken from Shakspeare’s -ideas; and as all the honor must accrue to him, I may be allowed to -state that there are but few subjects so well adapted for musical -interpretation.” We hope before long to have this last work from Halevy -transferred to the boards of the American Opera. - - * * * * * - -A Drama Thirty Centuries Old Revived.—A recent great theatrical wonder -of the hour in Paris, has been the revival of a piece from the Hindoo -theatre, “which was performed for the first time” some three thousand -years ago, in a city which no longer has an existence on the earth, and -written by the sovereign of a country whose very name has become a -matter of dispute. The piece was translated from the original Sanscrit -by Gerald de Nerval, and met unbounded success. All Paris has been -aroused by this curious contemplation of the ideas and motives of these -remote ages, and a whimsical kind of delight is experienced at finding -the human nature of Hindostan of so many centuries ago, and the human -nature of modern Paris, so exactly alike in their puerility and -violence, their audacity and absurdity, that the play may verily be -called a _pièce de circonstance_. King Sondraka, the author, seems to -have anticipated the existence of such men as Louis Blanc and Proudhon, -of Louis Bonaparte and Carlier; so true it is, that there is nothing new -under the sun, and that not an idea floats on the tide of human -intelligence but what has been borne thither by the waters of oblivion, -where it had been already flung. - - * * * * * - -Statue of Calhoun.—The marble statue of the late John C. Calhoun, -executed by Hiram Powers, at Leghorn, for the State of South Carolina, -was lost on the coast of Long Island, in July, by the wreck of the brig -Elizabeth. - - * * * * * - -Horace Vernet, the great historical printer, has been to St. Petersburg, -having been requested by the Emperor of Russia to furnish several battle -pieces illustrative of the principal scenes in the Hungarian campaign. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: Drawn by Ch. Bodmer -Eng^{d} by Rawdon, Wright & Hatch - -_Dance of the Mandan Indians._] - - * * * * * - - - - - MANDAN INDIANS. - - - [WITH AN ENGRAVING.] - - -“The Mandans are a vigorous, well-made race of people, rather above the -middling stature, and very few of the men could be called short. The -tallest man now living was Mahchsi-Karehde, (the flying war eagle,) who -was five feet ten inches two lines, Paris measure, (above six feet -English.) In general, however, they are not so tall as the Manitaries. -Many of them are robust, broad-shouldered and muscular, while others are -slender and small limbed. Their physiognomy is, in general, the same as -that of most of the Missouri Indians, but their noses are not so long -and arched as those of the Sioux, nor have they such high cheek-bones. -The nose of the Mandans and Manitaries is not broad—sometimes aquiline, -or slightly curved, and often quite straight. Their eyes are, in -general, long and narrow, of a dark brown color; the inner angle is -often rather lower in childhood, but it is rarely so in maturer age. The -mouth is broad, large, rather prominent, and the lower jaw broad and -angular. No great difference occurs in the form of the skull; in general -I did not find the facile angle smaller than in Europeans, yet there are -some exceptions. Their hair is long, thick, lank, and black, but seldom -as jet and glossy as that of the Brazilians; that of children is often -only dark brown, especially at the tips; and Bradbury speaks of brown -hair among the Mandans. There are whole families among them, as well as -among the Blackfeet, whose hair is gray, or black mixed with white, so -that the whole head appears gray. The families of Sih-Chida and -Mato-Chiha are instances of this peculiarity. The latter chief was -particularly remarkable in this respect; his hair grew in distinct locks -of brown, black, silver gray, but mostly white, and his eyebrows -perfectly white, which had a strange effect in a tall, otherwise -handsome man, between twenty and thirty years of age. They encourage the -growth of their hair, and often lengthen it by artificial means. Their -teeth, like those of all the Missouri Indians, are particularly fine, -strong, firm, even, and as white as ivory. It is very seldom that you -see a defect or a tooth wanting even in old people, though, in the -latter, they are often worn very short, which is chiefly to be -attributed to their chewing hard, dry meat. The women are pretty robust, -and sometimes tall, but, for the most part, they are short and -broad-shouldered. There are but few who can be called handsome as -Indians, but there are many tolerable and some pretty faces among them.” - -The engraving shows them in one of their celebrated dances, and is -beautifully done by the artists. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE BRIGHT NEW MOON OF LOVE. - - - BY T. HOLLEY CHIVERS, M. D. - - - At the dawn she stood debating - With the angels at the door - Of Christ’s sepulchre, in waiting - For his body evermore. - Pure as white-robed Faith to Sorrow, - Pointing back to Heaven above— - (Happy Day for every Morrow)— - Was the Bright New Moon of Love. - - Nun-like, chaste in her devotion, - All the stars in heaven on high, - With their radiant, rhythmic motion, - Chimed in with her from the sky. - Sweeter far than day when breaking, - Angel-like, in heaven above, - On the traveler lost, when waking, - Was the Bright New Moon of Love. - - Thus she glorified all sweetness - With the angel-light she shed - From her soul in such completeness, - That she beautified the dead. - When an angel, sent on duty - From his Father’s throne above, - Saw the heaven-surpassing beauty - Of this Bright New Moon of Love. - - For the Truth she loved was Beauty, - Because Beauty was her Truth; - And to love her was his duty, - Such as Boas owed to Ruth. - God had set his seal upon her, - Her divinity to prove, - And this angel wooed her—won her— - Won the Bright New Moon of Love. - - Thus the Mission of True Woman - She did act out in this life— - Showed the Divine in the Human, - In her duties of the Wife. - For the Heaven that he had taken - Was so much like that above, - That the heaven he had forsaken - Was the Bright New Moon of Love. - - For the kingdom of Christ’s glory, - Angel-chanted at her birth, - Is the theme now of the story - Which I warble through the earth. - And because this fallen angel - Took her home to heaven above, - I now write this New Evangel - Of the Bright New Moon of Love. - - * * * * * - - - - - BARCAROLE. - - - WRITTEN AND COMPOSED FOR - - G R A H A M ’ S M A G A Z I N E . - - BY R. J. DE CORDOVA. -[Illustration] - - Come Love with me, the moonlit sea - Invites our barque to wander o’er - Its glassy face where e’en a trace - Of angry - -[Illustration] - - wave is seen no more. - Let Love repeat in accents sweet, - The joys which only Love can tell - And Passion’s strain sing o’er again, - In those fond tones I love so well. - - SECOND VERSE. - - Put fear away, and in the lay - Of love be all but love forgot; - Renounce the care of worldly glare. - Oh heed its glittering falseness not, - But come with me, with spirit free, - United, never more to part, - We’ll seize the time of youth’s gay prime. - The summer of the heart. - - THIRD VERSE. - - Then dearest rise, and let thine eyes, - Where shine Love’s softest mightiest spells. - Reveal the bright refulgent light - Which in their lustrous beauty dwells. - Let blissful song our joy prolong - While gliding o’er the sparkling wave, - And be the theme affection’s dream - Which ends but in the grave. - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - - _In Memoriam. Boston: Ticknor, Reed & Fields. 1 vol. 16mo._ - -The author of this exquisite volume, the finest ever laid on the altar -of friendship, is Alfred Tennyson, the most subtle and imaginative of -living poets. It derives its title from the circumstance of being -written in memory of Arthur Hallam, son of the historian of the Middle -Ages, friend of the poet, and lover of his sister. In a hundred and -eight short poems, all in one peculiar measure, Tennyson expresses not -merely his grief for the loss of his friend, but touches on all those -topics of sorrow and consolation kindred to the subject, or which the -character of young Hallam suggests. It may be said by some that the -object of the volume is unnatural and unmanly; that grief does not -express itself in verses but in tears; that sorrow vents itself in -simple words not in poetic conceits; and that the surest sign of the -deficiency of feeling is a volume devoted to its celebration. But if we -study the structure of Tennyson’s mind, we shall find that, however much -these objections will apply to many mourners, they are inapplicable to -him. The great peculiarity of his genius is intellectual intensity. All -his feelings and impressions pass through his intellect, and are -steadily scanned and reflected upon. In none of his poems do we find any -outburst of feeling, scorning all mental control, or rapidly forcing the -intellect into its service of rage or love. He has never written any -thing in which emotion is not indissolubly blended with thought. There -can be no doubt that he loved the person whom he here celebrates, but he -loved him in his own deep and silent manner; his loss preyed upon his -mind as well as heart, and stung thought and imagination into subtle -activity. The volume is full of beauty, but of beauty in mourning -weeds—of philosophy, but of philosophy penetrated with sadness. To a -common mind, the loss of such a friend would have provoked a grief, at -first uncontrollable, but which years would altogether dispel; to a mind -like Tennyson’s years will but add to its sense of loss, however much -imagination may consecrate and soften it. - -This volume, accordingly, contains some of the finest specimens of -intellectual pathos, of the mind in mourning, we have ever seen, and, in -English literature, it has no parallel. The author is aware, as well as -his critics, of the impossibility of fully conveying his grief in -verses, and has anticipated their objection in a short poem of uncommon -suggestiveness: - - I sometimes hold it half a sin - To put in words the grief I feel, - For words, like nature, half reveal - And half conceal the soul within. - - But for the unquiet heart and brain - A use in measured language lies; - The sad mechanic exercise, - Like dull narcotics, numbing pain. - - In words, like weeds, I’ll wrap me o’er, - Like coarsest clothes against the cold; - But that large grief which these unfold, - Is given in outline and no more. - -The following poem touches on the mind and character of young Hallam; -and, if a true picture, the world, as well as the poet, has reason for -regret at his early death: - - Heart-affluence in discursive talk - From household fountains never dry; - The critic clearness of an eye, - That saw through all the Muses’ walk; - - Seraphic intellect and force - To seize and throw the doubts of man; - Impassioned logic, which outran - The hearer in its fiery course; - - High nature amorous of the good, - But touched with no ascetic gloom; - And passion pure in snowy bloom - Through all the years of April blood; - - A love of freedom rarely felt, - Of freedom in her regal seat - Of England, not the school-boy heat, - The blind hysterics of the Celt; - - And manhood fused with female grace - In such a sort, the child would twine - A trustful hand, unasked, in thine, - And find his comfort in thy face; - - All these have been, and thee mine eyes - Have looked on: if they looked in vain - My shame is greater who remain, - Nor let thy wisdom make me wise. - -In the poem which we now extract, we think our readers will recognize -the force which pathos receives by its connection with intense and -excursive thought: - - One writes, that “Other friends remain,” - That “Loss is common to the race,”— - And common is the commonplace, - And vacant chaff well meant for grain. - - That loss is common would not make - My own less bitter, rather more: - Too common! Never morning wore - To evening, but some heart did break. - - O father, wheresoe’er thou be, - That pledgest now thy gallant son; - A shot, ere half thy draught be done, - Hath stilled the life that beat from thee. - - O mother, praying God will save - Thy sailor, while thy head is bowed, - His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud - Drops in his vast and wandering grave. - - Ye know no more than I who wrought - At that last hour to please him well; - Who mused on all I had to tell, - And something written, something thought. - - Expecting still his advent home; - And ever met him on his way - With wishes, thinking, here to-day, - Or here to-morrow will he come. - - O, somewhere, meek, unconscious dove, - That sittest ’ranging golden hair; - And glad to find thyself so fair, - Poor child, that waitest for thy love! - - For now her father’s chimney glows - In expectation of a guest; - And thinking “this will please him best,” - She takes a ribbon or a rose; - - For he will see them on to-night; - And with the thought her color burns; - And, having left the glass, she turns - Once more to set a ringlet right; - - And, even when she turned, the curse - Had fallen, and her future lord - Was drowned in passing through the ford - Or killed in falling from his horse. - - O, what to her shall be the end? - And what to me remains of good? - To her, perpetual maidenhood, - And unto me, no second friend. - -The ringing of the Christmas bells prompts a grand poem, in which the -poet rises out of his dirges into a rapturous prophecy of the “good time -coming.” It is altogether the best of many good lyrics on the same -general theme: - - Ring out wild bells to the wild sky, - The flying cloud, the frosty light: - The year is dying in the night; - Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. - - Ring out the old, ring in the new, - Ring, happy bells, across the snow: - The year is going, let him go; - Ring out the false, ring in the true. - - Ring out the grief that saps the mind, - For those that here we see no more; - Ring out the feud of rich and poor, - Ring in redress to all mankind. - - Ring out a slowly dying cause, - And ancient forms of party strife; - Ring in the nobler modes of life, - With sweeter manners, purer laws. - - Ring out the want, the care, the sin, - The faithless coldness of the times; - Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, - But ring the fuller minstrel in. - - Ring out false pride in place and blood, - The civic slander and the spite; - Ring in the love of truth and right, - Ring in the common love of good. - - Ring out old shapes of foul disease, - Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; - Ring out the thousand wars of old, - Ring in the thousand years of peace. - - Ring in the valiant man and free, - The larger heart, the kindlier hand; - Ring out the darkness of the land, - Ring in the Christ that is to be. - -After these extracts we hardly need to commend the volume to our readers -as worthy of the genius of Tennyson. It will not only give sober delight -on its first perusal, but it contains treasures of thought and fancy -which a frequent recurrence to its pages will alone reveal. - - * * * * * - - _Chronicles and Characters of the Stock Exchange. By John - Francis. Boston: Crosby & Nichols. 1 vol. 8vo._ - -This volume, invaluable to merchants and brokers, should be in the hands -of all who have reason to be interested in the secrets of stock-jobbing, -or who have a natural curiosity to understand the philosophy of the -whole system as now practiced in all civilized countries. It gives a -complete history of the National Debt of England, from the reign of -William the Third to the present day, with sketches of the most eminent -financiers of the Stock Exchange, and large details of the political -corruption attending the making of loans. To these are added stock -tables from 1732 to 1846; dividends of the Bank of England stock from -1694 to 1847; and descriptions of the various panics in the English -money market, with their causes and effects. The sketch of Rothschild is -a gem of biography, and while his avarice and cunning are deservedly -condemned, more than usual justice is done to the remarkable blending of -amplitude with acuteness in his powerful understanding. It is said that -on one loan he made £150,000. Though profane, knavish and ferocious, -with bad manners, and a face and person which defied the ability of -caricature to misrepresent, his all-powerful wealth and talents made him -courted and caressed, not only by statesmen and monarchs, but by -clergymen and fastidious aristocrats. It was his delight to outwit -others, but he himself was very rarely outwitted; and the few cases -given by Mr. Francis, of his being overreached by the cunning of other -brokers, are probably the only ones that the London Stock Exchange can -furnish. Though he lived in the most splendid style, gave expensive -entertainments, and occasionally subscribed to ostentatious charities, -he was essentially a miser; and his mind never was so busy in -calculations, in which millions of pounds were concerned, as to lose the -power of estimating within a sixpence, the salary which would enable a -clerk to exist. - -Some curious anecdotes are given in this volume of the corruption of -members of Parliament. It is well known that during the reigns of -William the Third, Anne, George I. and George II., and a portion of the -reign of George III., a seat in the House of Commons was considered, by -many members, as a palpable property, from which a regular income was to -be derived by selling votes to the ministry in power. Sir Robert Walpole -and the Duke of Newcastle, were the greatest jobbers in this political -corruption; but Lord Bute, who entered office on the principle of -dispensing with the purchase of Parliamentary support, carried the -practice on one occasion to an extent never dreamed of by his -predecessors. He discovered that the peace of 1763 could not be carried -through the House without a large bribe. Mr. Francis quotes from Bute’s -private secretary, a statement of the sum distributed among one hundred -and twenty members. “I was myself,” says Mr. Ross Mackay, the secretary -in question, “the channel through which the money passed. With my own -hand I secured above one hundred and twenty votes. Eighty thousand -pounds were set apart for the purpose. Forty members of the House of -Commons received from me a thousand pounds each. To eighty others I paid -five hundred pounds a piece.” This system has been varied of late years. -The mode of purchase at present is by patronage. Offices and pensions -are now the price of votes. - -It would be impossible in a short notice to convey an idea of the -variety of curious information which this book contains. To people who -have money to lose, it is a regular treatise on the art of preserving -wealth. Every private gentleman, smitten with a desire to speculate in -stocks, should carefully study this volume before he makes the fatal -investments. - - * * * * * - - _Evangeline; A Tale of Acadia. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. - Illustrated by forty-five engravings on Wood, from designs by - Jane E. Benham, Birket Foster, and John Gilbert. Boston: - Ticknor, Reed & Fields. 1 vol. 8vo._ - -This volume, in paper, binding, and illustrations, is the most beautiful -and unique we have seen from an American press. We hardly know, however, -if we are right in giving it an American origin, as its illustrations -are most assuredly English, and its typographical execution is exactly -similar to the English edition. No better evidence is needed of -Longfellow’s popularity abroad than the appearance of an edition of one -of his poems, embellished like the present, with engravings so beautiful -in themselves, and so true to the spirit of the scenes and characters -they illustrate. The book is a study to American artists, evincing, as -it does, the rare perfection to which their English brethren have -carried the art of wood engraving, and the superiority of the style -itself to copper-plate in many of the essential requisites of pictorial -representation. The poem thus illustrated, is more beautiful than ever, -its exquisite mental pictures of life and scenery being accurately -embodied to the eye. As a gift-book it will doubtless be very popular -among the best of the approaching season, as its mechanical execution is -in faultless taste, and as the poem itself is an American classic. - - * * * * * - - _The Rebels. Boston: Phillips, Sampson & Co. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -Many of our elderly readers will recollect the sensation which this -admirable novel created on its original appearance. It was the first -work which gave Mrs. Child, then Miss Frances, her reputation as a -writer and thinker. The scene is laid in Boston, just before the -revolution, and contains a fine picture both of the characters and -events of the time. Many scenes are represented with great dramatic -effect, and there are some passages of soaring eloquence which the -accomplished authoress has never excelled. We cordially hope that the -novel is destined for a new race of popularity. - - * * * * * - - _Heloise, or the Unrevealed Secret. A Tale. By Talvi. New York: - D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -We presume that our readers know that “Talvi” is the assumed name of -Mrs. Robinson. The present novel is a story of German and Russian life, -written by one to whom the subject is familiar, and will well repay -perusal. We think, however, that the accomplished authoress appears to -more advantage in works of greater value and pretension—such as her -late history of the literature of the Slavic nations. - - * * * * * - - _Life of Jean Paul Frederic Richter. Compiled from Various - Sources. Together with his Autobiography. Translated by Eliza - Buckminster Lee. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -This is a second edition of a charming biography, published in Boston a -number of years ago, and now very properly reissued. It not only -contains an accurate account of the life and works of one of the most -remarkable and peculiar of German writers, but its pages throng with -interesting allusions and anecdotes relating to his contemporaries. The -letters of Jean Paul, especially, are full of life and heartiness. In -the following passage, referring to his first introduction to Goethe, we -have a living picture painted in few words. “At last the god entered, -cold, one-syllabled, without accent. ‘The French are drawing toward -Paris,’ said Krebel. ‘Hem!’ said the god. His face is massive and -animated, his eye a ball of light. But, at last, the conversation led -from the campaign to art, publications, etc., and Goethe was himself. -His conversation is not so rich and flowing as Herder’s, but -sharp-toned, penetrating and calm. At last he read, that is, played for -us, an unpublished poem, in which his heart impelled the flame through -the outer crust of ice, so that he pressed the hand of the enthusiastic -Jean Paul. He did it again, when we took leave, and pressed me to call -again. By Heaven! we will love each other! He considers his poetic -course as closed. _His reading is like deep-toned thunder, blended with -soft, whispering rain-drops._ There is nothing like it.” Goethe’s -personal effect on his contemporaries, would lead us to suppose that he -was, to adopt Mirabeau’s system of nicknaming, a kind of -Webster-Wordsworth. - - * * * * * - - _Railway Economy; a Treatise on the New Art of Transport, With - an Exposition of the Practical Results of the Railways in - Operation in the United Kingdom, on the Continent, and in - America. By Dionysius Lardner, D. C. L. New York: Harper & - Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -This is a very interesting account of the whole system of railways, -written by a person who understands it in its facts and principles. The -author has collected a vast amount of information, which he conveys in a -condensed and comprehensible form. The motto of the work is one of -Bacon’s pregnant sentences: “There be three things make a nation great -and prosperous: a fertile soil, busy workshops, and easy conveyance of -men and things from one place to another.” - - * * * * * - - _Pictorial Field Book of the Revolution. By Benson J. Lossing._ - -The Harpers have just commenced the issue of this beautiful work, which -is to be completed in twenty numbers. The mechanical execution is very -neat, and the wood engravings, from sketches by the author, are -admirable. Mr. Lossing writes with ardor and elegance, his mind filled -with his themes, and boiling over at times into passages of descriptive -eloquence. The book, when completed, will contain an account of the -localities and action of all the battles of the Revolution, illustrated -by six hundred engravings. The enterprise deserves success. - - * * * * * - - _A Discourse on the Baconian Philosophy. By Samuel Tyler, of the - Maryland Bar. Second Edition Enlarged. New York: Baker & - Scribner. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -This work is very creditable to American literature as a careful and -learned Discourse on a large subject, demanding a knowledge not only of -Bacon but of Plato and Descartes. Mr. Tyler evinces a thorough -comprehension of the externals of the subject, and few can read his book -without an addition to their knowledge; but we think he misses Bacon’s -method in his application of it to metaphysics and theology. The -peculiar vitality of Bacon’s axioms he often overlooks in his admiration -of their formal expression, and occasionally astonishes the reader by -making Bacon commonplace, and then lauding the commonplace as the -highest wisdom. - - * * * * * - - _The Unity of the Human Races Proved to be the Doctrine of - Scripture, Reason, and Science. By the Rev. Thomas Smith, D. D. - New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol._ - -It is well known that Professor Agassiz, at the last meeting in -Charleston of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, -startled the audience with an expression of disbelief in the doctrine -that all mankind sprung from one original parent. The present book, in -some degree the result of his remark, takes strong ground in favor of -the common faith on the point. It is worthy of attentive consideration -from all readers, especially as it popularises the important subject of -Races—a subject generally monopolized by technical _savans_; in -unreadable books. - - * * * * * - -Arthur’s Gazette.—We take great pleasure in calling the attention of -our readers to the prospectus of Mr. Arthur’s newspaper, as set forth in -full upon the cover of Graham for this month. - -Mr. Arthur’s name is a household word the Union over; his stories have -penetrated every village of the country, and are read with delight for -their high moral tone and eminently practical character. The title is -therefore very fitly chosen, and we shall be much mistaken if the _Home_ -Gazette is not welcomed from the start at thousands of firesides, as a -chosen and familiar friend. - -Capital—a very necessary article in starting a new enterprise—has, we -are assured by Mr. Arthur, been abundantly secured, and with the -editor’s industry and energy, there can be no such word as fail. - -Mr. Arthur has discovered the true secret of success—to charge such a -price as will really enable him to make a good paper—to make it so in -all respects; and then to _advertise_ so as to let the public know that -he has a first-rate article for sale at a fair living price. If he -allows no temptation of _temporary_ success to seduce him from the just -business ground thus assumed, he is as certain of ultimate and permanent -prosperity, as he can be of any problem in mathematics. A simple -business secret that a great many publishers we know of, have yet to -learn. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: - -LE FOLLET Paris, boul^{t}. S^{t}. Martin, 69. -Chapeaux de M^{me}. Baudry, r. Richelieu, 81—Plumes et fleurs de Chagot - ainé, r. Richelieu, 73. -Robes et pardessus M^{me}. Verrier Richard, r. Richelieu, 77—Dentelles - Violard, r. Choiseul, 4. -The styles of Goods here represented can be had of Mess^{rs}. L.T. Levy & - C^{o}. Philadelphia, - and at Stewart’s , New York. -Graham’s Magazine, 134 Chestnut Street.] - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained as well as some -spellings peculiar to Graham's. Punctuation has been corrected without -note. Other 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 140, speech of Lenox, ==> speech of Lennox, -page 140, was for Malcom and ==> was for Malcolm and -page 145, at it’s outbreak ==> at its outbreak -page 148, added [_To be continued._ -page 149, saw in vision ==> saw in a vision -page 149, “to saw the kernels ==> “to sow the kernels -page 153, thread-lace cape ==> thread-lace caps -page 153, in in leaving her ==> in leaving her -page 154, had forsight to arm ==> had foresight to arm -page 154, everybody eat, not ==> everybody ate, not -page 154, hour passsed in ==> hour passed in -page 155, turned to Miss Houton ==> turned to Miss Hauton -page 155, “Its a shameful ==> “It’s a shameful -page 155, “a very powerful ==> “is a very powerful -page 155, get a new troup ==> get a new troupe -page 155, was evident spite ==> was evident in spite -page 155, she could excute ==> she could execute -page 157, sleeping roses heart ==> sleeping rose’s heart -page 157, Our bark floats ==> Our barque floats -page 166, conditon of the ==> condition of the -page 171, nutricious fluids ==> nutritious fluids -page 173, roly-boly globularity ==> roly-poly globularity -page 177, perfect nonchalence ==> perfect nonchalance -page 178, some choice boquet ==> some choice bouquet -page 178, of faded boquets ==> of faded bouquets -page 179, lige a winged ==> like a winged -page 180, herself ununworthy ==> herself unworthy -page 180, and fops,” concontinued ==> and fops,” continued -page 183, to her hapness ==> to her happiness -page 186, in the of midst ==> in the midst of -page 189, her moonlight bark ==> her moonlight barque -page 192, pannicle, and the ==> panicle, and the -page 193, no part slighted ==> no part is slighted -page 193, fact the canvasi ==> fact the canvas is -page 194, musical intepretation ==> musical interpretation -page 195, BY T. HOLLY CHIVRES, M. D. ==> BY T. HOLLEY CHIVERS, M. D. -page 196, our bark to wander ==> our barque to wander -page 199, Longfellow’s popularaity ==> Longfellow’s popularity - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXVII, No. 3, -September 1850, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, SEPT 1850 *** - -***** This file should be named 54026-0.txt or 54026-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/0/2/54026/ - -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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} - .stageright { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-align:right; } - .verse-align { visibility:hidden; } - .verse-align-inline { position:absolute; text-indent:0; } - .verse-align-noindent { visibility:hidden; margin-left:1.2em; } - .literal-container { text-align:center; margin:0 0; } - .literal { display:inline-block; text-align:left; } - </style> - <style type="text/css"> - h1 { font-weight: bold; font-size: 1.3em; } - </style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXVII, No. 3, -September 1850, 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. XXXVII, No. 3, September 1850 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George Rex Graham - -Release Date: January 19, 2017 [EBook #54026] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, SEPT 1850 *** - - - - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net from -page images generously made available by Google Books - - - - - - -</pre> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0000' style='width:375px;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol. XXXVII.</span> Sept, 1850. No. 3.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.3em;font-weight:bold;'>Table of Contents</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'>Fiction, Literature and Articles</p> - -<table id='tab1' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 1em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#shak'>Shakspeare—Analysis of Macbeth</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#pedro'>Pedro de Padilh</a> (continued)</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#visit'>A Visit to Staten Island</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#wood'>Woodlawn: or the Other Side of the Medal</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#what'>“What Can Woman Do?”</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#bride'>The Bride of the Battle</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#doct'>Doctrine of Form</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#coqu'>Coquet <span class='it'>versus</span> Coquette</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#geni'>The Genius of Byron</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#rail'>Rail and Rail Shooting</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#fine'>The Fine Arts</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#mand'>Mandan Indians</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#rev'>Review of New Books</a></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -</table> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.1em;font-weight:bold;'>Poetry, Music and Fashion</p> - -<table id='tab2' summary='' class='center'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 25em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 1em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#ode'>Ode</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#tomy'>Lines in Memory of My Lost Child</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#even'>Evening</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#waste'>The Wasted Heart</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#health'>A Health to My Brother</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#port'>On a Portrait of Cromwell</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#seas'>A Sea-Side Reverie</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#audu'>Audubon’s Blindness</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#sonn'>Sonnets</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#tayl'>On the Death of General Taylor</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#psyc'>“Psyche Loves Me.”</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#tothe'>To the Lost One</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#outw'>Outward Bound</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#comes'>He Comes Not</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#moon'>The Bright New Moon of Love</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#barca'>Barcarole</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle0'><a href='#foll'>Le Follet</a></td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle0'></td></tr> -</table> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'><a href='#notes'>Transcriber’s Notes</a> can be found at the end of this eBook.</p> - -<hr class='tbk100'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;font-size:1.9em;font-weight:bold;'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</p> - -<hr class='tbk101'/> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='sc'>Vol.</span> XXXVII. PHILADELPHIA, September, 1850. <span class='sc'>No.</span> 3.</p> - -<hr class='tbk102'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='137' id='Page_137'></span><h1 class='nobreak'><a id='shak'></a>SHAKSPEARE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>ANALYSIS OF MACBETH.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY HENRY C. MOORHEAD.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The reader who has not considered the subject in -Ulrici’s point of view, will, perhaps, scarcely be -prepared, at first sight, to believe that the two plays -of Macbeth and the Merchant of Venice, have the -same “ground-idea;” that both are, throughout, -imbued with the same sentiment, yet he will -readily perceive the similarity of the leading incidents -of these plays. Shylock insists on the literal -terms of his bond, and “stands for judgment,” according -to the strict law of Venice. He is entitled to -a pound of flesh; “the law allows it, and the court -awards it;” but his bond gives him no drop of blood, -and neither more nor less than just a pound. Thus -the <span class='it'>letter of the law</span>, on which he has so sternly insisted, -serves in the end to defeat him. In like -manner Macbeth relies with fatal confidence on the -predictions of the weird sisters, that “none of woman -born shall harm Macbeth;” and that he “shall -never vanquished be till Birnam wood do come to -Dunsinane.” The predictions are more <span class='it'>literally</span> -fulfilled than he anticipated, and that very strictness -of interpretation makes them worthless.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now it is from these incidents—both of the same -import—that the respective themes of these plays -are drawn; hence those themes are substantially the -same, and may be thus expressed:</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>The relation of form to substance—of the letter to -the spirit—of the real to the ideal.</span> But the different -aspects in which this idea is presented are multiform; -as empty, superfluous words; ambiguities, equivocations, -irony, riddles, formality, prescription, superstition; -witches, ghosts, dreams, omens, etc., etc.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The reason and the propriety of the introduction -of the witches in Macbeth, has often been a subject -of speculation. It may be remarked in general, that -Shakspeare always follows very closely the original -story on which his plot is founded. The question -as to any given circumstance, therefore, generally is -rather why he has <span class='it'>retained</span> than why he has <span class='it'>introduced</span> -it. In the history of Macbeth, as he read it -in the old chronicles, he found the weird sisters, and -also their <span class='it'>equivocal predictions</span>; and it was upon -these predictions as a “ground-idea,” (as has already -been observed,) that he constructed the play. The -witches, therefore, were not introduced for the sake -of the play, but it might rather be said the play was -written for the sake of the witches.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>ACT I.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>The prevailing modification of the theme, in the -early part of the play, is “the ambiguity of appearances.” -The 1st scene merely introduces the -witches, who are themselves <span class='it'>ambiguous</span>, and so is -their language; “fair is foul, and foul is fair.” They -appear amidst thunder and lightning, and a hurly-burly -of empty words.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the 2d Scene a bleeding soldier enters, and gives -an account of the battle, and of the achievements of -Macbeth and Banquo. Mark how he dwells on the -<span class='it'>doubtful aspect</span> of the fight:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>      “Doubtfully it stood;</p> -<p class='line0'>As two spent swimmers that do cling together,</p> -<p class='line0'>And choke their art.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>He represents fortune as smiling at first on Macdonwald’s -cause; but brave Macbeth, “disdaining fortune,” -soon turned the tide of victory. But another -revulsion follows, “and from the spring whence comfort -seemed to come, discomfort flows.” The Norweyan -lord suddenly renews the assault, but victory -at last falls on Macbeth and Banquo. Ross now -enters and describes the fight, dwelling in like -manner on the <span class='it'>uncertainty</span> which attended it; and -Duncan, declaring that the Thane of Cawdor shall no -more <span class='it'>deceive</span> him, orders his execution. It is -worthy of remark also, that the view here presented -of Macbeth’s character is purely <span class='it'>formal</span> or -<span class='it'>sensual</span>. Physical strength and bull-dog courage are -alone spoken of. Swords “smoking with bloody -execution,” “reeking wounds,” and “heads fixed -on battlements,” compose the staple of his eulogy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Scene</span> 3d—Enter the three witches. There is an -idle repetition of words. The offense of the sailor’s -wife is visited upon her husband, who is, however, -to encounter only the <span class='it'>appearance</span>, not the <span class='it'>reality</span> of -destruction. A certain <span class='it'>combination of numbers</span> completes -the charm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Macbeth and Banquo now encounter the weird -sisters on the heath. Macbeth’s exclamations relate -chiefly to the <span class='it'>ambiguity</span> of their <span class='it'>appearance</span>. He -says, they “look not like the inhabitants of the earth, -and yet are on it.” They “<span class='it'>seem</span> to understand me.”</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>            They should be women,</p> -<p class='line0'>And yet their beards forbid me to interpret</p> -<p class='line0'>That they are so.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The witches then salute Macbeth in terms which -are to him <span class='it'>incomprehensible</span>. They call him Thane -of Cawdor, which he is, but does not know it. They -also salute Banquo in ambiguous language: “Lesser -than Macbeth and greater.” “Not so happy, yet -much happier,” etc., etc.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The witches now “melt into the wind;” upon -which Banquo says,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>The earth hath <span class='it'>bubbles</span> as the water has,</p> -<p class='line0'>And these are of them.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Ross and Angus now enter and salute Macbeth -as Thane of Cawdor, who, finding the prediction of -the witches verified in this particular, asks Banquo -whether he does not hope his children shall be kings. -Banquo’s answer points to the <span class='it'>ambiguity</span> of appearances,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>                That trysted home,</p> -<p class='line0'>Might yet enkindle you unto the crown,</p> -<p class='line0'>Besides the Thane of Cawdor. But ’tis strange;</p> -<p class='line0'>And oftentimes to win us to our harm,</p> -<p class='line0'>The instruments of darkness tell us truths;</p> -<p class='line0'>Win us with honest trifles to betray us</p> -<p class='line0'>In deepest consequence.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Macbeth falls into meditation on the subject; thinks -this “supernatural soliciting” cannot be ill, because -it has already given him earnest of success; cannot -be good, because it breeds horrid suggestions in his -mind. The appearances are <span class='it'>ambiguous</span> and bewilder -him. Banquo, observing his abstraction, remarks -that new honors come upon him like “strange garments,” -wanting the <span class='it'>formality</span> of use to make them -sit easy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next Scene, (the 4th) though a short one, -contains several very pointed references to the central -idea. Malcolm reports to Duncan that Cawdor, -when led to execution, had frankly confessed his -treasons; whereupon Duncan says,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>                      There’s no art</p> -<p class='line0'>To find the mind’s construction in the face;</p> -<p class='line0'>He was a gentleman on whom I built</p> -<p class='line0'>An absolute trust.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This reflection is commonplace enough in itself, -but is rendered eminently striking by his cordial reception -of Macbeth the next moment; he hails as his -deliverer, and enthrones in his heart, the man who is -already meditating his destruction, and that very -night murders him in his sleep. Thus precept and -example concur in teaching the <span class='it'>uncertainty of appearances</span>. -Again Duncan says:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>                      My <span class='it'>plenteous joys</span>,</p> -<p class='line0'>Wanton in fullness, seek to hide themselves</p> -<p class='line0'>In <span class='it'>drops of sorrow</span>.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>He then declares his intention to confer <span class='it'>appropriate</span> -honors on all deservers, and renews his expressions -of confidence in Macbeth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The subject is now presented in a slightly different -aspect. Whereas the ambiguity of form or appearance -has heretofore been insisted on, the leading idea -is now the agreement of form with substance; the -correspondence of appearances with the reality.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Macbeth writes to his wife, informing her of -what has happened, that she may not “lose the dues -of rejoicing,” but be able to conform to their new -circumstances. Her reflections on the occasion -abound with illustrations of the theme. She fears -his nature; it is too full of the milk of human kindness -to “catch the nearest way.” He cannot rid -himself of what she considers mere ceremonious -scruples; “what he would highly that he would -holily;” whilst she thinks only of the end they aim -at, she apprehends that he will stand upon <span class='it'>the manner</span> -of reaching it. An attendant now informs her -of Duncan’s unexpected approach; and she falls -into a soliloquy which is singularly adapted to the -theme. The “hoarse raven;” the invocation to -night; her wish to be unsexed, and that her milk -might be turned to gall, etc., etc. When Macbeth -arrives, she says to him:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men</p> -<p class='line0'>May read strange matters; <span class='it'>To beguile the time</span>,</p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>Look like the time</span>; bear welcome in your eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>Your hand, your tongue; look like the innocent flower,</p> -<p class='line0'>But be the serpent under it.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>In the next scene she practices that dissimulation -which she has reproached Macbeth for wanting. -Her reception of Duncan is full of ceremony and professions -of duty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The 7th Scene opens with the great soliloquy of -Macbeth, “If it were done, when ’tis done,” etc. -He dwells on the <span class='it'>incongruity</span> of his killing Duncan, -who is there in double trust; “First as I am his -kinsman and his subject; then as his host.” Duncan, -too, “has borne his faculties so meek;” has been -“so clear in his great office;” “he has honored me -of late;” and “I have bought golden opinions from -all sorts of people.” He resolves at last that he will -proceed no further in the business. Lady Macbeth -now enters to “chastise him with the valor of her -tongue.” In the course of the argument that ensues, -Macbeth shows <span class='it'>his</span> regard for <span class='it'>appearances</span> by -saying:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>I dare do all that may become a man,</p> -<p class='line0'>Who dares do more is none.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>whilst she shows <span class='it'>her</span> respect for the strictness of -the letter by declaring that <span class='it'>had she so sworn</span> as he -has done to this, she would, whilst her babe was -smiling in her face, have “plucked her nipple from -his boneless gums,” and dashed his brains out. She -then proposes to drench the attendants with wine, -and smear them with Duncan’s blood, so that suspicion -may fall on them; also, “we will make our -griefs and clamor roar upon his death.” And here -the first act ends with these words:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Away and mock the time with fairest show;</p> -<p class='line0'>False face must hide what the false heart doth know.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>ACT II.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>In the 2d Act the same idea of <span class='it'>correspondence</span> is -pursued, and the propensity of the imagination to -embody ideas which press upon the mind is dwelt -upon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the first scene Banquo, when ordering the light -to be removed, says: “Night’s candles are all out; -there’s husbandry in Heaven.” This imagery, no -doubt, very naturally suggests itself; but herein lies -the peculiar art of these plays; there is seldom any -thing forced or strained in the narrative or sentiment, -the events and reflections fall in naturally and gracefully; -and yet the same general idea is always kept -in the foreground.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Macbeth tells Banquo if he will co-operate with -him it shall be to his honor; the latter intimates his -fear of losing the <span class='it'>substance</span> by grasping at the <span class='it'>shadow</span>; -“So I lose none in seeking to augment it,” etc. -Then comes the fearful soliloquy of Macbeth on the -air-drawn dagger. So intensely does the bloody -business “inform to his mind,” that his very thoughts -cast a shadow, and the object of his meditation -stands pictured before him. All the imagery of the -speech also embodies the central idea.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next scene (the 2d) is full of horrible imaginings. -So fearful are the workings of Macbeth’s -conscience, that, in spite of his guilt, we pity as much -as we abhor him; and all these exclamations of remorse -and horror allude so plainly to the theme that -I need not dwell on them. Lady Macbeth is seldom -troubled with scruples, but takes “the nearest way” -to her purpose. Thus she says,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>              The sleeping and the dead,</p> -<p class='line0'>Are but as pictures: ’tis the eye of childhood</p> -<p class='line0'>That fears a painted devil.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet even her stern nature, which bore down all -real obstacles, yielded to the merely formal circumstance -that Duncan resembled her father as he slept. -This is, perhaps, the only amiable sentiment she -utters, and it is of a <span class='it'>superstitious</span> character, however -commendable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The 3d Scene opens with the humorous soliloquy -of the Porter, who imagines himself porter of hell-gate, -and gives each new comer an <span class='it'>appropriate</span> reception, -but soon finds that the place is <span class='it'>too cold</span> for -the purpose. His remarks on the effects of drink -will not bear quotation, but are as much to the main -purpose as any other passage of the play. When -the murder of Duncan is announced, Lady Macbeth -continues her formal part by <span class='it'>fainting</span>. This scene -and the next are much occupied with accounts of -omens and prodigies in connection with the murder -of Duncan. In a superstitious age men were prone -to believe and to imagine such things; and the relation -of these events to the theme depends on that -<span class='it'>literal, unspiritual</span> tendency of mind which has led -mankind under different circumstances to the making -of graven images, to the worship of stocks and stones, -to the belief in dreams and omens, and to every form -of <span class='it'>superstition</span>.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>ACT III.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>In the first scene of this act Macbeth dwells on the -worthlessness of the mere title which he has won, -“To be thus is nothing, but to be <span class='it'>safely</span> thus.” -Then, too, the succession was promised to the issue -of Banquo, leaving a barren sceptre in the hands of -Macbeth. He resolves to have the substantial prize -for which he had “filed his mind,” and therefore -plans the destruction of Banquo and Fleance. In -the conversation with the murderers whom he engages -for that purpose, the theme is curiously illustrated. -In reply to Macbeth’s question as to their -readiness to revenge an injury, they say, “We are -men, my lord.”</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>Macbeth.</span> Ay, in the catalogue, you go for men</p> -<p class='line0'>As hounds, and grey-hounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs,</p> -<p class='line0'>Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves are clep’d</p> -<p class='line0'>All by the name of dogs; the valued file</p> -<p class='line0'>Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle,</p> -<p class='line0'>The house-keeper, the hunter, every one</p> -<p class='line0'>According to the gift which bounteous nature</p> -<p class='line0'>Hath in him closed.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The <span class='it'>ambiguity</span> of the general name is remedied -by the <span class='it'>specific</span> description. The name is <span class='it'>formal</span>, -the description <span class='it'>substantial</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the next Scene (the 2d) both Macbeth and Lady -Macbeth continue their reflections on the insecurity -of their usurped honors: “We have scotched the -snake, not killed it.” She exhorts him to “sleek o’er -his rugged look;” and he refuses to explain his purposes -as to Banquo, bidding her be innocent of the -knowledge till she can applaud the deed; thus sparing -her conscience the <span class='it'>formal</span> guilt of the murder. His -invocation to night and darkness, at the end of this -scene, is very similar to that of Lady Macbeth, on a -similar occasion, before referred to.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the 3d Scene the murderers, whilst waiting the -approach of Banquo, justify to themselves the deed -they are about to commit, by pleading the orders of -Macbeth. The deed is his; they are the mere instruments -of his will. The allusion to the fading -light; “the west yet glimmers with some streaks of -day,” seems to refer to the near approach of Banquo’s -end; as the extinguishment of the light does to the -simultaneous extinguishment of his life, immediately -afterward.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next is the Banquet Scene. It opens with -<span class='it'>formal ceremony</span>. The murderers then inform Macbeth -that they have executed his will on Banquo. -Macbeth expresses surprise and regret at Banquo’s -absence, but in the midst of his hypocritical professions, -his excited imagination <span class='it'>embodies</span> the description -which has just been given him by the murderers, -and the ghost of Banquo, “with twenty trenched -gashes on its head,” rises and shakes its gory locks -at him. The whole scene abounds with illustrations -of the theme. Macbeth endeavors to shelter -himself under the <span class='it'>letter of the law</span>, when he exclaims, -“thou canst not say I did it!” He thinks -that after a man has been regularly murdered, he -should stay in his grave; he declares his readiness -to encounter any <span class='it'>substantial</span> foe—the rugged Russian -bear, the armed rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; -it is the “horrible <span class='it'>shadow</span>” that blanches his cheek -with fear. After the guests have retired, he falls -into a superstitious train of reflection, in which he -expresses his belief in augurs, etc. He declares -his intention to revisit the weird sisters; he is fast -becoming as formal and as reckless of consequences -as his wife; he speaks of his qualms of conscience -as the “<span class='it'>initiate</span> fear that wants hard use;” and, as -if he now passively allowed himself to be borne onward -by the tide of events, says he has strange -things in his head, “which must be <span class='it'>acted</span> e’er they -may be <span class='it'>scanned</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Scene 5th. This is another witch scene. Hecate -declares her intention to raise up artificial sprites for -the purpose of deluding Macbeth, and drawing him -on to his confusion, thus preparing the way for the -ambiguous predictions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the 6th Scene, the relation between the letter -and the spirit is exhibited in the <span class='it'>ironical</span> speech of -<a id='lenn'></a>Lennox, and in the King of England’s regard for the -“dues of birth.”</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Things have been strangely born; the gracious Duncan</p> -<p class='line0'>Was pitied of Macbeth; marry, he was dead;</p> -<p class='line0'>And the right valiant Banquo walked too late,</p> -<p class='line0'>Whom you may say, if it please you, Fleance killed,</p> -<p class='line0'>For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late.</p> -<p class='line0'>Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous</p> -<p class='line0'>It was for <a id='malc'></a>Malcolm and for Donalbain,</p> -<p class='line0'>To kill their gracious father? damned fact!</p> -<p class='line0'>How it did grieve Macbeth! did he not straight,</p> -<p class='line0'>In pious rage, the two delinquents tear,</p> -<p class='line0'>That were the slaves of drink and thralls of sleep?</p> -<p class='line0'>Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely, too;</p> -<p class='line0'>For ’twould have angered any heart alive</p> -<p class='line0'>To hear the men deny it. etc. etc.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>ACT IV.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>Scene 1st. Here we have the witches boiling their -cauldron. It is composed of various and contradictory -materials;</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Black spirits and white,</p> -<p class='line0'>Red spirits and gray.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>And so truth and falsehood are mingled in the promises -to Macbeth which immediately follow; and -which are kept literally to the ear, but broken fatally -to the hope.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the 2d Scene, the falsehood or ambiguity of -<span class='it'>appearances</span> is illustrated in Lady Macduff’s complaint -of her husband’s desertion, which she attributes -to fear and want of love; whilst Ross exhorts -her to confide in his fidelity and wisdom, though she -may not be able to understand his present conduct:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>                As for your husband,</p> -<p class='line0'>He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows</p> -<p class='line0'>The fits o’ the season.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Of her son, she says, “Father’d he is, and yet he’s -fatherless;” and immediately after tells him that his -father’s dead; and, according to her understanding -of the matter, so he was; not <span class='it'>literally</span> but <span class='it'>substantially</span>, -as their guardian and protector. The boy -denies it, because he does not see the appropriate -<span class='it'>effect</span>. “If he were dead, you’d weep for him; if -you would not, it were a good sign that I should -quickly have a new father.” Whatever may be the -merit of this dialogue between Lady Macduff and -her son, in other respects it serves at least to illustrate -the theme. The same idea of ambiguity is -now applied to the relation between cause and effect, -when a messenger enters, warns her of the near approach -of danger, and urges her to fly. Her first -exclamation is, “I have done no harm.” But she -immediately adds,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>                    I remember now</p> -<p class='line0'>I am in this earthly world, where to do harm</p> -<p class='line0'>Is often laudable; to do good sometime</p> -<p class='line0'>Accounted dangerous folly.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The first part of the next scene (the 3d) is wholly -occupied with the idea of <span class='it'>ambiguous appearances</span>. -Macduff arrives at the court of England, and tenders -his services to Malcolm, who, fearing that he is an -emissary of Macbeth, mistrusts him. He plays off -false appearances upon Macduff by slandering himself, -thus bringing out Macduff’s true disposition. A -doctor now enters and introduces the idea of <span class='it'>causeless -effect</span>, telling how the king, with a mere touch, -has healed the “evil.” Ross, having just arrived -from Scotland, describes the dreadful state of the -country, dwelling chiefly on the circumstance that -the people have become so <span class='it'>used</span> to horrors, that they -have almost ceased to note them. He tells Macduff -that his wife and children are “well,” purposely -using an ambiguous phrase, which Macduff understands -literally, though Ross means that they are at -peace in their graves. When at length he comes to -reveal the truth, he begs Macduff not to confound the -<span class='it'>relator</span> with the <span class='it'>author</span> of the mischief. “Let not -your ears despise my tongue forever,” etc. Then -tells him that his wife and children have been -savagely slaughtered; whereupon Macduff pulls his -hat upon his brows, and Malcolm begs him to “give -sorrow words”—distinguishing justly between the -clamorous <span class='it'>show</span> of grief and its silent <span class='it'>reality</span>. The -<span class='it'>substance</span> of Ross’s words have struck Macduff, but -in the agony of the moment he cannot comprehend -their <span class='it'>detail</span>. “My wife killed, too;” “Did you say -all?” He has not caught the <span class='it'>form</span> of the expression -though its <span class='it'>spirit</span> has pierced his soul. There are -few passages in Shakspeare more affecting than this, -or in which the “ground-idea” is more steadily kept -in view.</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>O, I could play the woman with mine eyes,</p> -<p class='line0'>And braggart with my tongue,</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>exclaims Macduff; but he refrains from all <span class='it'>show</span> of -grief, and all <span class='it'>profession</span> of courage, and prays -Heaven only to bring the fiend of Scotland and himself -“front to front.”</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>ACT V.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>In the first scene of this act the <span class='it'>apparent</span> and the -<span class='it'>real</span> are inexplicably mingled together. Lady Macbeth -“receives, at once, the benefit of sleep, and -does the effects of watching,” which the doctor -pronounces “a great perturbation in nature.” Her -eyes are open, but their <span class='it'>sense</span> is shut; and she <span class='it'>seems</span> -to wash her hands. Though she is now under the -dominion of an awakened conscience, the <span class='it'>formality</span> -of her nature still displays itself. “Fie, my lord, -fie!” she exclaims, “a soldier, and afeard? <span class='it'>What -need we fear who knows it, when none can call our -power to account?</span>” The Doctor, however, is -cautious about drawing conclusions even from <span class='it'>such</span> -appearances, and remarks that he has known those -which have walked in their sleep, who have died -holily in their beds. The reader will readily perceive -other illustrations of the theme in this scene, -in which for the first time Lady Macbeth appears -stripped of the mask of ceremony. We are permitted -to see the workings of her mind, and the beating of -her heart, when her conscience is emancipated from -the control of her formal habits and her stern will.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next scene, which is a very short one, contains -several allusions to the <span class='it'>unsubstantial</span> nature -of Macbeth’s power.</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Those he commands move only in command,</p> -<p class='line0'>Nothing in love, etc.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>In the 3d Scene Macbeth still relies on the promises -of the weird sisters. He interprets the <span class='it'>look</span> of -the “cream-faced loon” as indicative of alarming -news; and then falls into that memorable train of -reflection on his “way of life,” and the <span class='it'>emptiness</span> of -all his honors—which everybody knows by heart and -can at once apply to the theme. In his answer to -the Doctor, who tells him of Lady Macbeth’s “thick-coming -fancies,” the remedies he proposes, are, it -will be observed, adapted to the <span class='it'>unsubstantial</span> character -of the disease; the troubles of the brain are -to be “razed out,” and the stuffed bosom cleansed -with “some sweet oblivious antidote.” On the other -hand, when he asks the Doctor to “scour the English -hence,” he suggests the use of rhubarb, or -senna, which, indeed, at first sight, strikes one as -very <span class='it'>appropriate</span> remedies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the 4th Scene, the soldiers are made to hew -down boughs in Birnam wood, in order to conceal -their numbers; thus giving a <span class='it'>literal</span> construction to -the language of the weird sisters.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Scene 5th. Macbeth now trusts to the strength of -his castle, and <span class='it'>proclaims</span> his confidence by ordering -his banners to be hung on the outward walls. When -he hears the cry of women, he comments on the -<span class='it'>effect of custom</span>.</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>I have almost forgot the taste of fears.</p> -<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;'>. . . . . . .</p> -<p class='line0'>Direness, <span class='it'>familiar</span> to my slaughterous thoughts,</p> -<p class='line0'>Can not once start.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>When told of the queen’s death, he says it is <span class='it'>unseasonable</span>: -“she should have died hereafter;” and -his reflections on life have the same relation to -the theme as those on his “way of life” in Scene 3d.</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>                  It is a tale</p> -<p class='line0'>Told by an idiot, <span class='it'>full of sound and fury</span>,</p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>Signifying nothing</span>.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>He is now told that Birnam wood is coming to -Dunsinane; and the rock on which he has heretofore -stood so firmly begins to crumble beneath his feet. -He begins to pall in resolution, and to “doubt the -equivocation of the fiend, that <span class='it'>lies like truth</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Scene 6th contains less than a dozen lines. The -soldiers throw away their leafy screens, and show -their true strength.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the next and last scene the remaining promise -of the weird sisters is literally kept to the ear, but -“broken to the hope”—for it turns out that Macduff -was <span class='it'>not</span> of woman born. The force of professional -habit appears in old Siward’s conduct on hearing of -the death of his son. “Had he his hurts before?” -he asks; and, being satisfied on that point, ceases -to mourn for him. Finally, <span class='it'>ceremony</span> is employed -by Malcolm in rewarding <span class='it'>substantial merit</span>; his -thanes and kinsmen are created earls; and all -other proper forms observed “in measure, time, -and place.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The reader will readily perceive that different -aspects of the theme predominate in the several -stages of the play; and if these stages seem somewhat -irregular, it must be borne in mind that the -present division into acts and scenes was not the -work of Shakspeare, but of his editors.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In Macbeth we see a perpetual conflict between -the <span class='it'>real</span> nature of man, and the <span class='it'>assumed</span> character -of the usurper. He is “full o’ the milk of human -kindness;” loves truth and sincerity; and sets a high -value on the good opinions and the sincere friendship -of others. But he is also ambitious; he is urged forward -by the demoniac spirit of his wife, and entangled -in the snare of the weird sisters. Under -these influences he endeavors to play the part of a -remorseless tyrant; but his kindlier nature is constantly -breaking out; and though he strives so hard -to maintain his <span class='it'>assumed</span> character, that he at length -refuses to “scan” his deeds until they have been -“acted,” yet we find him in the height of his power -mournfully regretting his own blood-guiltiness, and -the <span class='it'>hollow-heartedness</span> of all around him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But there is nothing of this <span class='it'>spirituality</span> in the -character of Lady Macbeth. Her ambition is satisfied -with the <span class='it'>name</span> of queen, and she cares not -whether the obedience of her followers is constrained -or voluntary, whether their love is feigned or real. -Remorse has no power over her except when she -is asleep; and even old Shylock—whose whole character, -as has been well said, is a <span class='it'>dead letter</span>—might, -perhaps, betray similar emotions, if one could see -him thus off his guard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If the reader of this play should ever be tempted -to the commission of crime for the sake of ambition, -let him remember the air-drawn dagger, and the -ghost of Banquo; if in danger of being seduced by -the specious appearance of vice, let him remember -the equivocation of the fiends; if lured by the hope -that success will gild o’er the offense and “trammel -up the consequence,” let him think of Macbeth’s -withered heart after he had won the crown and -sceptre; and finally, if he imagine that he can so -school his passions and harden his nature that remorse -will have no power over him, let him contemplate -Lady Macbeth walking in her sleep. Whereever -he turns, he will find, in all the incidents of -this play, the same great lesson, that “the letter -killeth, but the spirit giveth life.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk103'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='142' id='Page_142'></span><h1><a id='ode'></a>ODE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY R. H. STODDARD.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>  The days are growing chill, the Summer stands</p> -<p class='line'>  Drooping, like Niobe with clasped hands,</p> -<p class='line'>  Mute o’er the faded flowers, her children lost,</p> -<p class='line'>  Slain by the arrows of the early frost!</p> -<p class='line'>  The clouded Heaven above is pale and gray,</p> -<p class='line'>    The misty Earth below is wan and drear,</p> -<p class='line'>  And baying Winds chase all the leaves away,</p> -<p class='line'>    As cruel hounds pursue the trembling deer,</p> -<p class='line'>  And in the nipping morns, the ice around,</p> -<p class='line'>Lieth like Autumn’s gage defiant on the ground!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>  My heart is sick within me, I have toiled</p> -<p class='line'>    In iron poverty and hopeless tears,</p> -<p class='line'>    Tugging in fetters at the oar for years;</p> -<p class='line'>  And wrestling in the ring of Life have soiled</p> -<p class='line'>  My robes with dust, and strained my sinews sore;</p> -<p class='line'>  I have no strength to struggle any more!</p> -<p class='line'>  And what if I should perish?—none would miss</p> -<p class='line'>  So strange a dreamer in a world like this—</p> -<p class='line'>  Whate’er our beauty, worth, or loving powers,</p> -<p class='line'>    We live, we strive, we die, and are forgot;</p> -<p class='line'>  We are no more regarded than the flowers;</p> -<p class='line'>    And death and darkness is our destined lot!</p> -<p class='line'>  One bud from off the tree of Earth is naught,</p> -<p class='line'>  One crude fruit from the ripening bough of Thought,</p> -<p class='line'>  The hinds will ne’er lament, in harvest-time,</p> -<p class='line'>The bud, the fruit that fell and wasted in its prime!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>  Away with Action! ’tis the ban of Time,</p> -<p class='line'>    The curse that clung to us from Eden’s gate;</p> -<p class='line'>  We toil, and strain and tug from youth’s fair prime,</p> -<p class='line'>    And drag a chain for years, a weary weight!</p> -<p class='line'>  Away with Action and Laborious Life;</p> -<p class='line'>      They were not made for man,</p> -<p class='line'>          In Nature’s plan,</p> -<p class='line'>  For man is made for quiet, not for strife.</p> -<p class='line'>  The pearl is shaped serenely in its shell</p> -<p class='line'>    In the still waters of the ocean deep;</p> -<p class='line'>  The buried seed begins to pulp and swell</p> -<p class='line'>    In Earth’s warm bosom in profoundest sleep;</p> -<p class='line'>  And, sweeter far than all, the bridal rose</p> -<p class='line'>  Flushes to fullness in a soft repose.</p> -<p class='line'>  Let others gather honey in the world,</p> -<p class='line'>    And hoard it in their cells until they die;</p> -<p class='line'>    I am content in dreaminess to lie,</p> -<p class='line'>      Sipping, in summer hours,</p> -<p class='line'>      My wants from fading flowers,</p> -<p class='line'>An Epicurean till my wings are furled!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>  What happy hours! what happy, happy days</p> -<p class='line'>    I spent when I was young, a careless boy;</p> -<p class='line'>    Oblivious of the world—its wo or joy—</p> -<p class='line'>  I lived for song, and dreamed of budding bays!</p> -<p class='line'>  I thought when I was dead, if not before—</p> -<p class='line'>    (I hoped before!)—to have a noble name</p> -<p class='line'>  To leave my eager foot-prints on the shore</p> -<p class='line'>    And rear my statue in the halls of Fame!—</p> -<p class='line'>  I pondered o’er the Poets dead of old,</p> -<p class='line'>    Their memories living in the minds of men;—</p> -<p class='line'>  I knew they were but men of mortal mould,</p> -<p class='line'>    They won their crowns, and I might win again.</p> -<p class='line'>  I drank delicious vintage from their pages,</p> -<p class='line'>  Flasks of Parnassian nectar, stored for ages;</p> -<p class='line'>  My soul was flushed within me, maddened, fired,</p> -<p class='line'>  I leaped impassioned, like a seer inspired;</p> -<p class='line'>  I lived, and would have died for Poesy,</p> -<p class='line'>      In youth’s divine emotion—</p> -<p class='line'>      A stream that sought its ocean;</p> -<p class='line'>        A Time that longed to be</p> -<p class='line'>Engulfed, and swallowed in a calm Eternity!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>  Had I a realm in some enchanted zone,</p> -<p class='line'>  Some fadeless summer-land, I’d dwell alone,</p> -<p class='line'>  Far from the little world, luxurious, free,</p> -<p class='line'>  And woo the dainty damsel Poesy!</p> -<p class='line'>  I’d loll on downy couches all the day,</p> -<p class='line'>  And dream the heavy-wingéd hours away:</p> -<p class='line'>  Reading my antique books, or framing songs,</p> -<p class='line'>  Whose choiceness to an earlier age belongs,</p> -<p class='line'>  Or else a loving maid, in gentle fear,</p> -<p class='line'>  Would steal to me, from her pavilion near,</p> -<p class='line'>  And kneel before me with a cup of wine,</p> -<p class='line'>    Three centuries old, and I would sip and taste,</p> -<p class='line'>  With long-delaying lips a draught divine;</p> -<p class='line'>  And, peering o’er the brim in her blue eyes</p> -<p class='line'>  Slow-misting, and voluptuous, she would rise,</p> -<p class='line'>    And stoop to me, and I would clasp her waist,</p> -<p class='line'>  And kiss her mouth, and shake her hanging curls—</p> -<p class='line'>And in her coy despite undo her zone of pearls!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>  Oh, Poesy! my spirits crownéd queen,</p> -<p class='line'>  I would that thou couldst in the flesh be seen</p> -<p class='line'>  The shape of perfect loveliness thou art</p> -<p class='line'>  Enshrined within the chambers of my heart!</p> -<p class='line'>  I would build thee a palace, richer far</p> -<p class='line'>    Than princely Aladeen’s renowned of old;</p> -<p class='line'>    Its walls and columns of the massiest gold,</p> -<p class='line'>  And every gem encrusting it a star!</p> -<p class='line'>  Thy throne should be an Alp, o’ercanopied</p> -<p class='line'>  With rainbows, and a shielded Moon o’erhead;</p> -<p class='line'>  Thy coffers should o’erflow, and mock the Ind,</p> -<p class='line'>    Whose boasted wealth would dwindle into naught</p> -<p class='line'>    The rich-ored driftings of the streams of Thought</p> -<p class='line'>  Washed lucidly from cloven peaks of Mind!—</p> -<p class='line'>  And I would bring to thee the daintiest things</p> -<p class='line'>  That grow beneath the summer of thy wings;—</p> -<p class='line'>  Wine from the Grecian vineyards, pressed with care,</p> -<p class='line'>  Brimming in cups antique, and goblets rare,</p> -<p class='line'>  And sweeter honey than the singing bees</p> -<p class='line'>  Of Helios ever gathered on the leas</p> -<p class='line'>  Olympian, distilled from asphodels,</p> -<p class='line'>  Whose lucent nectar truckles from their cells!</p> -<p class='line'>  And luscious fruitage of enchanted trees,</p> -<p class='line'>  The peerless apples of the Hesperides,</p> -<p class='line'>  Stolen by Fancy from the guardant Fates,</p> -<p class='line'>  Served, by a Nubian slave, on golden plates!</p> -<p class='line'>  And I would hang around thee day and night,</p> -<p class='line'>    Nor ever heed, or know the night from day;</p> -<p class='line'>  If Time had wings, I should not see his flight,</p> -<p class='line'>    Or feel his shadow in my sunny way!</p> -<p class='line'>  Forgetful of the world, I’d stand apart,</p> -<p class='line'>    And gaze on thee unseen, and touch my lute,</p> -<p class='line'>  Sweet-voiced, a type and image of my heart,</p> -<p class='line'>    Whose trembling chords will never more be mute;</p> -<p class='line'>  And Joy and Grief would mingle in my theme,</p> -<p class='line'>  A swan and shadow floating down a stream!</p> -<p class='line'>  And when thou didst in soft disdain, or mirth,</p> -<p class='line'>  Descend thy throne and walk the common earth,</p> -<p class='line'>  I would, in brave array, precede thee round,</p> -<p class='line'>    With pomp and pageantry and music sweet,</p> -<p class='line'>  And spread my shining mantle on the ground,</p> -<p class='line'>For fear the dust should soil thy golden-sandaled feet!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>  Away! away! the days are dim and cold,</p> -<p class='line'>  The withered flowers are crumbling in the mould,</p> -<p class='line'>  The Heaven is gray and blank, the Earth is drear,</p> -<p class='line'>  And fallen leaves are heaped on Summer’s bier!</p> -<p class='line'>  Sweet songs are out of place, however sweet,</p> -<p class='line'>    When all things else are wrapt in funeral gloom,</p> -<p class='line'>  True Poets never pipe to dancing feet,</p> -<p class='line'>    But only elegies around a tomb!</p> -<p class='line'>  Away with fancy now, the Year demands</p> -<p class='line'>    A sterner chaplet, and a deeper lay,</p> -<p class='line'>  A wreath of cypress woven with pious hands,</p> -<p class='line'>          A dirge for its decay!</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk104'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='143' id='Page_143'></span><h1><a id='tomy'></a>LINES IN MEMORY OF MY LOST CHILD.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY GEORGE D. PRENTICE.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>My child! my dear, lost child! a father’s heart,</p> -<p class='line'>Touched by the holy wand of memory,</p> -<p class='line'>Would in this hour of loneliness and gloom,</p> -<p class='line'>When not a sound is borne upon the air,</p> -<p class='line'>And not a star is visible in heaven,</p> -<p class='line'>Hold sweet communion with thy soul.</p> -<p class='line'>                                My boy!</p> -<p class='line'>Thou wast most beautiful. I never looked</p> -<p class='line'>On thee but with a heart of pride. Thy curls</p> -<p class='line'>Fell o’er a brow of angel-loveliness,</p> -<p class='line'>And thy dark eyes, dark as the midnight cloud,</p> -<p class='line'>And soft as twilight waters, flashed and glowed</p> -<p class='line'>In strange, wild beauty, yet thy tears were far</p> -<p class='line'>More frequent than thy smiles—thy wail of pain</p> -<p class='line'>Came oftener on our hearts than thy dear cry</p> -<p class='line'>Of infant joyousness. Thy few brief months</p> -<p class='line'>Were months of suffering; ay, thy cup of life</p> -<p class='line'>Was bitter, bitter, but thou wast not doomed</p> -<p class='line'>To drain it, for a God of mercy soon</p> -<p class='line'>Let it pass from thee.</p> -<p class='line'>                      Oh! how well, my child,</p> -<p class='line'>Do I remember that all mournful day,</p> -<p class='line'>When thy young mother bore thy wasting form,</p> -<p class='line'>With breaking heart and streaming eyes, afar,</p> -<p class='line'>In the vain hope to save the dear young life</p> -<p class='line'>To which the tendrils of her own were bound.</p> -<p class='line'>With one wild pressure of thy little form</p> -<p class='line'>To my sad bosom, with a frantic kiss</p> -<p class='line'>Upon thy pallid lips, and a hot tear</p> -<p class='line'>Wrung from a burning brain, I said farewell—</p> -<p class='line'>Alas! my child, I never saw thee more.</p> -<p class='line'>In a strange land, far from thy own dear home,</p> -<p class='line'>But with the holy ministries of love</p> -<p class='line'>Around thy couch, thy little being passed,</p> -<p class='line'>Like the sweet perfume of a bright young rose,</p> -<p class='line'>To mingle with the skies from whence it came.</p> -<p class='line'>Oh! in that hour, my child, thy lost of earth,</p> -<p class='line'>Did not a thought of thy poor father’s love</p> -<p class='line'>Soften the anguish of thy parting soul,</p> -<p class='line'>And were not thy dear little arms outstretched</p> -<p class='line'>To meet his fond caress!</p> -<p class='line'>                        Thou sleepest, child,</p> -<p class='line'>Where the Missouri rolls its wild, dark waves,</p> -<p class='line'>And I have never gazed upon thy grave.</p> -<p class='line'>No tears of deep affection ever blend</p> -<p class='line'>With the soft dews and gentle rains that fall</p> -<p class='line'>Upon the turf that lies above thy breast;</p> -<p class='line'>But, oh! the spot is hallowed. There the Spring,</p> -<p class='line'>The bright Spring, yearly throws her loveliest wreaths</p> -<p class='line'>Of buds and blossoms—there, at morn and eve,</p> -<p class='line'>The viewless spirit of the zephyr breathes</p> -<p class='line'>Its holiest whispers in the springing grass</p> -<p class='line'>As if communing with thee—there the birds</p> -<p class='line'>Glance through the air like winged souls, and pour</p> -<p class='line'>Their sweet, unearthly melodies—and there</p> -<p class='line'>At the soft twilight hour young angels come</p> -<p class='line'>To hover o’er the spot on silver wings,</p> -<p class='line'>And mark it with their shining foot-prints.</p> -<p class='line'>                                   Thou</p> -<p class='line'>Art gone, my child—a sweet and holy bud</p> -<p class='line'>Is shaken from the rose-tree of our hopes;</p> -<p class='line'>But yet we should not mourn. ’Tis joy to know</p> -<p class='line'>That thou hast gone in thy young innocence</p> -<p class='line'>And purity and beauty from a dark,</p> -<p class='line'>Ungentle world, where many snares beset</p> -<p class='line'>The path of manhood. Ay, ’tis joy to know</p> -<p class='line'>That the Eolian lyre of thy young soul</p> -<p class='line'>Gives out its music in the Eden clime,</p> -<p class='line'>Unvisited by earth’s cold, bitter winds,</p> -<p class='line'>Its poison-dews, its fogs, its winter rains,</p> -<p class='line'>Its tempests and its lightnings.</p> -<p class='line'>                           My sweet child,</p> -<p class='line'>Thou art no more a blossom of the earth,</p> -<p class='line'>But, oh! the thought of thee is yet a spell</p> -<p class='line'>On our sad spirits. ’Tis a lovely flower</p> -<p class='line'>On memory’s lonely stream, a holy star</p> -<p class='line'>In retrospection’s sky, a rainbow-gleam</p> -<p class='line'>Upon the tempest-clouds of life. Our hearts,</p> -<p class='line'>Our stricken hearts, lean to thee, love, and thus</p> -<p class='line'>They lean to heaven, for thou art there. Yes, thou</p> -<p class='line'>And thy young sister are in heaven, while we</p> -<p class='line'>Are lingering on the earth’s cold desert. Come,</p> -<p class='line'>Ye two sweet cherubs of God’s Paradise,</p> -<p class='line'>Who wander side by side, and hand in hand,</p> -<p class='line'>Among the Amaranthine flowers that bloom</p> -<p class='line'>Beside the living waters—come, oh come,</p> -<p class='line'>Sometimes upon your bright and snowy wings,</p> -<p class='line'>In the deep watches of the silent night,</p> -<p class='line'>And breathe into our souls the holy words</p> -<p class='line'>That ye have heard the angels speak in heaven.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk105'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='144' id='Page_144'></span><h1><a id='pedro'></a><span class='bold'>PEDRO DE PADILH.</span></h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY J. M. LEGARE.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:1em;'>(<span class='it'>Continued from page 97.</span>)</p> - -<table id='tab3' summary='' class='left'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 10em;'/> -<col span='1' style='width: 1em;'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle0'><span class='sc'>Spain, and Tercera.</span></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle0'>}</td></tr> -<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle0'> AD. 1583.</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle0'>}</td></tr> -</table> - -<p class='pindent'>If the weekly mails brought me the Spirit of the -Times instead of the Literary World, or in other -words, I inclined to a sporting habit of speech, I -would “lay an even wager” that not one of Graham’s -readers has formed a correct idea of the personal -appearance of Hilo de Ladron, from the foregoing -account of that unscrupulous young gentleman’s -proceedings. I say nothing of his morals, -but refer merely to the harmony between features -and character which Nature tries hard, and generally -with success, to maintain, and which constitutes -the main prop of the science of physiognomy. -But no lawgiver allows more frequent exceptions to -established rules than Nature; and thus, instead of -being slouchy and red-haired, or big-whiskered and -ferocious, Señor de Ladron, seated on the bows of -one of De Chaste’s caravels, full sail for Tercera, belied -his ill-name by the delicate beauty of his face -and person. I use the word beauty, because his -straight features, smooth skin and well-shaped hands, -were feminine properties not usually looked for in -male attire, and in company such as the owner was -keeping. The French men-at-arms were well -enough, but I would not fancy sleeping a night in the -room with the thick-set Walloon standing next; -people with such faces, coarse, crafty about the eyes -and treacherous at the mouth—by the way, his laugh, -always of an evil sort, was twofold, from a seam in -the upper lip reaching half-way up the cheek, and -exposing the teeth and gums at every contraction of -the muscles thereabouts—should be called by names -to correspond, and this man’s, Wolfang, showed remarkable -foresight in his parents or sponsors. This -face, which had not its duplicate any where in ill-looks, -would be recognizable as that of an old acquaintance, -if muffling, and false-hair and whiskers, -frequently changed while begging an alms of Doña -Hermosa, had not destroyed all identity with his -natural features as now seen, for Wolfang was one -with the free-captain who lived at the expense of -that estimable if injudicious lady, until Don Peter -turned him loose upon the world again. It was reasonable, -under the circumstances, he should bear no -great love for the truth-loving knight, and it was -probably this feeling in common, accidentally communicated, -which had first drawn Hilo and himself -together. Don Hilo having inherited most of his -father’s hate to the latter’s half-brother; not that he -could lay claim to much personal cause for antipathy, -having seen Sir Pedro but twice in his life, and -one of those when little more than an infant, but it -came quite easy to this chip-of-the-block to bear -malice. With some grains of redeeming quality, it -must be allowed, for he was not wanting in that sort -of curious courtesy, common to all Spaniards I believe, -which makes taking off his hat with a <span class='it'>buènos -nòches</span> imperative on the very man who carries his -hand from his sombrero to his dagger, to plunge the -last under your shoulder blade the moment your -back is turned. Friendship, in its usual acceptation, -had little to do with the league existing between -these worthies, and no small amount of self-interest -must have been requisite to keep two such sweet -dispositions from open rupture; however, they contrived -to get along well enough, by each playing a -part designed to dupe the other, although, with less -success perhaps than the self esteem of each caused -him to imagine. Capt. Carlo, ready, cunning in -counsel, and cringing like a tiger ready to seize his -keeper’s hand in his jaws, but fearing the short Roman -sword in its clutch, followed the guidance of -his junior, half through a brute instinct of inferiority, -of which he himself was ignorant, and half for the -furtherance of certain plans of his own, which will -appear at intervals upon the surface of this narrative; -but on the whole the pair were not ill-matched, -their main characteristics uniting harmoniously -enough, by a rule which more resembles dove-tailing -in carpentry, than welding in iron-work, the -joint being tight and fast so long as force is applied -in one way, but easily dislocated by a lateral blow. -Thus Wolfang scoffed at every thing holy or otherwise, -seldom neglected a chance of shedding blood, -when not withheld by manifest interest or personal -risk; for the fellow was a coward in the depth of -his heart, just as any other savage beast is, frightened -by a parasol flirted in a child’s hand, but leaping -unhesitatingly upon an unwary man, and in his -thirst for gain, played any part however vile by -which a <span class='it'>maravedi</span> might be dishonestly got. Don -Hilo, to give the scapegrace his due, was murderous -only in the heat of passion, and somewhat overawed -his profane comrade by the resolute devotion he -chose to entertain for certain saints in succession, it -being a freak of his to hold in disgrace or honor, as -the case might be, the celestial patron invoked prior -to his last piece of rascality. Moreover the lad had -the indefinable sense of pride, much as he lacked -cause, which, I verily believe, constitutes the third -element of Spanish blood and gives a dignified fold -even to the dirty serape of the Mexican half-breed; -and this pride kept his fingers from small pilferings -if not from wholesale swindling; a turn of virtue -which must have afforded high satisfaction to a certain -alert fosterer of little errors, who has never been -slow to avail himself of the like since the time of -Adam and Eden. Even in general quickness of -temper there was difference in kind, that of Capt. -Carlo settling commonly into a smouldering fire -incapable of being extinguished by any kindness -whatever, and blown by the breath of opportunity -into an instant flame; while Hilo’s, on the contrary, -more dangerous and violent at <a id='its2'></a>its outbreak, was -often succeeded by a reckless sort of recompense -for injury done, which showed the boy had something -of a soul left in his handsome carcase; but I -am constrained to say as a set-off to this tolerable -trait, it was only when the hurt or insult was -avenged to his mind, a better spirit possessed him, -for, if baffled at first, the aggriever had need to do as -Bruce did, lose his trail in a running water.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I like to gossip confidentially now and then about -matters which indirectly affect my characters, and -so don’t mind mentioning a circumstance or two occurring -in the early acquaintance of Capt. Carlo and -Señor De Ladron, not noticed by historians of the -time. The captain, it seems, after relinquishing in -a highly praiseworthy manner, his annuity drawn -from the unconscious countess, when no longer able -to retain it, betook himself to the capital, where, -falling in with the señor, the two soon came to understand -each other’s projects, so far as it was good for -either to do. Hilo made no secret of his hate for -Doña Viola, whom he regarded as an incumbrance -and interloper, but for whom he would long since -have received an estate of more doubloons’ worth -than he had ever possessed cobrès. The joint sagacity -of the fathers and their notaries having been -exhausted in drawing up a contract so stringent that -nothing short of total forfeiture of the twin estates -to the benefit of one of the infant parties, could release -the other. No one knew what bond of union -existed between the worse than dissolute half-brother -of Sir Pedro, and so honorable a knight as Inique, -but the contract stood fast on parchment, and the admirable -wisdom of its conditions was shown in due -season, when Viola, living at ease in her father’s -house, grew up with a love amounting to mania for -the handsome cavalier she regarded as her rightful -husband, and whose vices she knew little of, until -any thing like a just estimate of their enormity had -become impossible to her biased mind. On the -other side, Hilo, cursing in his heart Inique and his -worthy father as founders of the scheme which his -magnificent pride prevented his profiting by, even -with the temptation of a twofold fortune attached, -because it took the form of compulsory action in an -affair it suited his humor to decide for himself, ransacked -his brain to drive into outraged vindication of -her woman’s dignity the innocent girl who stood between -him and his claim. The poor little thing, -without proper guidance or information in her own -concerns, surmised nothing of the true state of the -case, but affectionate and trustful to a fault, continued -to love the young roué, long after his dislike -found stronger expression than in words, with a -docile patience and hopefulness for his reform, capable -of touching any heart less villainous at the -core. For the girl was no fool, I would have it -clearly understood, weak as her affection for this -Hilo might argue her; error in judgment, to which -we are all subject, not necessarily indicating habitual -silliness, least of all in one circumstanced as Doña -Viola. This helpless child our worthy pair found it -to their mutual interest to persecute, or fancied it so, -and played very readily into each other’s hands; for -Capt. Carlo had got it into his ugly head that such a -prize (he was thinking of her money) was fitter for -a manly-looking fellow like himself, with a beard -to rub a soft cheek against, than for a stick of a lad -whose weakly mustache broke the back-bone of the -oaths he swore through it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This was the wording of the meditation which occupied -Don Wolfang’s brain while on his way to -make himself known to his intended wife; not that -Hilo would have refused his friend an introduction, -he would have been only too gratified to present a -Hottentot, if by so doing he could have caused her -a pang of shame; but the captain, acting with unusual -caution, chose to be independent of his hot-headed -associate, perhaps fearing the latter might insist upon -more than his legal share of the spoils, or from a -natural aversion to working, except in the dark. -Whatever his reasons, its cool impudence tempts me -from my resolution of only hinting at these villainies, -to give some account of the proceeding.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One night the house of Doña Viola was attacked -by a gang of robbers, who, having no fear of police -before their eyes in Philip the Second’s time, seemed -every moment on the point of breaking in. Within -was neither garrison nor protector worth the name, -for the virtuous duenna, who was the young lady’s -present guardian and companion, only rocked herself -to and fro in a garment more snowy than becoming, -and lamented her hard (approaching) fate with such -heartfelt <span class='it'>ay-de-mì’s</span>, that it was evident nothing but -the hope of ultimate rescue prevented her false hair -(in which, for better self-deception, she slept) being -plucked out by the roots. Moreover, the butler was -busied in secreting the family plate, and a few little -properties of his own, and the men-servants, with -Spanish devotion, found occupation enough in quieting -the maids and supplicating the saints; no doubt -they would have fought, too, the race being noted -for pluck—but there was no one to lead them on. -At this opportune moment, who should appear before -the terror-stricken ladies but Capt. Wolfang Carlo, -all ruffles, ribbon-knots and rings, like a gay cavalier -returning from some late merry-making, flying sword-in-hand -to the rescue of besieged innocence. How -he got in was a mystery; I suppose by dint of valor, -for, as the number of the assailants was diminished -by one on his entrance, it is more than likely one at -least of the robbers was run through the body by this -paladin, and the breach the former made turned to -account by the latter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When the party outside had been routed, which -was accomplished immediately on the captain’s -sallying forth at the head of the revived household,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sir,” said Doña Viola, to the disinterested hero -who stood regarding her with a smile, as one should -say, “look at me! Danger cannot shake my nerves: -I am quite in my clement in it; it is just such a -protector you need,” but which reminded for all that -of the supple waving of a cat’s tail just before the -animal springs. “Sir, if my father, Don Augustino, -were present, he would know better how to thank -you than I.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh,” interrupted her deliverer, with more truth -than was common in his speech, and bowing low, -partly because he designed to be exceedingly polite, -and partly to hide his rectangular grin, “I am delighted -to find he is not, Doña Viola.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I understand your noble motives, señor, and by -your calling me by name, you probably know Señor -Inique also.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Intimately,” said the unblushing vagabond; “we -were comrades in arms against the Moors in the last -war; and but that my mother’s being a Portuguese -induces a reasonable distaste to waging war on one’s -own kindred, we would have been lying side by side -in Portugal, at this very hour. We disagree, perhaps, -in this little matter, but there is no ill-feeling between -us; and you may imagine, señora, the haste I -made to snatch my distinguished friend’s daughter -from such pressing danger.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Señor,” cried the lady at this, simply, “the -house and all it contains is yours. (Capt. Carlo -wished it was.) Command me; you have only to -make known your wishes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Saying this, she left the room to order refreshments -for her guest. Don Wolfang, in high feather -at his success, and looking upon a part of the Doña’s -property as his own in right of salvage, which saved -any scruples arising in his tender conscience, pocketed -a few valuables lying about, and assumed the -bearing of a Rico, occupying four chairs with his -burly person, for the better, that is, more truthful -enactment of the character in hand. In which easy -attitude he lolled until the tray, with its choice eatables, -arrived; and it was while on the point of putting -into his mouth a pâté-de-fois-gras (I use the word -generally, as designating something good; but did -you ever hear Dr. C. talk of <span class='it'>real</span> pâtés) that—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But what happened I must begin in a different -manner to relate, or the moral of this episode will -be lost.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I have said Doña Viola was no fool, and here I -intend bringing forward proof of my position. No -one would have supposed any thing like nerve existed -in so delicate a creature, unless they had seen -her descending the stairs with a light in one hand, -and a great sword, too stiff for her to draw, in the -other, to rally the servants, while that timid old soul, -her duenna, was creeping under the bed above as -fast as a sudden weakness in her ancient knees would -allow. The girl was brimfull of character, and made -a worse impression on her first appearance, because -fevered and crushed in spirit by the final wickedness -of her betrothed husband, and its likely consequences; -possibly the fever which afterward brought -her to death’s door, had begun to show itself already -in unnatural excitement of the brain, for it is not easy -otherwise to reconcile the crazy eagerness she -showed with her usual modesty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But this is straying from the truffle-eating captain. -Poor, simple, lamb-like captain! what could have -induced him to pull off his leathern doublet and mask -under the eyes of a girl not out of her teens, to -be sure, but whose Gallician blood was all afire -while watching from a dark window what was -passing beneath. I am filled with pity and admiration -for Doña Viola, when I think how, with one -protector leagues away in Portugal, and the other -up stairs, making her toilette to appear becoming in -the eyes of this prince who had come to their rescue, -she traversed the whole house, accompanied by a -desperado whose only restraint lay in the greatness -of his hopes dependent in part on present good conduct. -She was a little fluttered, and ready to faint -with fear, as any other woman short of a novel -heroine would have been, but for all that she spoke -so connectedly, and showed such faith in the captain’s -will and ability to protect her, that it never -entered his slow, Netherlandish brain, the figure before -him was possessed of no more vitality in itself -than an electro-magnetized body, or that she had -noticed without start or scream his left, jetty whisker -slip down far enough to expose the scrubby red -growth underneath. Still less did it occur to him as -a remote possibility, the idea of taking him, Captain -Wolfang Carlo, fairly in the trap, could be occupying -her head at the very moment he talked of “his -dear friend, Don Augustino, her father;” and when -one servant went up with the tray, a second went out -with a summons to the Hermandad.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So Capt. Carlo was on the point (as I have said) of -putting a pâté into his capacious mouth, when there -came a rapping at the street-door, such as only the -Hermandad made, it being the custom of the holy -brotherhood to give due notice of their arrival on -such occasions, lest one of themselves should prove -to be the culprit. The captain knew to a stroke -what mercy <span class='it'>he</span> would be likely to receive if arrested, -and alert enough when danger pressed, clapped a -couple of goblets in his pockets, and in the same instant -seized by the throat the tray-bearer, (who had -his hand already on the latch,) so that the poor -simpleton had not breath enough in his body to -whisper, when his assailant threw him into the -corner limp as a bundle of rags.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The former had not perambulated the house without -using his eyes, and knew the shortest way to the -leads, where he dodged the Hermandad until an opportunity -presented itself for making good his descent, -the citizen police probably being not wide awake at -two o’clock in the morning.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That estimable youth, Hilo, was highly amused -when the adventure reached his ears, and in his -customary reckless speech gave his Flemish associate -to understand he was not wise beyond his -years, and had quite overshot his aim by too much -caution; nothing could have caused himself more -pleasure than to be rid of that (what I don’t choose -to write in Spanish or English,) who had cheated -him out of his estate by her artful behavior. And -he would not mind settling a round sum out of the -to be recovered fortune on Wolfang, provided he -could contrive to enter the house a second time, -without so much useless stir; but our prudent friend -had the Hermandad in too vivid remembrance, and -excused himself, suggesting, however, a scheme no -less rascally, which all readers of this true history -know already to have been carried out to its full -extent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To return to the caravel; some one was talking of -Neptune.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What a clatter about your Neptune,” cried a -soldier, peevishly, “I wish I’d never heard the -name, and had stayed where I was. Here we are -pitched from one storm into another, and land just in -sight. I’m sick of it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“La casa quemada, acudir con el agua!” put in -Hilo, who was swinging his legs over the bowsprit, -and did not trouble himself to take his eyes from the -blue land ahead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What does he say?” demanded the Frenchman, -eagerly, looking suspiciously about.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He says your house is burnt, and you run for the -water,” exclaimed Wolfang, with a short chuckle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ha!” retorted the other, setting down a steel -cap he was polishing, to gesticulate and call attention -to Hilo with his forefinger. “Look here, comrades, -here’s a man to talk to another as if he had -never made any blunders he would like to take back. -But this kind of talking behind you, is the way with -all these cowardly Spaniards.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Hilo turned his head just sufficiently to send a -glance at the irascible speaker from his wicked -black eyes. “Take care!” it said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Take care!” repeated the Netherlander, warningly, -this time translating the look. “You’re a -born fool, Jean, to tempt the devil in him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fool!” cried Jean. “Who meddled with him -first? He kicked my casque out of his way yesterday, -and set me to work cleaning and straightening -it out this morning. As to running for water when -it’s too late, he’ll think so too some day when -Señor Inique catches him, and he gets down on his -knees to beg for life, or the Marquis of Villenos’s -friends corner him. He needn’t think he’s thought -less a villain by us Frenchmen than by his own -countryfolks.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Here the man-at-arms stopped to take breath and -glower at Señor De Ladron, who lifting in his feet, -walked coolly over, opposite the first, saying, with -a smile on his face, “Come, come, there is no use -in comrades quarreling. Do you suppose I knew it -was your casque? Give me your hand, and let’s -make it up.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The soldier looked down distrustfully at his slight -enemy, but not being able to make up his mind what -to do at this unexpected proposal, hesitatingly laid -his broad palm in Hilo’s.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s as it should be,” said a shrunken little -cannonier, perched on his gun. “Hey! I remember -how we shook hands all round at St. German-en-Laye. -You see, we had been fighting like mad at -Montcontour, and when one cools it isn’t pleasant -to think you’ve knocked on the head your old chum -at bird-nesting, and the like, only because he differs -from you a little when grown up.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So you fetch water!” interrupted Hilo, mockingly, -half to the speaker and half to Jean, whose -fingers suddenly wrenched back forced him to stamp -and foam with rage and pain while struggling to -loosen the iron hold of the speaker.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sacrè! Devil!” he stammered, “let go; my -wrist is out of joint.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It will be worse for you if you don’t recant,” -muttered our Don, speaking faster than before, and -holding a dagger to the side of his throat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stop!” cried two or three men-at-arms, springing -up, “that is not fair play. We are Frenchmen, -not cut-throats, here.” Capt. Carlo merely grinned -in his usual agreeable fashion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t bite!” cried Hilo fiercely to his prisoner, -drawing back his hand to strike. And, perhaps, as -that amiable young gentleman was in no wise particular -in such matters, and took no heed of the interruption, -Hilo’s hand might have been the last bit -of flesh held between the Frenchman’s teeth for evermore, -(as the raven would say.) But the officer on -duty came down the deck at this crisis, demanding -the cause of the disturbance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ha! <span class='it'>you</span>, sir?” he cried, directly he caught -sight of the chief actor, as if he might have guessed -as much. “I order you under arrest. Give up your -dagger.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Señor de Ladron faced his superior with an audacious -smile, saying, “You jest?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Noose that rope,” ordered the lieutenant, purple -with fury. “Close around, men; we will hang up -this mutineer without trial.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“’Pshaw!” answered our scapegrace, throwing -his weapon overboard. “What a stir about a trifle, -Señor mine. Better do this than hang.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So Don Hilo de Ladron, when the island of Tercera -lay close under the bows of the fleet, sat in the -hold with irons around his ankles, and there probably -would have remained, in obscurity, until the -vessel returned to France, had not his fast friend, the -captain, contrived to say a word or two to Commander -De Chaste in person, while that brave -knight was reviewing his forces on shipboard preparatory -to landing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who are you?” asked the commander, looking -from a bit of paper he now twisted between his -fingers to the bearer. “I have seen your face before.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your excellency must be mistaken,” returned the -unblushing Wolfang, who nevertheless remembered -perfectly the gold piece the knight once put in the -mouth of a holy war soldier without arms or feet, if -appearances were true.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” interrupted De Chaste, “this scrawl tells -me your friend was not materially to blame in the -affair, his honor being concerned in repelling the -charges.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“True to a letter,” replied Wolfang, bowing low, -as usual, to hide his unprepossessing grin. “Besides, -the officer on duty owed the poor young gentleman -a grudge.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That has nothing to do with it, sir. A man’s -honor is his best possession, and needs unsleeping -guardianship; but this taking its vindication into his -own hands, must not be allowed in the service. -However, the error is one on the side of right, and -let him behave well in the field and we will pass -over his indiscretion. We want every brave man -we can get,” he added, turning to one of his officers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, M. de Commandant,” objected the gentleman -addressed, “is it likely a renegade like this -fellow should prove a good soldier, or even be really -possessed of ordinary honor!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How!” cried De Chaste, quickly. “I did not -think the ranks of our little army contained any -such. Is he a Spaniard, M. de Haye?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, and guilty of every manner of crime.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ha! Well, he must remain as he is until we -find time to look into his case. How is it, Mr. -What’s-your-name, Carlo, you suppressed his place -of birth?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“His mother was a French lady, Monseigneur, -and fighting for one’s mother country is as good, any -day, as fighting for a father’s.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“True, in a measure, sir,” returned the knight. -“What’s the prisoner’s name?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hilo de Ladron.” This was said in no unusual -tone, yet it seemed singularly to catch the commander’s -attention, for he eyed the speaker keenly and then -fell into a fit of musing, which lasted while he paced -the deck between the officers of his suite. “M. de -Haye,” he said at last, pausing before that officer -and looking up, “you may be mistaken in your -charges. They are grave ones and should be advanced -when they can be examined at leisure, not at -a hurried moment like this. I have need of every -man in our too feeble squadron, and will take it upon -myself to entrust the restoration of his character to -M. de Ladron himself for the present.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gentleman addressed bowed, shrugged his -shoulders, as well as a Frenchman could in a steel -cuirass, and there the matter dropped.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Hilo laughed when the captain told him the favorable -result of his application, and professed equal -curiosity as to the commander’s motives—professions -which honest Wolfang received as attempts to -impose on his credulity—(he was probably touchy -on the subject since his introduction to Doña Viola)—with -less justice than usual, however, as Hilo, for a -wonder, was telling the truth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>About this time the Sieur Cusson returned in his -sloop from reconnoitering the island, and his report -being that the Spanish squadron had not yet arrived, -the little armament of De Chaste ran gallantly into -the harbor, and came to anchor amidst a great firing -of cannon and arquebuses from the Portuguese, who -liked expending powder in this way much better -than in front of an enemy, and besides, had lived in -such daily dread of the descent of the Spanish fleet, -that they could not sufficiently viva their delight at -finding out who the new comers really were. The -Viceroy, de Torrevedros, himself, came down to the -water side to receive the commander, and made -such a brave appearance in his embroidered surcoat -and gilded harness, surrounded by other cavaliers -equally well dressed, that the Frenchmen, walking -with unsteady legs after their twenty-four days of -stormy weather on shipboard, and in shabby doublets, -presented nothing very imposing in their march -through the streets.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But if the Portuguese gentlemen, riding on either -hand, could scarce suppress their mirth at the ill -looks of their allies, the ladies were anxious to propitiate -men who would prove their main defence, -and threw down showers of all sorts of gay flowers -from the windows and balconies; some of the young -señoritas even meeting the procession at unexpected -corners, and flinging orange water into the knight’s -face, who would have been more gratified by the -ablution (it being a hot June day) had not the thought -of his best ruff growing limper at each sprinkling interfered -with the enjoyment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Better smell of gunpowder.” he said shortly, to -a French gentleman from the court, whose nose was -audibly expressing its delight at the fine perfume.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the satisfaction of the Portuguese was as nothing -compared with the joy of a few hundred -Frenchmen, a remnant of the Strossy expedition of -the year before, who had lost all hope of ever leaving -the Azores again, and, having little money at the -first, had been treated with any thing but hospitality -by their unwilling hosts. These poor fellows mixed -with the crowd in the streets, kept the commandant’s -company in sight, and running into the quarters -assigned the latter, met them with such antics -and embraces as caused the Gallic army to suppose -at first that they had fallen into an ambuscade of -madmen. Their two captains gave De Chaste a -full narration of their sufferings, which was impartial -in the main, and tended very little to elevate the -Portuguese residents in the eyes of their audience, -whose fancy for that people was not great from the -beginning.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sirs,” replied the commandant at the end, with -his customary high-toned suavity, looking around -him, “we must only remember this is done at -the will of our queen, and act as loyal gentlemen -should. For my part, I will be content with brown -bread and water and living in the open air, as we -are all accustomed to, to have the satisfaction of defeating -the landing of so good a soldier as the Marquis -of Santa-Cruz, and to-morrow I will examine in -person the accessible points of the island, which are -only three in number.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Three!” cried Capt. Baptista, an Italian, one of -the Strossy fugitives, “there are thirty! He must -have been a rank liar, who told you so, M. le Commandant.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That can hardly be,” returned De Chaste, gravely, -“for it was the king of Portugal himself who -gave the information.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, if it comes to that one had best bite his -tongue,” grumbled the Italian to De Haye, who -stood next him. “But a parrot’s word is no better -than a magpie’s, and so our general will find out.”</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;margin-top:0.5em;'><a id='tobe'></a>[<span class='it'>To be continued.</span></p> - -<hr class='tbk106'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='149' id='Page_149'></span><h1><a id='visit'></a>A VISIT TO STATEN ISLAND.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I have always had an especial fondness for islands. -When, in earlier days, Fancy fashioned some favorite -abode, it was often in the aspiration of Moore, “Oh! -had we some green little Isle of our own!” I am -inclined to think there is something in Nature to -sanction this preference. Perhaps the safety of an -insular situation from border inroad, and the wild -foray, might have given it pre-eminence in feudal -or barbarous times. A strange illusion seemed to -linger around it, in days of yore: “We, islanders,” -said Camden, “are lunares—or the moon’s men.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The tuneful king of Israel considered the praise of -the Creator incomplete, until “the multitude of the -Isles,” should swell that chorus. The islands are -required to “keep silence,” when an eloquent prophet -was about to declare a message from Jehovah. -The apostle, to whom the dread future unveiled itself, -“was in the island that is called Patmos,” -when he saw in <a id='avis'></a>a vision the “the heavens wrapped -together like a scroll, and the dead, small and great, -stand before God.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Heathen mythology sang to her disciples of the -“isles of the blessed.” Classic Greece fixed the -birth-place of her deity of the seven-stringed lyre in -wave-girdled Delphos, and bade her most beautiful -goddess from the foam of the sea.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Modern Poetry has not forgotten to invoke the -island-spirits. Shakspeare lifts the magic wand of -Prospero in a strange, wild isle, full of</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>“Sweet sounds and airs that give delight, and hurt not.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>He makes another less lofty character propose “to -<a id='sow'></a>sow the kernels of a broken islet in the sea, that -they may bring forth more islands.” The patriotism -of Milton beheld in his own native clime, the chief -favorite of Neptune:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>                            “this isle,</p> -<p class='line0'>The greatest and the best of all the main,</p> -<p class='line0'>He quarters to his blue-haired deities.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>The Bard of the Seasons still further glorified it, -as the</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>“Island of bliss amid the subject seas.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>It is as easy as it would be tautological to multiply -suffrages in praise of insular regions. Still less -necessary is it to bespeak popular favor for the island -that gives this sketch a subject and a name.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Dutch settlers of Staten Island seem to have -regarded it with an enthusiasm quite in contrast -with their usual phlegmatic temperament. Scarcely -a century after its occupation by them, the patient -and true-hearted Huguenots came to solace the woes -of their exile amid its sheltering shades. The armies -of Great Britain held it in possession during the -whole of our revolutionary contest; and even the -indurating influences of war did not render them insensible -to its surpassing loveliness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In later times, the States of New York and -New Jersey have contended for its jurisdiction -with the warmth of lovers, and the jealousy of -rivals. The latter approaches with extended arms, -as if to enfold it in an earnest embrace, its bright -shores curving closely around the coveted treasure; -but the Empire State, upon whose waters it reposes -“as a star on the breast of the billow,” has bound -the gem to her bosom forever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet neither the taciturn Hollander, nor the mournful -alien from France, nor the warring Saxon, nor -the native-born American, yearned over it with -such intense affection as the poor red man, its earliest -lord. He longed to rear his cone-roofed cabin -upon its sunny slopes, and to sweep with light canoe -into its quiet coves, as his fathers had done of old. -Forced by his pale-faced and powerful brother to -yield this dearest birthright, he sold for as poor a -compensation as the hunter-patriarch, then repented, -retracted, reclaimed, re-sold, contended, and vanished -like the smoke-wreath among the hills that he -loved. Still, he cast the Parthian arrow, and the -forests where he lingered and lay in ambush were -crimsoned with blood.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Still, his parting sigh, wreathed itself into a name -of blessing. “<span class='it'>Monocnong</span>,” or the Enchanted -Woods, was the epithet he bestowed upon his beloved -and forsaken heritage. In the bitterness of -parting, he said that no noxious reptile had ever -been found there, till the white man, like a wily -serpent, coiled himself amid its shades.</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>             MONOCNONG.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'>Gem of the Bay! enchased in waves of light,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That ’neath the sunbeam rear a diamond crest,</p> -<p class='line0'>But to the wrathful spirit of the night</p> -<p class='line0'>  Turn unsubdued, with thunder in their breast—</p> -<p class='line0'>Fair Isle! where beauty lingereth as a dower</p> -<p class='line0'>  O’er rock and roof, and densely-wooded dell,</p> -<p class='line0'>And in the bosom of the autumnal flower</p> -<p class='line0'>  Foiling the frost-king in its quiet cell,</p> -<p class='line0'>The Indian hunter of the olden time</p> -<p class='line0'>  Saw thee with love, and on his wandering way</p> -<p class='line0'>Staid the keen bow, at morning’s earliest prime,</p> -<p class='line0'>  A name of blessing on thy head to lay—</p> -<p class='line0'>Baptism of tears! it liveth on thy shore,</p> -<p class='line0'>Though he, the exiled one, returneth never more.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The sail from the city of New York to Staten -Island is delightful. The bay sparkled in the broad -sunbeam; six miles of diamonds set in turquoise -and amethyst. We land, and are borne rapidly -along, amid tasteful abodes imbosomed in trees and -shrubbery, and adorned with flowers. We pass also -the Hospital, a spacious building, where many beds -and pillows spread in the open air for purification, -denote that disease and death have given a ghastly -welcome to some mournful emigrants. Often are -we reminded, amid the most luxuriant scenery, that -even “in the garden there is a sepulchre.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>New Brighton, as seen from the water, is like a -cluster of palaces. Large and well arranged boarding-houses -furnish accommodations to numerous -strangers, who seek in summer the invigorating -atmosphere of this island. Among these, the Pavilion -and Belmont are conspicuous.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In descriptive writing, I had formerly a fastidious -delicacy about using the names of individuals. -When in Europe, I was so fearful of drawing the -curtain from the sanctuary of the hearth-stone, as to -fail in a free tribute for the most liberal and changeless -hospitality. Time, which is wont to destroy -undue sensibility on many subjects, has led me to -deem this an error. So I will here avoid it, and -say with equal frankness and gratitude that those -who, like myself, are admitted as guests at the elegant -island-residence of George Griffin, Esq., and -to share the intellectual society of his warm-hearted -and right-minded home-circle, will never lose the -pleasant memory of such a privilege.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Among the fine views in this vicinity, that from -the Telegraph Station is especially magnificent. I -shall not attempt to describe it, not being willing to -sustain or inflict the disappointment that must inevitably -be the result. Let all who have opportunity -see it as often as possible. They can never tire of -it. Among the many interesting objects that there -rivet the gaze, there will often be descried passing -through the Narrows, that highway of nations, some -white-winged wanderer of the deep, voyaging to -foreign shores. Within her how many hearts are -faint with the pangs of separation! How many -buoyed up with the vain fluttering of curiosity to -visit stranger lands. Adventurous ones! ye know -not yet the extent of the penalty ye must pay for -this shadowy good. Tempests without, misgivings -within, yearnings after your distant dear ones, sickness—that -shall make this “round world, and all it -doth inherit,” a blank, and a mockery—longings to -set foot once more on solid earth, which have no -parallel, save the wail of the weaned child for its -mother.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Many, and of almost endless variety, are the pleasant -drives that will solicit you. The Clove Road, -the Quarantine, the lovely, secluded grove, with the -townships of Richmond, Stapleton, Castleton, Tompkinsville, -Clifton, etc. are among them. Seldom, in -a circumference of a few miles, are such contrasts -of scenery displayed. At one point you fancy yourself -in the Isle of Wight, then you are reminded of -the Vale of Tempo, and the fabled gardens of the -Hesperides. Fair, sunny lawns—deep, solemn forests, -the resounding wheels of mechanical industry, -alternate like a dream, with clusters of humble cottages, -the heavy ricks of the agriculturist, and rude, -gray rocks, from whose solitary heights, you talk -only with Ocean, while he answers in thunder.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In our exploring excursions, we often admired, -amid its fringed margin of trees, a circular expanse -of water, from whence ice is obtained for the use of -the residents, and which bears the appellation of</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>               SYLVAN LAKE.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'>  Imbosomed deep in cedars, lonely lake!</p> -<p class='line0'>    Thy solemn neighbors that in silence dwell,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Save when to searching winds they answer make,</p> -<p class='line0'>    Then closer scan thee, in thy guarded cell,</p> -<p class='line0'>  No rippling keel hath vexed thee from thy birth,</p> -<p class='line0'>    No fisher’s net thy cloistered musing broke,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Nor aught that holds communion with the earth</p> -<p class='line0'>    Thy sky-wrapt spirit to emotion woke,</p> -<p class='line0'>  For thou from man wert fain to hide away,</p> -<p class='line0'>    Nursing a vestal purity of thought,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And only when stern Winter’s tyrant sway</p> -<p class='line0'>    A seal of terror on thy heart had wrought,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Gave him one icy gift, then turned away,</p> -<p class='line0'>Unto the pure-eyed heavens, in penitence to pray.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>There are several pleasantly situated churches on -Staten Island. The small one at Clifton, with its -dark grained arches of oak, strongly resembles those -of the mother land. An ancient, low-browed one, -at Richmond, was built and endowed by Queen -Anne, in 1714. Around it sleep the dead, with their -simple memorials. The sacred music that varied -the worship, was sweet and touching, and conducted -almost entirely by the seven daughters of its worthy -and venerable clergyman, Dr. David Moore, a son -of the former bishop of Virginia. He has also charge -of another church, at Port Richmond. There we -attended divine worship, one cloudless autumnal -Sunday, not deeming the distance of thirteen miles, -going and returning, as any obstacle. It was a simple -edifice, on a green slope, that stretched downward -to meet the sea. In his discourse, the white-haired -pastor reminded his flock that for twice -twenty years he had urged them to accept the invitations -of the gospel, on that very spot, where the -voice of his sainted father had been also uplifted, beseeching -them to be reconciled to God. Earnest zeal -gave eloquence to his words; and when they ceased, -the solemn organ did its best to uplift the listening -soul in praise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the close of the service many lingered in the -church-yard, to exchange kind greetings with their -revered guide. Old and young pressed near to take -his hand, while with affectionate cordiality he asked -of their welfare, as a father among his children. It -was patriarchal and beautiful. Religion in its pageantry -and pomp hath nothing like it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A boat, with its flashing oars, bore a portion of the -worshipers to their homes on the opposite shore. -But on the rocks beneath us sat some listless fishermen, -idling away the hours of the consecrated day. -Ah! have ye not missed salvation’s priceless pearl? -The wondrous glory of the setting sun, as we pursued -our homeward way, and the tranquil meditations -arising from the simplicity of devotion, made this a -Sabbath to be much remembered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We were interested more than once in attending -divine service in the chapel of the Sailor’s Snug -Harbor—a noble building, the gift of private munificence, -where the bronzed features and neat, tranquil -appearance of these favored sons of the sea, spoke at -once of past hardships upon the briny wave and of the -unbroken comfort of their present state of repose.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The cliffs and vales of this enchanted island are -crowned with the elegant mansions of the merchant -princes. Among them are those of the brothers -Nesmyth, Mr. Anthon, Mr. Aspinwall, Mr. Morgan, -and others, that I greatly admired, without knowing -the names of their occupants. That of Mr. Comstock -exhibits a model of perfect taste. All the appointments -within—the pictures, vases, and furniture of -white and gold, bespeak Parisian elegance, while -the grounds and conservatory are attractive; and in -the centre of a rich area of turf, a dial points out the -hours to which beauty and fragrance give wings.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The residence of Mr. Jones, at “The Cedars,” -has a very extensive prospect, and is embellished -by highly cultivated gardens of several acres, loaded -with fruits and flowers; and also, by an interesting -apiary, aviary, and poultry establishment, where -hundreds of domestic fowls, of the finest varieties, -revel in prosperity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The habitation of George Griswold, Esq. is princely, -and of a truly magnificent location. While in an -unfinished state, the prospect from the windows excited -the following effusion:</p> - -<div class='dramastart'><!----></div> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>            GRISWOLD HILL.</p> - -<p class='dramaline-cont'>Earth, sea and sky, in richest robes arrayed,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Wide spreads the glorious panorama round,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Charming the gazer’s eye. O’er wind-swept height,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Villa, and spire, and ocean’s glorious blue</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Floats the mild, westering sun. Fast by our side</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Frowns Fort Knyphausen, whence, in olden time,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The whiskered Hessian, bought with British gold,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Aimed at my country’s heart. Wild cedars wrap</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Its ruined base, stretching their arras dark</p> -<p class='dramaline'>O’er mound and mouldering bastion.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>                      With what grace</p> -<p class='dramaline'>New Jersey’s shores expand. Hillock and grove,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Hamlet and town, and lithe promontory,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Engird this islet, as a mother clasps</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Some beauteous daughter. Still, opposing straits,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>With their strong line of indentations, mar</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The entire embrace.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>                Broad spreads the billowy bay,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Forever peopled by the gliding sail,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>From the slight speck where the rude fisher toils,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>To forms that, like a mountain, tread the wave,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Or those that, moved by latent fires, compel</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The awe-struck flood.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>              Lo! from his northern home,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The bold, unswerving Hudson. He hath burst</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The barrier of his palisades, to look</p> -<p class='dramaline'>On this strange scene of beauty, and to swell</p> -<p class='dramaline'>With lordly tribute what he scans with pride.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>  Behold the peerless city, lifting high</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Its hallowed spires, and fringed with bristling masts,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>In whose strong breast beat half a million hearts,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Instinct with hurrying life. The gray-haired sires</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Remember well, how the dank waters crept</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Where now, in queenly pomp, her court she holds.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>  Next gleams that Isle, whose long-drawn line of coast</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Is loved by Ceres. On its western heights</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Towereth a busy mart, and ’neath its wing,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>One, whose pure domes are wrapped in sacred shade,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Silent, yet populous. Through its still gates</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Pass on the unreturning denizens.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Oh, Greenwood! loveliest spot for last repose,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>When the stern pilgrimage of life is o’er,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Even thy dim outline through the haze is dear.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>  Onward, by Coney Island’s silvery reef,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>To where, between its lowly valves of sand,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Opes the Highway of Nations. Through it flows</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The commerce of the world. The Mother Realm</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Sends on its tides her countless embassies;</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Bright France invokes the potency of steam</p> -<p class='dramaline'>To wing her message; from his ice-clad pines</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The Scandinavian, the grave, turbaned Turk,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The Greek mercurial, even the hermit-sons</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Of sage Confucius, like the sea-bird, spread</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Fleet pinions toward this city of the west,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That like a money-changer for the earth</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Sits ’neath her temple-dome.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>                   Yon ocean-gate,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>With telegraphic touch, doth chronicle</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The rushing tide of sea-worn emigrants,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Who reach the land that gives the stranger bread,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Perchance a grave. And he who ventureth forth,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The willing prisoner of some white-winged ship,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>To seek Hygeia o’er the wave, or test</p> -<p class='dramaline'>What spells do linger round those classic climes</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That woke his boyhood’s dream, fails not his heart</p> -<p class='dramaline'>As the blest hills of Neversink withdraw</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Their misty guardianship?</p> -<p class='dramaline'>                    Speech may not tell—</p> -<p class='dramaline'>For well I know its poverty to paint</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The rapture, when the homeward glance descries,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That native land, whose countless novelties,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And forms of unimagined life, eclipse</p> -<p class='dramaline'>The worn-out wonders of an Older World,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That, with its ghostly finger, only points</p> -<p class='dramaline'>To things that were.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>                  Oh! great and solemn Deep,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Profound magician of the musing thought,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Release my strain, that to the beauteous Isle</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Which hath so long enchained me, thanks may flow,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Warm, though inadequate.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>                  The changeful hand</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Of Autumn sheds o’er forest, copse, and grove,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>In gorgeous hues, the symbol of decay;</p> -<p class='dramaline'>But here and there some fondly lingering flower,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Sweet resonance of Summer, cheers the rocks</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Where warm suns latest smile.</p> -<p class='dramaline'>                  Oh, fairest Isle!</p> -<p class='dramaline'>I grieve to say farewell. Still for the sake</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Of those I love, and for the memories dear,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>And sacred hospitalities that cling</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Around the mansion, whence my steps depart,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Peace be within the palace-domes that crest</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Thy sea-girt hills, and ’neath the cottage roofs</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That nestle ’mid thy dells. For when I dream</p> -<p class='dramaline'>Of some blest Eden that survived the fall,</p> -<p class='dramaline'>That dream shall be of thee.</p> - -<hr class='tbk107'/> - -<div><h1><a id='even'></a>EVENING.</h1></div> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>Shades of Evening! ye remind me</p> -<p class='line'>  Of my own declining sun,</p> -<p class='line'>And of scenes I’ll leave behind me</p> -<p class='line'>  When my sands of life are run!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Should that change come ere to-morrow,</p> -<p class='line'>  Grant that I may sink to rest,</p> -<p class='line'>And from Virtue’s glory borrow</p> -<p class='line'>  Hues to make my Evening blest.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;'><span class='sc'>J. HUNT, JR.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk108'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='152' id='Page_152'></span><h1><a id='wood'></a>WOODLAWN:</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>OR THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MEDAL.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY F. E. F., AUTHOR OF A “MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:1.2em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='sc'>Campbell.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>“What are you thinking of so intently, Annie?” -asked Kate Leslie, of her cousin. “You have not -spoken for the last half hour.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Annie roused herself and answered with a smile, -“Only of last night’s Opera. Nothing very important, -you see.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And what of the Opera?” pursued Kate. “Come, -I should like to hear a genuine, unsophisticated opinion -of our most fashionable city amusement.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was thinking less of the music, Kate!” returned -Annie, “than of the audience.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And of the audience?” persisted Kate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, Kate, if you will have it, I was only thinking -how happy and gay they all looked. What a -different world it was from any I had ever seen before; -and thinking what a difference of fate there -was between those elegant-looking girls who sat opposite, -and myself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah! the Hautons, they are fortune’s favorites -indeed. They have every thing, fortune, family, -fashion—and elegant, high-bred looking things they -are. They called yesterday and left a card for you; -but Mrs. Hauton told mamma last night that they -were moving out to Woodlawn, and hoped we would -return the visit there. I should like it of all things, -for the place is magnificent, and I am told they entertain -delightfully. We have always visited in the -city, but have never before been invited out of town. -As soon as Mrs. Hauton is settled there, I presume -we shall hear from her. Fanny Elliot spent a week -with them last summer, and she said it was a continued -round of dinner and evening-parties all the -time. Beside invited guests, they have always preparations -made for unexpected company. The table -is laid every day as for a dinner-party, with silver, -and I don’t know how many men in attendance. -And then they have a billiard-room and library, and -green-house and horses—and all in the handsomest -style.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And an opera-box in town,” said Annie, with -something that approached a sigh.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, yes, an opera-box, and every thing else you -can think of. They live in the city in the winter, -and their parties are always the most elegant of the -season. The girls dress exquisitely, too. They -import most of their things; and, in short, I don’t -know any one I’d rather be than one of those -Hautons.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Annie, who lived in the quiet little village of C——, -where her father, the principal lawyer in the place, -could just manage to maintain his family in a plain, -comfortable, but rather homespun way, was rather -dazzled by this picture of the Hautons; and her heart -quite died within her at the idea of paying a visit -among such grand people. She looked upon Kate’s -fearlessness on the subject with some surprise. But -then Kate, she remembered, was “used to such -people.” But how should she, a little village-girl, -appear among these fashionables. Then her dress, -(that first thought among women,) she almost hoped -Mrs. Hauton would forget to follow up her invitation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A few days after, however, Kate entered the room, -saying, “Here is a note from Mrs. Hauton, Annie, -as I expected. She wishes us to pass a few days -at Woodlawn. Mamma desired me to show it to -you before she answered it. So what do you -say?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just what you do, of course,” replied Annie. -“They are almost strangers to me, you know; so -you must decide for us both. I am ready to accept -or refuse—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, my dear,” interrupted Kate, quickly, “I -would not have you refuse on any account. I am -particularly glad, for your sake, that the invitation -should have come while you are with us. Indeed, -Annie, I consider you quite in luck that we are -asked just at this time.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How long are we to stay?” inquired Annie.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We are invited from Monday to Wednesday, in -English style,” replied Kate, “which I like. Of all -things I hate that indefinite period of ‘as long as you -find it agreeable,’ when half your time is spent in -trying to find out how long you are expected to remain, -and your hostess is equally occupied in endeavoring -to ascertain when you mean to go.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Annie’s eyes dilated with surprise at this definition -of city hospitality, which sounded to her fresh -country ears and primitive ideas as somewhat remarkable, -but concluding that her cousin was in jest, -she smiled as she said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is it usual to fix a time for your friends’ departure -as it is for their coming, Kate?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No,” answered Kate. “I wish it were. It -would not, then, be such a formidable matter to ask -them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you in earnest?” asked Annie, looking up -surprised.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To be sure I am,” replied Kate. “You don’t -know what a bore it is to have a place near the city, -Annie, and to have people coming forever, without -an idea when they are going.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then why do you ask them at all, if you don’t -want them?” inquired Annie.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, because you <span class='it'>must</span>,” said Kate. “Some expect -it, to others you owe civilities; and its all very -well if the time of their going was only fixed. Two -or three days for people you don’t care for, and who -don’t care for you, is long enough.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Plenty, I should think,” answered Annie, emphatically. -“And I should not think, Kate, there -was any danger of guests under such circumstances -remaining longer.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Much you know of it, my dear!” said Kate, in -a droll tone of despair. “The less you care for them, -and the greater the bores, the longer they stay. But -papa and mamma have such old-fashioned notions -of hospitality, that they wont adopt this new style of -naming the days of the invitation. The Hautons -understand the matter better.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come, Annie,” said Kate, the next day, “as we -are to breakfast at Woodlawn, we shall have no -time to do any thing in the morning, so we may as -well pack our trunk now. I suppose you’ll ride out -in your gray barège,” she continued, as she opened -the wardrobe to take down some of her own and -her cousin’s dresses.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now as this gray barège was one of Annie’s two -best dresses, and which she was accustomed to think -quite full dress, she hesitated, and said, with some -surprise,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My gray barège for the morning?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, it will do very well,” continued Kate, supposing -her hesitation proceeded from diffidence as to -its being too plain. “The simpler a breakfast-dress -the better; and gray is always a good <span class='it'>unnoticeable</span> -color.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Annie almost gasped. If she was to begin with -her barège for breakfast, what should she do for -dinner. But Kate proceeded with,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Take the sleeves out of your book-muslin, Annie, -and that will do for dinner. You are always safe in -white, and I suppose they will supply us with -Camelias from the green-house for our heads.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Book-muslins, short sleeves, and Camelia’s for -dinner.” Annie’s heart beat high between expectation -and fear. She almost wished the visit over, and -yet would not have given it up for the world.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Monday morning arrived, and an hour’s drive -brought them to Woodlawn. And as they drove up -through the beautiful avenues of elms, and stopped -before a very large, handsome house, which commanded -a beautiful lawn, Annie felt that the place -quite equalled her expectations.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Hauton received them with great politeness, -made a slight apology for her “lazy girls,” who -were not yet down, and showed them into the breakfast-room -before the young ladies made their appearance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They came gliding in presently, looking very elegant -and high-bred, dressed in the finest white lawn -negligées, with the prettiest little thread-lace <a id='caps'></a>caps -on their heads; their whole toilet exquisitely fine, -simple, and <span class='it'>recherché</span>, so that poor Annie felt at -once the value and consolation of the expression, -“<span class='it'>unnoticeable</span>,” that Kate had applied to her barège, -and which had rather astonished her at the time.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They did not seem to feel called upon to apologize -for their not being ready to receive their guests, but -only found it “very warm,” asked at what time -they left the city, and were quite shocked at the -early hour they mentioned, and thought it “must -have been very disagreeable,” and it was evident -from their manner that they would not have risen so -early to come and see them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The conversation became general, if that can be -called conversation which consisted of some remarks -upon the long-continued drought from Mrs. -Hauton, with rejoinders as to the heat and dust of -the city, from Mrs. Leslie. Mr. Leslie inquired -something about the state of the crops of Mr. Hauton, -and Mr. Hauton asked a question or two about the -new rail-road. The young ladies kept up a little -scattering small-talk, consisting chiefly of questions -as to who had left town, and who remained yet in -the city, and where the Leslies were going, etc., all -of which Annie would have thought very dull, if -she had not been too much oppressed by the novelty -and elegance of every thing around her to dare to -think at all.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After breakfast a walk was proposed through the -garden, and Mrs. Hauton, with Mrs. Leslie, walking -on before, the young ladies followed. Mrs. Hauton -commenced a long story about her head gardener, -who had behaved, she said, “very ungratefully -<a id='inle'></a>in leaving her for a place where he could get higher -wages, when she had dismissed the man she had, to -take him, because he had offered to come on lower -terms, and after she had kept him for a year, he had -now left her, for the very wages she had given her -first man; but they are all so mercenary,” she concluded -with saying.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Annie could not help thinking that if a rich woman -like Mrs. Hauton thought so much of additional -wages, it was not surprising that her gardener, who -probably had a family depending on him, did not -value them less; nor did she see the call upon his -gratitude for having been engaged at less than his -worth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then Mrs. Hauton proceeded to tell Mrs. Leslie -how many men they kept at work on the place, and -how much they gave them a day, and at what an -enormous cost they kept up the green-house, which -“was, after all, of no use to them, as they spent their -winters in the city, and the girls had more bouquets -sent to them than they wanted.” And then followed -her complaints of the grapery, which were equally -pathetic, and all was excessively pompous and prosy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Annie was in admiration of her aunt’s good breeding, -which supplied her with patience and attention, -and suitable rejoinders to all Mrs. Hauton’s enumeration -of the calls on her purse, and the plagues of her -wealth. Indeed, Annie began rather to doubt whether -her aunt could be as tired as she at first thought she -must be, she kept up the conversation with so little -appearance of effort. She did not herself listen to the -half of it, but whenever she did, she always found it was -some long story about the dairy-woman, who would -do what she should not, or the price of the luxuries -by which they were surrounded, which Mrs. Hauton -seemed to think a great imposition that they could -not have for nothing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meantime the Miss Hautons kept up a languid -complaint of the heat, and asked Kate if she did not -find it “horrid.” And when Annie stopped to look -at some beautiful and rare flowers, and asked their -name, they replied they did not know, “the gardener -could tell her,” and seemed rather annoyed at her -stopping in the sun to look at them, and wondered -at her curiosity about any thing so uninteresting. -Annie was something of a botanist, and would gladly -have lingered over other plants that were new to her, -for the garden was under the highest cultivation; -but she saw that it was an interruption to the rest of -the party, and they sauntered on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She could not help, however, pausing again with -an exclamation of delight before a moss rose-tree in -full bearing, when Miss Hauton said, somewhat sarcastically,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are quite an enthusiast in flowers, Miss -Cameron.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am very fond of them,” replied Annie, coloring -at the tone in which the remark was made; “Are -not you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No,” replied the young lady, carelessly, “I don’t -care for them at all. I like a bouquet well enough -in the winter. It finishes one’s dress, but I don’t -see the use of them at all in summer.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I hate them,” added her sister, almost -pettishly. “They are such a plague. People who -come out are always wanting some; and then the -gardener is to be sent for, and he always grumbles -at cutting them, and half the time he has not cord to -tie them up, and papa sends me to the house for some. -If I had a place, I would not have a flower on it; but -mamma says the gardener has not any thing to do but -to attend to the garden, so she will have flowers.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, certainly, my dear,” said Mrs. Hauton, who -caught this last remark, “what should we pay -Ralston such wages to do nothing. He gets his -money easy enough now. If he had merely the -green-house to take care of, I think it would be -too bad.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So flowers were cultivated, it seemed, chiefly that -the gardener might not gain his living without “the -sweat of his brow.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As they came within sight of the river, to which -the lawn sloped, Annie proposed that they should -walk down to it; but the young ladies assured her -at once that she would find it “very disagreeable;” -and asking if they were not tired, turned their footsteps -toward the house.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They returned to the drawing-room, and after -a little dawdling conversation, Miss Hauton took -down her embroidery frame, and began to sort -worsteds, while Miss Fanny produced a purse and -gold beads, of which she offered to show Kate the -stitch.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Kate congratulated herself in the depths of her -heart, that she had had <a id='fore'></a>foresight to arm herself with -some needles and silk, and felt equal to all the emergencies -of the morning; but poor Annie, one of -whose accomplishments had not been to spend money -and waste time in fancy work, could only offer to -assist Miss Hauton in winding worsteds, by way of -doing something.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Fortunately for Mrs. Leslie, Mrs. Hauton’s stream -of talk was unceasing. She told innumerable and -interminable stories (at least so they seemed to Annie) -of the impositions of poor people; was very indignant -at the sums they were called upon to give, and -highly excited at the prices which were demanded -of them, and which she thought people in more moderate -circumstance were not asked. But more indignant -yet was she when, on some occasions, they -had not been treated with more prompt attention, -and had superior comforts to others who were not -as rich as themselves. She only, it seemed, expected -to be put on a level with poorer people when the -paying was in question. She evidently had an idea -that the knowledge of her wealth was to procure her -civilities which she was very angry at being called -upon to pay for.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Annie thought it the longest morning she had ever -passed; and when the servants announced the -luncheon, she awoke as from a nightmare.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Gathering round the table, everybody <a id='ate'></a>ate, not from -appetite, but ennui. Mrs. Hauton continued her -stream of talk, (for, apparently, she had no sense of -fatigue,) which now turned upon the hot-house and -the price of her forced fruits.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Another hour <a id='pass'></a>passed in the drawing-room, in the -same way, and Annie happening to be near a table, -on which lay some books, took up a new review in -which she was soon absorbed. After reading a few -pages she (being the first person who had looked into -it) was obliged to cut the leaves, when she heard -Miss Hauton say, in the same scornful tone in which -she had pronounced her an enthusiast in flowers,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Miss Cameron is literary, I see;” and Annie, -coloring, again dropped the book, and returned to -her wearisome place on the sofa.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Kate found to her great delight that company was -expected to dinner, and when the preparation-bell -rang, the girls, almost in a state of exhaustion, retired -to dress.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Kate,” exclaimed Annie, “I am almost dead. I -don’t know what has tired me so, but I feel as if -I had been in an exhausted receiver.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Kate laughed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You should have brought some work with you, -Annie. If you had only been counting stitches, as I -have been, you don’t know what a support it would -have been to you under Mrs. Hauton’s talk. She is -intolerable if you listen to her—but that I did not do. -However, take courage. The Langtrees and Constants, -and Merediths, are coming to dinner. Here, -let me put this wreath of honeysuckle in your hair. -There, it’s very becoming; only, Annie, you must -not look so tired,” she continued, laughing, “or I -am afraid you’ll make no conquests. And Constant -and Meredith are coming with their sisters.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After half an hour’s free and unconstrained chat, -and conscious of a pretty and becoming toilet, refreshed -and invigorated for a new attempt in society, -Annie accompanied her aunt and cousin again to the -drawing-room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The new comers had arrived; a stylish-looking set—the -girls in full dress, the young men so whiskered -and mustachioed that Annie was surprised to hear -them speak English. They were received with great -animation by the Hautons, who seemed to belong to -that class of young ladies who never thoroughly -wake but at the approach of a gentleman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young men glanced slightly at Annie, and -Mr. Meredith even gave her a second look. He -thought her decidedly pretty, and a “new face,” -which was something; but after a remark or two, -finding she “knew nobody,” and did not belong to -the clique, the trouble of finding topics of mutual -interest seemed greater than he thought her worth, -and so he turned to Miss <a id='haut'></a>Hauton; and Annie soon -found herself dropped from a conversation that consisted -entirely of personal gossip.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So, the wedding has come off at last,” said Susan -Hauton to Mr. Constant. “I hope the Gores are -satisfied now. Were you there? How did Mr. Langley -look?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Resigned,” replied the young man, slightly -shrugging his shoulders.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Susan laughed, though at what Annie could not -very well perceive, and continued with,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And the bride—how did she look?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As brides always do—charmingly, of course,” -he replied, languidly. “You ladies, with your veils, -and flowers, and flounces, may set nature herself at -defiance, and dare her to recognize you such as she -made you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If Fanny Gore looked charming,” said Ellen -Hauton, sarcastically, “I think it might have puzzled -more than dame Nature to recognize her. I -doubt whether Mr. Langley would have known her -under such a new aspect.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think we may give him credit for differing from -others on that point,” said Kate. “A woman has a -right to be thought pretty once in her life, and Cupid’s -blind, fortunately.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Cupid may be, but Mr. Langley is not,” replied -Miss Hauton, in the same careless, sneering tone. -<a id='its1'></a>“It’s a shameful take in.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A take in!” repeated Kate, with surprise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, certainly,” replied Miss Hauton. “He did -not want to marry her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then why did he?” asked Kate. “He was -surely a free agent.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, he was not,” persisted Miss Susan. “The -Gores would have him; they followed him up, and -never let him alone until they got him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you believe,” returned Kate, with some -spirit, “that any man is to be made to marry against -his will? There’s no force can do it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But the force of flattery,” said young Meredith; -<a id='isa'></a>“is a very powerful agent, Miss Leslie.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then,” said Kate, laughing, “every match is a -‘take in,’ on that ground. Is not every bride flattered -till she feels as if she had entered a new state -of being? Is not every girl turned, for the time being, -into a beauty? Do you suppose any body ever -yet fell in love on the truth?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, indeed,” replied the gentleman. “Truth’s -kept where she should be, at the ‘bottom of a well.’ -A most ill-bred personage, not fit for ‘good society,’ -certainly.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then the conversation branched off to other -matches, and to Annie’s surprise she heard these -high-bred, delicate looking girls, talk of their friends -making “dead sets” and “catches,” and of young -men being “taken in,” in a style that struck her as -decidedly vulgar. Kate, to turn the subject, asked -Mr. Constant if he had been to the opera the night -before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I looked in,” he replied. “Vita was screaming -away as usual.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, is not she horrid?” exclaimed Miss Hauton.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The opera’s a bore,” pursued her sister. “Caradori’s -detestable and Vita a horror. I hope they’ll -get a new <a id='trou'></a>troupe next winter. I am sick of this -set.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I thought you were fond of the opera,” remarked -Kate. “You are there always.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes; we have a box, and one must go somewhere; -but I was tired to death before the season -was half over. Here, Mr. Meredith, hold this silk -for me,” she continued, calling to the young gentleman, -who was looking out of the window, meditating -the possibility of making his escape to the refreshment -of a cigar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s right, make him useful, Miss Hauton,” -said Mr. Constant, as the reluctant Meredith declared -himself most happy and honored in being so -employed; but he set his back teeth firmly, and with -difficulty suppressed a yawn, which was evident <a id='insp'></a>in spite -of his efforts to conquer it. Miss Hauton’s animation, -however, was more than a match for his indifference. -He was not to be let off. Young ladies, and high-bred -ones too, will sometimes pin young gentlemen, -whether or no. It’s bad policy; for Annie heard -him say, as he afterward escaped and walked off the -piazza with his friend, and a cigar in his mouth,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What bores these girls are, with their confounded -worsteds and nonsense.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The evening passed in pretty much the same way. -Much gossip, varied with some very bad music, for -Miss Hauton sang, and, like most amateurs, would -undertake more than she could <a id='exec'></a>execute. Annie -thought of the “screamer Vita” and that “horrid -Caradori,” and wondered that ears that were so delicate, -so alive to the smallest fault in the music of -others, should have so little perception of their own -sins of commission.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh,” said Kate, as they retired to their room at -night, “did not the Hauton’s ‘Casta Diva’ set your -teeth on edge? Such an absurdity, for a girl like her -to attempt what few professional persons can sing. -You look tired to death, Annie, and no wonder, for, -between you and I, these Hautons are very common -girls. Strange! I’ve known them for years, -and yet never knew them before. Dress and distance -make such a difference.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They seem to have so little enjoyment in anything,” -remarked Annie. “Every thing seems, in -their phrase, ‘a bore.’ Now, to us in the country, -every thing is a pleasure. I suppose it is because -we have so little,” she continued, smiling, “that we -must make the most of it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” said Kate, doubtfully, as if the idea was -quite new to her, “is not that better than to be -weary with much?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And yet you would laugh at one of our little -meetings,” replied Annie, “where we talk of books, -sing ballads, and sometimes dance after the piano.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That is primitive, to be sure,” said Kate, with -something of contempt in her heart for such gothic -amusements.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s pleasant, at any rate,” thought Annie, as she -laid her head on her pillow and remembered, with -infinite satisfaction, that she had only one day more -to stay among these very fine, very common -people.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And is it possible,” she thought, “that I should -be such a fool as to envy them because they looked -gay and graceful across the opera house? And half -of the rest of them are, doubtless, no better. Oh for -one pleasant, spirited talk with Allan Fitzhugh.” -And then her mind traveled off to home and a certain -clever young lawyer, and she fell asleep dreaming -she was in C——, and was once again a <span class='it'>belle</span>, (as -one always is in one’s dreams,) and awoke to another -dull day of neglect and commonplaces, to return -home more disenchanted of the gay world and -its glitter, more thoroughly contented than she ever -would have been with her own intelligent and animated -home, had she not passed three days at Woodlawn, -amid the dullness of wealth, unembellished by -true refinement or enlightened by a ray of wit.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But it was all right. To Annie had been given -that which she most appreciated; to the Hautons -all that they were capable of enjoying.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Would either party have changed? No. The -pity was mutual, the contempt was mutual, and the -satisfaction of both sides as complete as ever falls to -the lot of mortals. Annie had seen the other side of -the medal, and the Hautons did not know there was -another side to be seen.</p> - -<hr class='tbk109'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='156' id='Page_156'></span><h1><a id='waste'></a>THE WASTED HEART.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MISS L. VIRGINIA SMITH.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>“The trees of the forest shall blossom again,</p> -<p class='line'>The song-bird shall warble its soul-thrilling strain,</p> -<p class='line'>But the heart Fate hath wasted no spring can restore,</p> -<p class='line' style='margin-bottom:1.2em;'>And its song shall be joyful—no more, never more.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>A blush was deepening through the folded leaves</p> -<p class='line'>Of that young, guileless heart, and far within</p> -<p class='line'>Upon the altar of her soul a flame</p> -<p class='line'>Like to an inspiration came; she <span class='it'>felt</span></p> -<p class='line'>That she had learned to love as e’en the heart</p> -<p class='line'>Of woman seldom loves.</p> -<p class='line'>She was an orphan child, and sorrow’s storm</p> -<p class='line'>With bitter breath had swept her gentle soul;</p> -<p class='line'>But that was past—and fresh in purity</p> -<p class='line'>It reveled in a blissful consciousness—</p> -<p class='line'>It <span class='it'>loved</span>, and <span class='it'>was beloved</span>.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>She <span class='it'>knew</span> she loved—and when the twilight dim</p> -<p class='line'>Stole on with balmy silence, she would list</p> -<p class='line'>A coming step, whose music fall kept time</p> -<p class='line'>To all the hurried throbbings of her heart,</p> -<p class='line'>And when it stayed, a softened glance would seek</p> -<p class='line'>Her drooping eye, whose deepest faith had poured</p> -<p class='line'>Its dreamy worship forth so fearlessly;</p> -<p class='line'>Eyes that to him alone were <span class='it'>never</span> silent,</p> -<p class='line'>Whose glances sometimes sought for his, and threw</p> -<p class='line'>Their light far through his spirit, till it thrilled</p> -<p class='line'>To music every tightened nerve that strung</p> -<p class='line'>The living lyre of being.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>At such an hour his burning passion slept</p> -<p class='line'>Before the portals of their azure heaven,</p> -<p class='line'>Like to some wandering angel who has sunk</p> -<p class='line'>To rest beside the glory-shadowed gate</p> -<p class='line'>Of a lost Paradise; and when he bowed</p> -<p class='line'>To press his lip upon the brow that lay</p> -<p class='line'>Soft pillowed on his bosom, she would start</p> -<p class='line'>Up from his half embrace, and then, to hide</p> -<p class='line'>Her sweet confusion, turn aside to part</p> -<p class='line'>With white and jeweled fingers, tremblingly,</p> -<p class='line'>The rich, dark masses of his waving hair.</p> -<p class='line'>Then joyous hopes came crowding brightly through</p> -<p class='line'>Their dreaming souls, as did the evening stars</p> -<p class='line'>Through the calm heaven above them, and the world</p> -<p class='line'>Of happiness that lay upon their hearts</p> -<p class='line'>Was silent all, for language had no words</p> -<p class='line'>To shadow forth the fond imaginings,</p> -<p class='line'>That made its very atmosphere a heaven</p> -<p class='line'>Of dreamy, rich, voluptuous purity.</p> -<p class='line'>An angel bowed before the mercy-seat</p> -<p class='line'>Trusts not more purely in the changeless One</p> -<p class='line'>To whom his prayer ascendeth, than did she</p> -<p class='line'>The proud, bright being whom her deathless love</p> -<p class='line'>Had made its idol-god—she could have laid</p> -<p class='line'>Her soft white hand in his without one thought</p> -<p class='line'>Except of love and trust, and bade him lead</p> -<p class='line'>Her to the end of life’s bewildered maze,</p> -<p class='line'>Blindfolded, while her heart on his would rest</p> -<p class='line'>Without one care for Time, one lonely fear</p> -<p class='line'>For that Eternity which mortals dread.</p> -<p class='line'>Such, then, is <span class='it'>woman’s love</span>—and wo to him</p> -<p class='line'>By whom her trusting nature is betrayed!</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:0.5em;margin-bottom:0.5em;'>——</p> -<p class='line'>A change—a fearful, sad and blighting change—</p> -<p class='line'>Came o’er them—how or why it matters not—</p> -<p class='line'>Enough to know it came—enough to <span class='it'>feel</span></p> -<p class='line'>That they shall meet as they have met, no more.</p> -<p class='line'>Of him we speak not—we but know he lives;</p> -<p class='line'>And she whose heart, whose very life was his,</p> -<p class='line'>Could tell you nothing more.</p> -<p class='line'>Lost—lost forever—and her life stood still,</p> -<p class='line'>And gazed upon the future’s cold gray heaven,</p> -<p class='line'>As if to catch one gleam of hope’s fair star—</p> -<p class='line'>No hope was there for her—the hand of God</p> -<p class='line'>Lay darkly in the cloud that shadowed it.</p> -<p class='line'>A <span class='it'>never-ending, living death</span> was hers,</p> -<p class='line'>And one by one she saw her hopes expire,</p> -<p class='line'>But shed no tear, because the fount was dry;</p> -<p class='line'>Hers was a grief too strangely sad for tears.</p> -<p class='line'>You heard no shriek of anguish as the tide</p> -<p class='line'>Of cold and leaden loneliness swept in</p> -<p class='line'>Upon her gentle bosom, though the fall</p> -<p class='line'>Of earth upon the coffin of the loved</p> -<p class='line'>And lost was not more fearful.</p> -<p class='line'>She prayed for power to “<span class='it'>suffer and be still</span>.”</p> -<p class='line'>And God was merciful—it came at last,</p> -<p class='line'>As dreamless slumber to a heart that mourns.</p> -<p class='line'>She smoothed her brow above a burning brain,</p> -<p class='line'>Her eye was bright, and strangers never knew</p> -<p class='line'>That all its brilliancy and light was drawn</p> -<p class='line'>From out the funeral pyre of every hope</p> -<p class='line'>That in an earlier, happier hour had glowed</p> -<p class='line'>On passion’s hidden altar. Months rolled on,</p> -<p class='line'>And when the softened color came again</p> -<p class='line'>To cheek and lip, it was as palely bright</p> -<p class='line'>As though from out a sleeping <a id='rose'></a>rose’s heart</p> -<p class='line'>Its sweetest life had faded tranquilly.</p> -<p class='line'>She mingled with the world—its gay saloons</p> -<p class='line'>Gave back the echo of her joyous laugh;</p> -<p class='line'>Her ruby lip, wreathed with its winning smile,</p> -<p class='line'>Gently replied to gentler flatteries,</p> -<p class='line'>And when her soul flowed forth upon the waves</p> -<p class='line'>Of feeling in the charméd voice of song,</p> -<p class='line'>You would have deemed that gushing melody</p> -<p class='line'>The music of a purest, happiest heart,</p> -<p class='line'>So bird-like was its very joyousness.</p> -<p class='line'>And many envied that lone orphan girl</p> -<p class='line'>Her light and happy spirit—oh! it was</p> -<p class='line'>A bitter, burning mockery! when her life</p> -<p class='line'>Was one continued struggle with itself</p> -<p class='line'>To <span class='it'>seem</span> what it could never <span class='it'>be</span>—to hide</p> -<p class='line'>Its gnawing vulture ’neath a sunny smile—</p> -<p class='line'>To crush the soul that panted to be free—</p> -<p class='line'>And force her gasping heart to drink again</p> -<p class='line'>The love that <span class='it'>fed upon itself</span> and wore</p> -<p class='line'>Her inner life away!</p> -<p class='line'>They could not know her—could not understand</p> -<p class='line'>How one could live, and smile, and <span class='it'>still be cursed</span>,</p> -<p class='line'>Cursed with a “living judgment,” once to be</p> -<p class='line'>Beloved—and then to be beloved no more,</p> -<p class='line'>And <span class='it'>never to forget</span>. Her life was like</p> -<p class='line'>Some pictured lily which the artist’s hand</p> -<p class='line'>Gives its proportion—shades its virgin leaves</p> -<p class='line'>With nature’s beauty—but the bee can find</p> -<p class='line'>No banquet there—the breeze waft no perfume.</p> -<p class='line'>The shadows of the tomb have lengthened o’er</p> -<p class='line'>Her sky that blushes with the morn of life;</p> -<p class='line'>Far on the inner shrine of Memory’s fane,</p> -<p class='line'>Lie the cold ashes of her “wasted heart,”</p> -<p class='line'>By burning sighs that sweep the darkened soul,</p> -<p class='line'>By lava-drops wrung from a fevered brain,</p> -<p class='line'>Or e’en the breath of God to be rekindled</p> -<p class='line'>Never—no “<span class='it'>never more!</span>”</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:0.5em;margin-bottom:0.5em;'>——</p> -<p class='line'>And thus it is that <span class='it'>woman’s</span> sacrifice</p> -<p class='line'>Upon the altar of existence is</p> -<p class='line'>(That pulse of life) her <span class='it'>warm</span> and <span class='it'>loving heart</span>!</p> -<p class='line'>Far other tongues beside the poet’s lyre</p> -<p class='line'>There are to teach us that we often <span class='it'>do</span></p> -<p class='line'>But “let our young affections run to waste</p> -<p class='line'>And water but the desert”—that we make</p> -<p class='line'>An idol to ourselves—we bow before</p> -<p class='line'>Its worshiped altar-stone, and even while</p> -<p class='line'>Our incense-wreaths of adoration rise</p> -<p class='line'>It crumbles down before that breath, a mass</p> -<p class='line'>Of shining dust; we garner in our hearts</p> -<p class='line'>A stream of love undying, but to pour</p> -<p class='line'>Its freshness out at last upon a shrine</p> -<p class='line'>Of gilded clay!</p> -<p class='line'>               Our <a id='barq1'></a>barque floats proudly on—</p> -<p class='line'>The waves of Time may bear us calmly o’er</p> -<p class='line'>This life’s deep under-current—but the tones</p> -<p class='line'>Of love that woke the echoes of the Past</p> -<p class='line'>Are stilled, or only murmur mournfully,</p> -<p class='line'>“<span class='it'>No more—oh! never more!</span>”</p> -<p class='line'>And other hearts who bow before the shrine</p> -<p class='line'>Of young though shadowed beauty—can they know</p> -<p class='line'>What is the idol that they seek to win?</p> -<p class='line'>A <span class='it'>mind the monument</span>—a <span class='it'>form</span> the <span class='it'>grave</span>—</p> -<p class='line'>Where sleep the ashes of a “<span class='it'>wasted heart</span>!”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk110'/> - -<div><h1><a id='health'></a>A HEALTH TO MY BROTHER.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY R. PENN SMITH.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>Fill the bowl to the brim, there’s no use in complaining;</p> -<p class='line'>We’ll drown the dark dream, while a care is remaining;</p> -<p class='line'>And though the sad tear may embitter the wine,</p> -<p class='line'>Drink half, never fear, the remainder is mine.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>True, others may drink in the lightness of soul,</p> -<p class='line'>But the pleasure I think is the tear in the bowl;</p> -<p class='line'>Then fill up the bowl with the roseate wine,</p> -<p class='line'>And the tears of my soul shall there mingle with thine.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>And that being done, we will quaff it, my brother;</p> -<p class='line'>Who drinks of the one should partake of the other.</p> -<p class='line'>Thy head is now gray, and I follow with pain.—</p> -<p class='line'>Pshaw! think of our day, and we’re children again.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>’Tis folly to grieve that our life’s early vision</p> -<p class='line'>Shone but to deceive, and then flit in derision.</p> -<p class='line'>A fairy-like show, far too fragile to last;</p> -<p class='line'>As bright as the rain-bow, and fading as fast.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>’Tis folly to mourn that our hearts’ foolish kindness</p> -<p class='line'>Received in return but deceit for their blindness;</p> -<p class='line'>And vain to regret that false friends have all flown;</p> -<p class='line'>Since fortune hath set, we can buffet alone.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Then fill up the glass, there’s no use in repining</p> -<p class='line'>That friends quickly leave us, when fortune’s declining—</p> -<p class='line'>Let each drop a tear in the roseate bowl;</p> -<p class='line'>A tear that’s sincere, and then pledge to the soul.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk111'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='158' id='Page_158'></span><h1><a id='what'></a>“WHAT CAN WOMAN DO?”</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>OR THE INFLUENCE OF AN EXAMPLE.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY ALICE B. NEAL.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='blockquote30em'> - -<p class='pindent'>Good, therefore, is the counsel of the Son of Sirach. “Show not thy valiantness in wine; for wine hath destroyed -many.”</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:1em;'><span class='sc'>Jeremy Taylor.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am glad you admire my pretty cousin,” said -Isabel Gray to a gentleman seated near her. “She -deserves all her good fortune, which is the highest -possible compliment when you see how devoted her -husband is and what a palace-like home he has given -her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It does, indeed, seem the very abode of taste and -elegance,” and the speaker looked around the luxurious -apartment with undisguised admiration.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The room, with its occupants, seemed, in the mellow -light which came from lotus shaped vases, like -a fine old picture set in a gorgeous frame. The curtains, -falling in fluted folds, shut out the dreariness -of a chill November night—a glowing carpet, on -whose velvet surface seemed thrown the richest -flowers and the most luscious fruits, in wild but -graceful confusion, muffled the tread of the well-trained -servants. A few rare pictures hung upon -the walls, and a group of beautiful women were conspicuous -among the guests who this evening shared -the hospitality of the master of the mansion. The -dessert had just been placed upon the table—rare -fruits were heaped in baskets of delicate <span class='it'>Sèvres</span>, that -looked <span class='it'>woven</span> rather than moulded into their graceful -shapes; cones and pyramids of delicately tinted -ices, and sparkling bon-bons—in fine, all that could -tempt the most fastidious appetite, had been gathered -together for this bridal feast.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Very happy was William Rushton that night, and -how fondly he glanced, in the pauses of conversation, -toward his lovely wife, who, for the first time, -had assumed her place as mistress of all this elegance. -But hers was a subdued and quiet loveliness,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>“Not radiant to a <span class='it'>stranger’s</span> eye,”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>and many wondered that his choice should have -fallen upon her, when Isabel Gray seemed so much -better suited to his well known fastidiousness. Isabel -had passed the season of early girlhood, yet her -clear brow was as smooth, and her complexion as -glowing, as when she had first entered society the -belle of the season. Four winters had passed, and, -to the astonishment of many an acquaintance, she -was still unmarried; and now, as the bridemaid of -the wealthy Mrs. Rushton, she was once more the -centre of fashion—the observed of all.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Glittering glasses, of fanciful shape and transparent -as if they had been the crystal goblets of Shiraz, -were sparkling among the fruits and flowers. -Already they were foaming to the brim with wines, -that might have warmed the heart of the convivial -Clarence himself, whose age was the topic of discourse -among the gentlemen and of comment to -their pretty listeners, who were well aware that -added years would be no great advantage to <span class='it'>them</span> in -the eyes of these boasting connoisseurs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No one can refuse that,” came to the ears of -Isabel Gray, in the midst of an animated conversation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The health of our fair hostess,” said her companion, -by way of explanation. “We are all friends, -you know. Your glass, Miss Gray,” and he motioned -the attendant to fill it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Excuse me,” said she, in a quick, earnest voice, -which drew the attention of all. “I will drink to -Lucy with all my heart, but in water, if you please,” -and she playfully filled the tall glass from a water -goblet near her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May I be permitted to follow Miss Gray’s example? -She must not claim all the honor of this -new fashion,” and the speaker, a young man with -a fine though somewhat sad face, suited the action -to the word.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Courtesy subdued the astonishment and remonstrances -of the host and his fashionable friends, and -this strange freak of Miss Gray’s formed the topic of -conversation after the ladies withdrew.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do not think it a fancy—Isabel Gray always -acts from principle,” said one of the party, with -whom she had been conversing; and Robert Lewis, -for so they called her supporter in this unparalleled -refusal, gayly declared himself bound, for that night -at least, to drink nothing but water, for her sake.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Isabel, how could you do so?” said her -cousin, as they re-entered the drawingroom, and the -ladies had dispersed in various groups to examine -and admire its decorations.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do what, dear Lucy?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, act in such a strange way. I never knew -you to refuse wine before. You might, at least, have -touched the glass to your lips, as you always have -done. Mr. Rushton was too polite to remonstrate, -but I saw he looked terribly annoyed. He is so -proud of his wines, too, and I wanted him to like -you so much. I would not have had it happen—oh, -for any thing,” and the little lady clasped her hands -with a most tragical look of distress.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How very terrible! Is it such a mighty offense? -But, seriously, it was not a freak. I shall never -take wine again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And all my parties to attend? You will be -talked about all winter. Why, nothing is expected -of a lady now-a-days but to sip the least possible -quantity; and, besides, champagne, you know, Isabel—champagne -never hurt any one.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have seen too much of its ill effects to agree -with you there, Lucy. It has led to intemperance -again and again. My heart has long condemned the -practice of convivial drinking, and I cannot countenance -it even by <span class='it'>seeming</span> to join. Think of poor -Talfourd—what made him a beggar and a maniac! -He was your husband’s college friend.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, that is but one in a thousand; and, besides, -what influence can you possibly have. Who, think -you, will be the better man for seeing you so rude—I -must say it—as to refuse to take wine with him?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We none of us know the influence we exert—perhaps -never will know it in this world. But, still, -the principle remains the same. To-night, however, -I had a definite object in my pointed refusal. Young -Lewis has recently made a resolution to avoid every -thing that can lead him into his one fault. Noble, -generous to “the half of his kingdom”—highly cultivated, -and wealthy, he nearly shipwrecked his fortune -when abroad, brother tells me, by dissipation—the -effect of this same warm-hearted, generous nature. -It is but very lately that he has seen what a -moral and mental ruin threatened him, and has resolved -to gain a mastery over the temptation. I -knew of it by accident, and I should not tell it, even -to you, only that it may prevent his being rallied by -Mr. Rushton or yourself. To-night was his first -trial. I saw the struggle between custom, pride, and -good resolutions. If he had yielded then, he would -have become disheartened on reflection, and, perhaps, -abandoned his new life altogether. I cannot -tell—our fate in this world is decided by such trivial -events. At any rate, I have spared him one stroke—he -will be stronger next time to refuse for himself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I should not have dreamed of all this! Why I -thought it was only his Parisian gallantry that made -him join with you; but, then, if he has once been -dissipated, the case is hopeless.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, no Lucy, not hopeless; when a strong judgment -is once convinced, it is the absence of reflection, -or a little moral courage, at first, that ruins so -many.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Excellent, excellent,” cried the lively Mrs. -Moore, who came up just in time to hear Isabel’s -closing sentence—“If Miss Gray is not turned temperance -lecturer! Come, ladies, let her have a numerous -audience while she is about it. Ah, I know -you think to get into Father Mathew’s good graces. -Shall you call upon him when he arrives, and offer -your services as assistant?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We were discussing the possibility of entire reformation,” -said Isabel, calmly, quite unmoved by -Mrs. Moore’s covert sarcasms, to the ladies who now -gathered round the lounge on which she sat. “The -reformation of a man who has been once intemperate, -I mean.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, intemperance is so shockingly vulgar, my -dear,” quavered forth Mrs. Bradford, the stately aunt -of the hostess. “How can you talk about such -things. No, to be sure, when a man is once dissipated, -you might as well give him up. He’s lost to -society, <span class='it'>that’s certain</span>; besides, we women have -nothing to do with it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I beg your pardon, my dear madam, but I think -we have a great deal to do, though not in the way of -assisting Father Matthew to address Temperance -Conventions, as Mrs. Moore kindly suggests. Moreover, -I have known a confirmed inebriate, so supposed, -to give up all his old associations, and become -a useful and honorable member of society.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tell us about it, please, Miss Gray,” urged -Emily Bradford, deeply interested. “There will be -plenty of time before the gentlemen come in.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And as the request was seconded by many voices, -Isabel told her simple tale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><a id='r1'/><a href='#f1' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[1]</span></sup></a>“There is no romance about it, Miss Emily; -but you remember those pretty habit shirts you admired -so much last fall—and <span class='it'>you</span> have seen me wear -them, Mrs. Moore. They were made by a woman—a -<span class='it'>lady</span> whom I first saw years ago, when I passed -my vacations at Milton, a little town not far from -Harrisburg. My Aunt Gray was very domestic, and -thought it no disgrace to the wife of a judge, and -one of the most prominent men in the state, to see -after her own household.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There was a piece of linen to be made up one -vacation; and I remember going into my aunt’s -room and finding her surrounded by ‘sleeves and -gussets and bands’—cutting out and arranging them -with the most exemplary patience. ‘Pray, aunt, -why do you bother yourself with such things,’ I -said, for I was full of boarding-school notions on -the dignity of <span class='it'>idleness</span>. ‘Why don’t you leave it -for a seamstress.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“‘If you will go with me this afternoon to see my -seamstress, you will find out. I should like you to -see her.’ And that afternoon our walk ended at a -plain brown frame house, with nothing to relieve its -unsightliness but a luxuriant morning-glory vine, -which covered one of the lower windows.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“‘How is Mrs. Hall to-day?’ aunt said to a dirty -little fellow who was making sand pies on the front -step.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“‘She’s in there,’ was all the answer we received, -as he pointed toward a door on the right of -the little hall.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“‘Come in,’ said a faint and very gentle voice; -and, at first, I could hardly see who had spoken, the -room was so shaded by the leafy curtain which had -interlaced its fragile stems over the front window. -There was a neat rag carpet on the floor; a few -plain chairs, a table, and a bureau, ranged round the -room; but drawn near the window, so that the light -fell directly upon it, was a bed, covered by a well-worn -counterpane, though, like everything else, it -was very neat and clean—and here, supported in a -sitting posture by pillows, was my aunt’s seamstress. -I do not think she had been naturally beautiful—but -her features, wasted by long illness, were very delicate, -and her eyes were large, and with the brilliancy -you sometimes see in consumptives, yet a look of -inexpressible sadness. She was very pale in that -soft emerald light made by the foliage, and this was -relieved by a faint hectic that, if possible, increased -the pallor. She smiled as she saw my aunt, and -welcomed us both very gratefully. As she held -out her long thin hand, you could see every blue -vein distinctly. I noticed that she wore a thimble, -and around her, on the bed, were scattered bits of -linen and sewing implements. You cannot tell how -strange it seemed to see her take up a wristband and -bend over it, setting stitch after stitch with the regularity -of an automaton, while she talked with us. -She seemed already dying, and this industry was almost -painful to witness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I gathered from her conversation with my aunt,—while -I looked on and wondered,—that Mrs. Hall -had long been a confirmed invalid. They even spoke -of a ruptured blood-vessel, from the effects of which -she was now suffering. She did not complain—there -was not a single murmur at her illness, or the -hard fate that compelled her to work for her daily -bread. I never saw such perfect cheerfulness, and -yet I knew, from the contracted features and teasing -cough, that she was suffering intensely. The little -savage we had seen on our arrival, proved to be the -son of her landlady, who was also her nurse and -waiting-maid.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was very much interested, and, by the time we -bade her good-bye, I had sketched out quite a romance, -in which I was sure she had been the principal -actor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“‘Poor lady,’ said I, the instant we were out of -the gate. ‘Why do you let her work, aunt? Why -don’t you take her home, you have so many vacant -rooms—or, at least, I should think, there were rich -people enough in Milton to support her entirely. She -does not look fit to hold a needle. Has she no children? -and when did her husband die?—was she -very wealthy?’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I poured out my questions so fast that aunt had -no time to answer any one of them, and I had been -so much engaged, that I had not noticed a man reeling -along the side-walk toward us, until just in time -to escape the rude contact of his touch, from which -I shrunk, almost shrieking.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“‘Who told you that Mrs. Hall was a widow, -Isabel?’ said aunt, to divert me from my mishap.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“‘Nobody; but I knew it at once, as soon as I -looked at her; how lonely she must be—and how -terrible to see one’s best friend die, and know you -cannot call them back again.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“‘Not half so dreadful, dear,’ answered she, very -seriously, ‘as to live on from day to day and see the -gradual death of the soul, while the body is unwasted. -It would be a happy day for Mrs. Hall that -made her a widow, though she, poor thing, might -not think so. That wretched inebriate’—and she -pointed to the man we had just met—‘is her husband; -and this is why she plies her needle when we -would willingly save her from all labor. She cannot -bear that <span class='it'>he</span> should be indebted to the charity of -strangers.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was even so, for the poor fellow had reached -the garden-gate, and was staggering in.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“‘So he goes home to her day after day,’ continued -aunt; ‘and so it has been since a few years -after their marriage. When I first came here, he -had a neat shop in the village, and was considered -one of the most promising young men in the neighborhood. -Such an excellent workman—such a clever -fellow—so fond and proud of his wife; and everybody -said that Charlotte Adams had married ‘out of -all trouble,’ in the country phrase. Poor girl! she -had only entered a sea of misfortunes—for, from the -death of her only child, a fine little fellow, they have -been going down. It is a common story. First, the -shop was given up, and he worked by the day; not -long after, they moved to a smaller house, and sold -most of their furniture. It was then she first commenced -sewing, and, with all her industry she could -scarcely get along. She could never deny him money -when she had it—and this, with his own earnings, -were spent at the tavern. She remonstrated -in vain. He would promise to do better—in his -sober moments he was all contrition, and called himself -a wretch to grieve such a good wife. I do not -believe she has ever reproached him, save by a -glance of sorrowful entreaty, such as I have often -seen her give when he entered as now he is going -to her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“‘She was never very well, and under repeated -trials, and sorrow and mortification, her health gave -way. Many a time have I parted with her, never -expecting to see her alive again; but there is some -concealed principle of vitality which supports her. -Perhaps it is the hope that she will yet see her husband -what he has been. I fear she hopes in vain, -for if there was ever a man given over to the demon -of intemperance it is James Hall. But it is for this -reason that she refuses the assistance of her acquaintances, -and works on from day to day, sometimes as -now unable to leave her bed. Of course she is well -paid, and has plenty of work, for everybody pities -her, and all admire the wonderful patience, cheerfulness -and industry which she exhibits. She never -speaks to any one, even to me, of her husband’s -faults. If she ever mentions him it is to say, ‘James -has been such a good nurse this week—he has the -kindest heart in the world.’ ‘She is a heroine,’ exclaimed -my aunt warmly. ‘The best wife I ever -knew—and if there is mercy in heaven, she will be -repaid for all she has suffered in this world.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“‘Poor lady,’ I thought and said a hundred times -that week. I suppose I must have tired everybody -with talking about Mrs. Hall.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And did you ever see her again—<span class='it'>did</span> she die, -Miss Gray?” asked Emily Bradford, as Isabel paused -in her narration.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I told you she made those pretty habit shirts for -me. They were not in fashion in those days if you -will recollect. The first summer after my debut in -society I passed at Milton. I never shall forget the -second evening of my visit. If you recollect, there -was a great temperance movement through all our -towns and villages just about that time. Reformed -inebriates had become the apostles of temperance, -and went from village to village, rousing the inhabitants -by their unlearned but wonderful eloquence. -Mass meetings were held in the town-ball at Milton -nightly, and by uncle’s invitation, for he went heart -and hand with the newly awakened spirit of reform, -aunt and myself accompanied him to one of these -strange gatherings. It was with the greatest difficulty -we could get a seat. Rough laborers, with their -wives and children, crowded side by side with the -<span class='it'>élite</span> of the little place; boys of every age and size -filled up the interstices, with a strange variety of -faces and expressions. The speaker of the evening -was introduced just as we entered. He was tall, -with a wan, haggard-looking face, and the most -brilliant, flashing eyes I ever saw. A few months -ago he had been on outcast from society, and now, -with a frame weakened by past excesses, but with -a spirit as strong as that which animated the old reformers, -he stood forth, going as it were ‘from -house to house, saying peace be unto you.’ Peace -which had fled from his own hearth when he gave -way to temptation, but which now returning urged -him to bear glad tidings to other homes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I never listened to such strange and thrilling eloquence. -I have seen Fanny Kemble as Portia -plead with Shylock with all the energy of justice, -and the force of her passionate nature, but though -that was beyond my powers of conception, I was -not moved as now. With what touching pathos he -recounted the sorrows, the wasting, mournful want -endured by the drunkard’s wife! The sickness of -hope deferred and crushed—the destruction of all -happiness here, or hope of it hereafter! It was what -his own eyes had seen, his own acts had caused—and -it was the eloquence of simple truth. More -than one thought of poor Mrs. Hall, I am sure. As -for myself, I know not when I have been so excited, -and after the exhausted speaker had concluded his -thrilling appeal, and the whole rude assembly joined -in a song arranged to the plaintive air of Auld Lang -Syne—more like a triumphal chant it seemed, as it -surged through the room—I forgot all rules of form, -and though I had sung nothing but tame Italian <span class='it'>cavatinas</span> -for years, my voice rose with the rest, forgetful -of all but the scene around me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Scarce had the last strains died away, when -through the crowded aisles, passing the very seat -we occupied, some one pressed forward with trembling -eagerness. At first I did not recognize him—but -uncle started and made way for him to the -table in front of the speaker’s seat. A confused -murmur of voices ran through the room, as one and -another saw him grasp the printed pledge which -was lying there, with the eagerness of a dying man. -The first name subscribed to the solemn promise of -total abstinence that night was <span class='sc'>James Hall</span>. When -it was announced by my uncle himself, whose voice -was fairly tremulous with pleasure, the effect was -electrical. The whole assembly rose, and the room -rang with three cheers from stentorian voices. All -order was at an end. Men of all classes and conditions -pressed forward to take him by the hand, and -more names were affixed to the pledge that night -than any one could have counted on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was a proud tribute paid to woman’s influence, -when James Hall grasping the hand of the speaker -ejaculated—‘Oh! it was the picture you drew of -what my poor wife has suffered. Heaven bless -her! she has been an angel to me—poor wretch that -I am.’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My aunt’s first impulse was to fly to Mrs. Hall -with the good news, but ‘let him be the bearer of -the glad tidings himself,’ she said afterward. ‘We -will offer our congratulations to-morrow.’ And -never were congratulations more sincerely received -than by that pale invalid, trembling even yet with -the fear that her great happiness was not real.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! very well,” broke in Mrs. Bradford. -“Quite a scene, my dear; you should have been a -novelist. But did he keep it?—<span class='it'>that’s</span> the thing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You would not ask, my dear madam,” answered -Isabel, “if you could have witnessed another -‘scene,’ as you term it, in which Mrs. Hall was an -actor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is a pretty little cottage standing at the -very foot of the lane which leads to my uncle’s -house. This has been built since that memorable -evening by Mr. Hall, now considered the best workman, -and one of the most respected men in Milton; -and it was furnished by his wife’s industry. Her -health was restored as if by a miracle; it was indeed -such, but wrought by the returned industry, -self-respect, and devotion of her husband. My aunt -and myself were her guests only a few months ago, -the evening of her removal to her new home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We entered before her little preparations were -quite finished, and found Mrs. Hall arranging some -light window curtains for the prettily furnished parlor, -while a fine curly-haired, blue-eyed little fellow -was rolling on the carpet at her feet. She was still -pale, and will never be strong again, but a happier -wife and mother this world cannot contain. Her -reward has been equal to her great self-sacrifice, -and not only this, but the example of her husband -has reformed many of his old associates, who at -first jeered at him when he refused to join them. -There is not a bar now in all Milton, for one cannot -be supported.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>More than one thoughtless girl in the little group -clustered around Isabel began, for the first time, to -feel their responsibility as women, when her little -narrative was concluded. But the current of thought -and education is not so easily turned, and by the -time the gentlemen entered the room, most of them -had forgotten every thing but a desire to outshine each -other in their good graces.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Emily Bradford alone remained in the shadow of -a curtain, quiet and apart; and as she stood there -musing, her heart beat faster, it may be, with an unacknowledged -pang of jealousy as she saw Robert -Lewis speaking earnestly with Isabel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Heaven bless you, Miss Gray, I confess I -wavered—you have made me ashamed of my weakness; -I will not mind their taunting now,” was all -that the grateful, warm-hearted man could say; and -he knew by the friendly clasp of Isabel’s hand that -nothing more was needed. Who among that group -of noble and beautiful women had more reason for -happiness than Isabel Gray? Ah, my sisters, if you -could but realise that all beauty and grace are but -talents entrusted to your keeping, and that the happiness -of many may rest upon the most trivial act, -you would not use that loveliness for an ignoble -triumph, or so thoughtlessly tread the path of daily -life!</p> - -<hr class='tbk112'/> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Isabel,” said Lucy Rushton, bursting into -her cousin’s room, some two years from the scenes -we have recorded, “what am I to do? Pray advise -me, for you always know every thing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not quite as wise as that, dear, but what am I -to do for you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Emily Bradford has been proposed for by -young Lewis, and aunt, who sees only his wealth -and connections, is crazy for the match. Emily -really loves him devotedly; and what am I to do, -knowing how near he once came to downright intemperance? -Is it my duty, or is it not, to tell aunt? -It has no effect on Emily, and, besides, he confessed -it all to her when he proposed.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And what does she say?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, it’s your fault, after all, for she quotes a -story you told that same night I heard about his folly. -You told me that, too. Well, he declares he has -not drank a glass of wine since then, and never will -again. Particularly if he has Emily for his guiding -angel, I suppose, and all that sort of thing. And she -believes him, of course.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, ‘of course’—don’t say it so despairingly; -why not? I do, most assuredly. I might perhaps -have distrusted the reformation if it had been solely -on Emily’s account, a pledge made to gain her, but -if I am not very much mistaken, I think I can trace -their attachment to that same eventful night, but I -am very certain he did not declare himself until -quite recently.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So I am to let Emily run the risk?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, if she chooses it; though I do not think -there is much. I should have no hesitation to marry -Lewis if I loved him. Emily is a thoughtful, sensible -girl. She does not act without judgment, and -she is just the woman to be the wife of an impulsive, -generous man like Lewis. Sufficient time has elapsed -to try his principles, and her companionship will -strengthen them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And so it proved, for there are now few happier -homes than the cheerful, hospitable household over -which Emily Lewis presides. Isabel Gray is always -a favorite guest, and Robert predicts that she will -never marry. It may prove so, for she is not of -those who would sacrifice herself for fortune, or -give her hand to any man she did not thoroughly respect -and sympathise with, to escape that really -very tolerable fate—becoming an old maid.</p> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_1'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div id='f1'><a href='#r1'>[1]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'>The circumstances here related are substantially true.</p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk113'/> - -<div><h1><a id='port'></a>ON A PORTRAIT OF CROMWELL.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY JAMES T. FIELDS.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>“Paint me as I am,” said Cromwell,</p> -<p class='line'>  Rough with age, and gashed with wars—</p> -<p class='line'>“Show my visage as you find it—</p> -<p class='line'>  Less than truth my soul abhors!”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>This was he whose mustering phalanx</p> -<p class='line'>  Swept the foe at Marston Moor;</p> -<p class='line'>This was he whose arm uplifted</p> -<p class='line'>  From the dust the fainting poor.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>God had made his face uncomely—</p> -<p class='line'>  “Paint me as I am,” he said,</p> -<p class='line'>So he <span class='it'>lives</span> upon the canvas</p> -<p class='line'>  Whom they chronicled as <span class='it'>dead</span>!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Simple justice he requested</p> -<p class='line'>  At the artist’s glowing hands,</p> -<p class='line'>“Simple justice!” from his ashes</p> -<p class='line'>  Cries a voice that still commands.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>And, behold! the page of History,</p> -<p class='line'>  Centuries dark with Cromwell’s name,</p> -<p class='line'>Shines to-day with thrilling lustre</p> -<p class='line'>  From the light of Cromwell’s fame!</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk114'/> - -<div><h1><a id='seas'></a>A SEA-SIDE REVERIE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY ENNA DUVAL.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>These white-capped waves roll on with pride, as if</p> -<p class='line'>The myth that ancient poësy did tell</p> -<p class='line'>Were true, and they did bear upon their breasts</p> -<p class='line'>King Néreus with state most royal. How</p> -<p class='line'>They leap and toss aloft their snowy crests;</p> -<p class='line'>And now a tumbling billow springing up</p> -<p class='line'>In air, does dash and bound—another comes—</p> -<p class='line'>Then playfully they meet, with bursting swell</p> -<p class='line'>Dashing their spray-wreaths on the shelving shore,</p> -<p class='line'>And quick the ripples hasten back, as if</p> -<p class='line'>To join the Ocëanides wild glee.</p> -<p class='line'>But when the beaming sunlight fades away</p> -<p class='line'>And storm-clouds gather—then the rolling waves,</p> -<p class='line'>Without a light, sweep on, and soon is heard</p> -<p class='line'>The under-current’s deep and solemn tones,</p> -<p class='line'>As on the shore it breaks.</p> -<p class='line'>                          How like to life</p> -<p class='line'>These ocean waves! When beaming with the rays</p> -<p class='line'>Of sunny Joy, Youths cresting billows bound,</p> -<p class='line'>Its frolick waves leap up with gleeful laugh,</p> -<p class='line'>Glitt’ring with pleasure’s light; but lo! a cloud</p> -<p class='line'>Obscures Life’s sky, and sorrow’s storm awakes,</p> -<p class='line'>The heavy swell of grief comes rolling on,</p> -<p class='line'>And all the sparkles of Life’s waves are gone!</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk115'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='163' id='Page_163'></span><h1><a id='bride'></a>THE BRIDE OF THE BATTLE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>A SOUTHERN NOVELET.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY W. GILMORE SIMMS.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:1em;'>(<span class='it'>Concluded from page 91.</span>)</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>It was with feelings of a tumultuous satisfaction -that Mat Dunbar found himself in possession of this -new prize. He at once conceived a new sense of -his power, and prepared to avail himself of all his -advantages. But we must suffer our friend Brough -to become the narrator of this portion of our history. -Anxious about events, Coulter persuaded the old -African, nothing loth, to set forth on a scouting expedition -to the farmstead. Following his former -footsteps, which had been hitherto planted in security, -the negro made his way, an hour before daylight, -toward the cabin in which Mimy, and her -companion Lizzy, a young girl of sixteen, were -housed. They, too, had been compelled to change -their abodes under the tory usurpation; and now occupied -an ancient tenement of logs, which in its -time had gone through a curious history. It had -first been a hog-pen, next a hunter’s lodge; had stabled -horses, and had been made a temporary fortress -during Indian warfare. It was ample in its -dimensions—made of heavy cypresses; but the clay -which had filled its interstices had fallen out; of the -chimney nothing remained but the fire-place; and -one end of the cabin, from the decay of two or more -of its logs, had taken such on inclination downward, -as to leave the security which it offered of exceedingly -dubious value. The negro does not much regard -these things, however, and old Mimy enjoyed -her sleeps here quite as well as at her more comfortable -kitchen. The place, indeed, possessed some -advantages under the peculiar circumstances. It -stood on the edge of a limestone sink-hole—one of -those wonderful natural cavities with which the -country abounds. This was girdled by cypresses -and pines, and, fortunately for Brough, at this moment, -when a drought prevailed, entirely free from -water. A negro loves any thing, perhaps, better than -water—he would sooner bathe in the sun than in the -stream, and would rather wade through a forest full -of snakes than suffuse his epidermis unnecessarily -with an element which no one will insist was made -for his uses. It was important that the sink-hole -near Mimy’s abode should be dry at this juncture, -for it was here that Brough found his hiding place. -He could approach this place under cover of the -woods. There was an awkward interval of twelve -or fifteen feet, it is true, between this place and the -hovel, which the inmates had stripped of all its -growth in the search for fuel, but a dusky form, on a -dusky night, careful to crawl over the space, might -easily escape the casual glance of a drowsy sentinel; -and Brough was partisan enough to know that the -best caution implies occasional exposure. He was -not unwilling to incur the risk. We must not detail -his progress. Enough that, by dint of crouching, -crawling, creeping, rolling and sliding, he had contrived -to bury himself, at length, under the wigwam, -occupying the space, in part, of a decayed log connected -with the clayed chimney; and fitting himself -to the space in the log, from which he had scratched -out the rotten fragments, as snugly as if he were a -part of it. Thus, with his head toward the fire, -looking within—his body hidden from those within -by the undecayed portions of the timber, with -Mimy on his side of the fire-place, squat upon the -hearth, and busy with the <span class='it'>hominy</span> pot, Brough might -carry on the most interesting conversation in the -world, in whispers, and occasionally be fed from the -spoon of his spouse, or drink from the calabash, -without any innocent person suspecting his propinquity. -We will suppose him thus quietly ensconced, -his old woman beside him, and deeply buried in the -domestic histories which he came to hear. We must -suppose all the preliminaries to be dispatched already, -which, in the case of an African <span class='it'>dramatis personæ</span>, -are usually wonderfully minute and copious.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And dis nigger, Tory, he’s maussa yer for true?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I tell you, Brough, he’s desp’r’t bad! He tak’ -ebbry ting for he’sef! He sway (swears) ebbry ting -for him—we nigger, de plantation, boss, hog, hominy; -and ef young misses no marry um—you yeddy? -(hear)—he will hang de maussa up to de sapling, -same as you hang scarecrow in de cornfiel’!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Brough groaned in the bitterness of his spirit.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wha’ for do, Brough?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who gwine say? I ’spec he mus fight for um -yet. Mass Dick no chicken! He gwine fight like -de debbil, soon he get strong, ’fore dis ting gwine -happen. He hab sodger, and more for come. Parson -’Lijah gwine fight too—and dis nigger’s gwine -fight, sooner dan dis tory ride, whip and spur, ober -we plantation.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, wha’ you tink dese tory say to me, -Brough?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wha’ he say, woman?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He say he gwine gib me hundred lash ef I no get -he breckkus (breakfast) by day peep in de morning!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“De tory wha’ put hick’ry ’pon your back, chicken, -he hab answer to Brough.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You will fight for me, Brough?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wid gun and bagnet, my chicken.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, I blieb you, Brough; you was always lub -me wid you’ sperrit!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Enty you blieb? You will see some day! You -got ’noder piece of bacon in de pot, Mimy? Dis -hom’ny ’mos’ too dry in de t’roat.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Leetle piece.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Gi’ me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His creature wants were accordingly supplied. -We must not forget that the dialogue was carried on -in the intervals in which he paused from eating the -supper which, in anticipation of his coming, the old -woman had provided. Then followed the recapitulation -of the narrative, details being furnished -which showed that Dunbar, desperate from opposition -to his will, had thrown off all the restraints of -social fear and decency, and was urging his measures -against old Sabb and his daughter with tyrannical -severity. He had given the old man a sufficient -taste of his power, enough to make him dread -the exercise of what remained. This rendered him -now, what he had never been before, the advocate -himself with his daughter in behalf of the loyalist. -Sabb’s virtue was not of a self-sacrificing nature. -He was not a bad man—was rather what the world -esteems a good one. He was just, as well as he -knew to be, in his dealings with a neighbor; was -not wanting in that charity, which, having first -ascertained its own excess of goods, gives a certain -proportion to the needy; he had offerings for the -church, and solicited its prayers. But he had not -the courage and strength of character to be virtuous -in spite of circumstances. In plain language, he -valued the securities and enjoyments of his homestead, -even at the peril of his daughter’s happiness. -He urged with tears and reproaches, that soon became -vehement, the suit of Dunbar as if it had been -his own; and even his good <span class='it'>vrow</span>, Minnecker Sabb, -overwhelmed by his afflictions and her own, joined -somewhat in his entreaty. We may imagine poor -Frederica’s afflictions. She had not dared to reveal -to either the secret of her marriage with Coulter. -She now dreaded its discovery, in regard to the probable -effect which it might have upon Dunbar. -What limit would there be to his fury and brutality, -should the fact become known to him? How measure -his rage—how meet its excesses? She trembled -as she reflected upon the possibility of his -making the discovery; and while inly swearing eternal -fidelity to her husband, she resolved still to keep -her secret close from all, looking to the chapter of -providential events for that hope which she had not -the power to draw from any thing within human -probability. Her eyes naturally turned to her husband, -first of all mortal agents. But she had no -voice which could reach to him—and what was his -condition? She conjectured the visits of old Brough -to his spouse, but with these she was prevented -from all secret conference. Her hope was, that -Mimy, seeing and hearing for herself, would duly -report to the African; and he, she well knew, would -keep nothing from her husband. We have witnessed -the conference between this venerable couple. -The result corresponded with the anticipations of -Frederica. Brough hurried back with his gloomy -tidings to the place of hiding in the swamp; and -Coulter, still suffering somewhat from his wound, -and conscious of the inadequate force at his control, -for the rescue of his wife and people, was almost -maddened by the intelligence. He looked around -upon his party, now increased to seven men, not including -the parson. But Elijah Fields was a host -in himself. The men were also true and capable—good -riflemen, good scouts, and as fearless as they -were faithful. The troop under Dunbar consisted -of eighteen men, all well armed and mounted. The -odds were great, but the despair of Richard Coulter -was prepared to overlook all inequalities. Nor was -Fields disposed to discourage him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is no hope but in ourselves, Elijah,” was -the remark of Coulter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Truly, and in God!” was the reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We must make the effort.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Verily, we must.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We have seven men, not counting yourself, -Elijah.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I too am a man, Richard;” said the other, -calmly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A good man and a brave; do I not know it, -Elijah? But we should not expose you on ordinary -occasions.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This is no ordinary occasion, Richard.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“True, true! And you propose to go with us, -Elijah?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, Richard! I will go before you. I <span class='it'>must</span> go -to prevent outrage. I must show to Dunbar that -Frederica is your wife. It is my duty to testify in -this proceeding. I am the first witness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But your peril, Elijah! He will become furious -as a wild beast when he hears. He will proceed -to the most desperate excesses.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It will be for you to interpose at the proper moment. -You must be at hand. As for me, I doubt if -there will be much if any peril. I will go unarmed. -Dunbar, while he knows that I am with you, does -not know that I have ever lifted weapon in the cause. -He will probably respect my profession. At all -events, I <span class='it'>must</span> interpose and save him from a great -sin, and a cruel and useless violence. When he -knows that Frederica is irrevocably married, he will -probably give up the pursuit. If Brough’s intelligence -be true, he must know it now or never.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Be it so;” said Coulter. “And now that you -have made your determination, I will make mine. -The odds are desperate, so desperate, indeed, that I -build my hope somewhat on that very fact. Dunbar -knows my feebleness, and does not fear me. I must -effect a surprise. If we can do this, with the first -advantage, we will make a rush, and club rifles. -Do you go up in the dug-out, and alone, while we -make a circuit by land. We can be all ready in five -minutes, and perhaps we should set out at once.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Right!” answered the preacher; “but are you -equal to the struggle, Richard?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The young man upheaved his powerful bulk, and -leaping up to the bough which spread over him, -grasped the extended limb with a single hand, and -drew himself across it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good!” was the reply. “But you are still stiff. -I have seen you do it much more easily. Still you -will do, if you will only economise your breath. -There is one preparation first to be made, Richard. -Call up the men.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They were summoned with a single, shrill whistle, -and Coulter soon put them in possession of the adventure -that lay before them. It needed neither argument -nor entreaty to persuade them into a declaration -of readiness for the encounter. Their enthusiasm -was grateful to their leader whom they personally -loved.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And now, my brethren,” said Elijah Fields, “I -am about to leave you, and we are all about to engage -in a work of peril. We know not what will -happen. We know not that we shall meet again. -It is proper only that we should confess our sins to -God, and invoke his mercy and protection. My -brothers—let us pray!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With these words, the party sunk upon their -knees, Brough placing himself behind Coulter. Fervent -and simple was the prayer of the preacher—inartificial -but highly touching. Our space does not -suffer us to record it, or to describe the scene, so -simple, yet so imposing. The eyes of the rough -men were moistened, their hearts softened, yet -strengthened. They rose firm and resolute to meet -the worst issues of life and death, and, embracing -each of them in turn, Brough not excepted, Elijah -Fields led the way to the enemy, by embarking alone -in the canoe. Coulter, with his party, soon followed, -taking the route through the forest.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER IX.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>In the meantime, our captain of loyalists had gone -forward in his projects with a very free and fearless -footstep. The course which he pursued, in the present -instance, is one of a thousand instances which -go to illustrate the perfect recklessness with which -the British conquerors, and their baser allies, regarded -the claims of humanity, where the interests, -the rights, or the affections of the whig inhabitants -of South Carolina were concerned. Though resolutely -rejected by Frederica, Dunbar yet seemed determined -to attach no importance to her refusal, but, -dispatching a messenger to the village of Orangeburg, -he brought from thence one Nicholas Veitch, a -Scotch Presbyterian parson, for the avowed object -of officiating at his wedding rites. The parson, who -was a good man enough perhaps, was yet a weak -and timid one, wanting that courage which boldly -flings itself between the victim and his tyrant. He -was brought into the Dutchman’s cottage, which -Dunbar now occupied. Thither also was Frederica -brought, much against her will; indeed, only under -the coercive restraint of a couple of dragoons. Her -parents were neither of them present, and the following -dialogue ensued between Dunbar and herself; -Veitch being the only witness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here, Frederica,” said Dunbar, “you see the -parson. He comes to marry us. The consent of -your parents has been already given, and it is useless -for you any longer to oppose your childish -scruples to what is now unavoidable. This day, I -am resolved, that we are to be made man and wife. -Having the consent of your father and mother, there -is no reason for not having yours.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where are they?” was the question of Frederica. -Her face was very pale, but her lips were firm, and -her eyes gazed without faltering into those of her -oppressor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They will be present when the time comes. -They will be present at the ceremony.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then they will never be present!” she answered, -firmly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Beware, girl, how you provoke me! You little -know the power I have to punish—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You have no power upon my voice or my heart.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ha!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The preacher interposed, “My daughter be persuaded. -The consent of your parents should be -enough to incline you to Captain Dunbar. They -are surely the best judges of what is good for their -children.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I cannot and I will not marry with Captain -Dunbar.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Beware, Frederica,” said Dunbar, in a voice -studiously subdued, but with great difficulty—the -passion speaking out in his fiery looks, and his frame -that trembled with its emotions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“‘Beware, Frederica!’ Of what should I beware? -Your power? Your power may kill me. It -can scarcely go farther. Know, then, that I am prepared -to die sooner than marry you!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Though dreadfully enraged, the manner of Dunbar -was still carefully subdued. His words were enunciated -in tones of a laborious calm, as he replied,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are mistaken in your notions of the extent -of my power. It can reach where you little imagine. -But I do not desire to use it. I prefer that you should -give me your hand without restraint or coercion.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That I have told you is impossible.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nay, it is not impossible.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Solemnly, on my knees, I assure you that never -can I, or will I, while I preserve my consciousness, -consent to be your wife.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The action was suited to the words. She sunk on -her knees as she spoke, and her hands were clasped -and her eyes uplifted, as if taking a solemn oath to -heaven. Dunbar rushed furiously toward her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Girl!” he exclaimed, “will you drive me to madness. -Will you compel me to do what I would not!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The preacher interposed. The manner of Dunbar -was that of a man about to strike his enemy. Even -Frederica closed her eyes, expecting the blow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let me endeavor to persuade the damsel, my -brother,” was the suggestion of Veitch. Dunbar -turned away, and went toward the window, leaving -the field to the preacher. To all the entreaties of -the latter Frederica made the same reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Though death stared me in the face, I should -never marry that man!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Death shall stare you in the face,” was the fierce -cry of Dunbar. “Nay, you shall behold him in such -terrors as you have never fancied yet, but you shall -be brought to know and to submit to my power. -Ho, there! Nesbitt, bring out the prisoner.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This order naturally startled Frederica. She had -continued kneeling. She now rose to her feet. In -the same moment Dunbar turned to where she stood, -full of fearful expectation, grasped her by the wrist, -and dragged her to the window. She raised her -head, gave but one glance at the scene before her, -and fell back swooning. The cruel spectacle which -she had been made to witness, was that of her father, -surrounded by a guard, and the halter about his -neck, waiting only the terrible word from the ruffian -in authority.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In that sight, the unhappy girl lost all consciousness. -She would have fallen upon the ground, but -that the hand of Dunbar still grasped her wrist. He -now supported her in his arms.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Marry us at once,” he cried to Veitch.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But she can’t understand—she can’t answer,” -replied the priest.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s as it should be,” answered Dunbar, with -a laugh; “silence always gives consent.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The reply seemed to be satisfactory, and Veitch -actually stood forward to officiate in the disgraceful -ceremony, when a voice at the entrance drew the -attention of the parties within. It was that of Elijah -Fields. How he had made his way to the building -without arrest or interruption is only to be accounted -for by his pacific progress—his being without -weapons, and his well-known priestly character. -It may have been thought by the troopers, knowing -what was in hand, that he also had been sent for; -and probably something may be ascribed to the -excitement of most of the parties about the dwelling. -At all events, Fields reached it without interruption, -and the first intimation that Dunbar had of his presence -was from his own lips.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I forbid this proceeding in the name and by the -authority of God,” was the stern interruption. “The -girl is already married!”</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER X.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>Let us now retrace our steps and follow those of -Richard Coulter and his party. We have seen what -has been the progress of Elijah Fields. The route -which he pursued was considerably longer than that -of his comrades; but the difference of time was fully -equalized by the superior and embarrassing caution -which they were compelled to exercise. The result -was to bring them to the common centre at nearly -the same moment, though the policy of Coulter required -a different course of conduct from that of -Fields. Long before he reached the neighborhood -of old Sabb’s farm, he had compelled his troopers to -dismount, and hide their horses in the forest. They -then made their way forward on foot. Richard -Coulter was expert in all the arts of the partisan. -Though eager to grapple with his enemy, and impatient -to ascertain and arrest the dangers of his -lovely wife, he yet made his approaches with a -proper caution. The denseness of the forest route -enabled him easily to do so, and making a considerable -circuit, he drew nigh to the upper part of -the farmstead, in which stood the obscure out-house, -which, when Dunbar had taken possession of the -mansion, he assigned to the aged couple. This he -found deserted. He little dreamed for what reason, -or in what particular emergency the old Dutchman -stood at that very moment. Making another circuit, -he came upon a copse, in which four of Dunbar’s -troopers were grouped together in a state of fancied -security. Their horses were fastened in the woods, -and they lay upon the ground, greedily interested -with a pack of greasy cards, which had gone through -the campaign. The favorite game of that day was -<span class='it'>Old Sledge</span>, or <span class='it'>All Fours</span>, or <span class='it'>Seven Up</span>; by all of -which names it was indiscriminately known. Poker, -and Brag, and Loo, and Monte, and <span class='it'>Vingt’un</span>, were -then unknown in that region. These are all modern -innovations, in the substitution of which good morals -have made few gains. Dragoons, in all countries, -are notoriously sad fellows, famous for swearing and -gambling. Those of Dunbar were no exception to the -rule. Our tory captain freely indulged them in the practice. -He himself played with them when the humor -suited. The four upon whom Coulter came were not -on duty, though they wore their swords. Their holsters -lay with their saddles across a neighboring log, -not far off, but not immediately within reach. Coulter -saw his opportunity; the temptation was great; but -these were not exactly his prey—not yet, at all -events. To place one man, well armed with rifle -and pair of pistols, in a situation to cover the group -at any moment, and between them and the farmstead, -was his plan; and this done, he proceeded on his -way. His policy was to make his first blow at the -head of the enemy—his very citadel—trusting somewhat -to the scattered <a id='cond'></a>condition of the party, and the -natural effect of such an alarm to scatter them the -more. All this was managed with great prudence, -and with two more of his men set to watch over two -other groups of the dragoons, he pushed forward -with the remaining four until he reached the verge -of the wood, just where it opened upon the settlement. -Here he had a full view of the spectacle—his -own party unseen—and the prospect was such -as to compel his instant feeling of the necessity of -early action. It was at the moment which exhibited -old Sabb in the hands of the provost, his -hands tied behind him, and the rope about his neck. -Clymes, the lieutenant of Dunbar, with drawn sword, -was pacing between the victim and the house. The -old Dutchman stood between two subordinates, -waiting for the signal, while his wife, little dreaming -of the scene in progress, was kept out of sight at -the bottom of the garden. Clymes and the provost -were at once marked out for the doom of the rifle, -and the <span class='it'>beads</span> of two select shots were kept ready, -and leveled at their heads. But Dunbar must be the -first victim—and where was he? Of the scene in -the house Coulter had not yet any inkling. But suddenly -he beheld Frederica at the window. He heard -her shriek, and beheld her, as he thought, drawn -away from the spot. His excitement growing almost -to frenzy at this moment, he was about to give the -signal, and follow the first discharge of his rifles with -a rush, when suddenly he saw his associate, Elijah -Fields, turn the corner of the house, and enter it -through the piazza. This enabled him to pause, and -prevented a premature development of his game. -He waited for those events which it is not denied -that we shall see. Let us then return to the interior.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>We must not forget the startling words with -which Elijah Fields interrupted the forced marriage -of Frederica with her brutal persecutor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The girl is already married.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dunbar, still supporting her now quite lifeless in -his arms, looked up at the intruder in equal fury and -surprise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ha, villain!” was the exclamation of Dunbar, -“you are here?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No villain, Captain Dunbar, but a servant of the -Most High God!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Servant of the devil, rather! What brings you -here—and what is it you say?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I say that Frederica Sabb is already married, -and her husband living!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Liar, that you are, you shall swing for this -insolence.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am no liar. I say that the girl is married, and -I witnessed the ceremony.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You did, did you?” was the speech of Dunbar, -with a tremendous effort of coolness, laying down -the still lifeless form of Frederica as he spoke; “and -perhaps you performed the ceremony also, oh, -worthy servant of the Most High!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was my lot to do so.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Grateful lot! And pray with whom did you -unite the damsel?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“With Richard Coulter, captain in the service -of the State of South Carolina.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Though undoubtedly anticipating this very answer, -Dunbar echoed the annunciation with a fearful -shriek, as, drawing his sword at the same moment, -he rushed upon the speaker. But his rage blinded -him; and Elijah Fields was one of the coolest of all -mortals, particularly when greatly excited. He met -the assault of Dunbar with a fearful buffet of his -fist, which at once felled the assailant; but he rose in a -moment, and with a yell of fury he grappled with -the preacher. They fell together, the latter uppermost, -and rolling his antagonist into the fire-place, -where he was at once half buried among the embers, -and in a cloud of ashes. In the struggle, however, -Dunbar contrived to extricate a pistol from his belt, -and to fire it. Fields struggled up from his embrace, -but a torrent of blood poured from his side as he did -so. He rushed toward the window, grasped the sill -in his hands, then yielded his hold, and sunk down -upon the floor, losing his consciousness in an uproar of -shots and shouts from without. In the next moment the -swords of Coulter and Dunbar were crossed over his -prostrate body. The struggle was short and fierce. -It had nearly terminated fatally to Coulter, on his -discovering the still insensible form of Frederica in -his way. In the endeavor to avoid trampling upon -her, he afforded an advantage to his enemy, which -nothing prevented him from employing to the utmost -but the ashes with which his eyes were still half -blinded. As it was, he inflicted a severe cut upon -the shoulder of the partisan, which rendered his left -arm temporarily useless. But the latter recovered -himself instantly. His blood was in fearful violence. -He raged like a <span class='it'>Birserker</span> of the Northmen—absolutely -mocked the danger of his antagonist’s weapon—thrust -him back against the side of the house, and -hewing him almost down with one terrible blow -upon the shoulder, with a mighty thrust immediately -after, he absolutely speared him against the wall, -the weapon passing through his body, and into the -logs behind. For a moment the eyes of the two -glared deathfully upon each other. The sword of -Dunbar was still uplifted, and he seemed about to -strike, when suddenly the arm sunk powerless—the -weapon fell from the nerveless grasp—the eyes became -fixed and glassy, even while gazing with tiger -appetite into those of the enemy—and, with a hoarse -and stifling cry, the captain of loyalists fell forward -upon his conqueror, snapping, like so much glass, the -sword that was still fastened in his body.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER XI.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>We must briefly retrace our steps. We left Richard -Coulter, in ambush, having so placed his little detachments -as to cover most of the groups of dragoons—at -least such as might be immediately troublesome. -It was with the greatest difficulty that he could restrain -himself during the interval which followed the -entry of Elijah Fields into the house. Nothing but -his great confidence in the courage and fidelity of the -preacher could have reconciled him to forbearance, -particularly as, at the point which he occupied, he -could know nothing of what was going on within. -Meanwhile, his eyes could not fail to see all the indignities -to which the poor old Dutchman was subjected. -He heard his groans and entreaties.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am a goot friend to King Tshorge! I was -never wid de rebels. Why would you do me so? -Where is de captaine? I have said dat my darter -shall be his wife. Go bring him to me, and let him -make me loose from de rope. I’m a goot friend of -King Tshorge!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good friend or not,” said the brutal lieutenant, -“you have to hang for it, I reckon. We are better -friends to King George than you. We fight for him, -and we want grants of land as well as other people.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, mine Gott!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Just then, faint sounds of the scuffle within the -house, reached the ears of those without. Clymes -betrayed some uneasiness; and when the sound of -the pistol-shot was heard, he rushed forward to the -dwelling. But that signal of the strife was the signal -for Coulter. He naturally feared that his comrade -had been shot down, and, in the some instant his -rifle gave the signal to his followers, wherever they -had been placed in ambush. Almost simultaneously -the sharp cracks of the fatal weapon were heard -from four or five several quarters, followed by two -or three scattered pistol-shots. Coulter’s rifle dropt -Clymes, just as he was about to ascend the steps of -the piazza. A second shot from one of his companions -tumbled the provost, having in charge old -Sabb. His remaining keeper let fall the rope and -fled in terror, while the old Dutchman, sinking to his -knees, crawled rapidly to the opposite side of the -tree which had been chosen for his gallows, where -he crouched closely, covering his ears with his -hands, as if, by shutting out the sounds, he could shut -out all danger from the shot. Here he was soon -joined by Brough, the African. The faithful slave -bounded toward his master the moment he was released, -and hugging him first with a most rugged embrace, -he proceeded to undo the degrading halter -from about his neck. This done, he got the old -man on his feet, placed him still further amongst -the shelter of the trees, and then hurried away to -partake in the struggle, for which he had provided -himself with a grubbing hoe and pistol. It is no -part of our object to follow and watch his exploits; -nor do we need to report the several results of each -ambush which had been set. In that where we left -the four gamblers busy at <span class='it'>Old Sledge</span>, the proceeding -had been most murderous. One of Coulter’s men -had been an old scout. Job Fisher was notorious -for his stern deliberation and method. He had not -been content to pick his man, but continued to -revolve around the gamblers until he could range -a couple of them, both of whom fell under his first -fire. Of the two others, one was shot down by the -companion of Fisher. The fourth took to his heels, -but was overtaken, and brained with the butt of the -rifle. The scouts then hurried to other parts of the -farmstead, agreeable to previous arrangement, where -they gave assistance to their fellows. The history, -in short, was one of complete surprise and route—the -dragoons were not allowed to rally; nine of them -were slain outright—not including the captain; and -the rest dispersed, to be picked up at a time of greater -leisure. At the moment when Coulter’s party were -assembling at the dwelling, Brough had succeeded -in bringing the old couple together. Very pitiful -and touching was the spectacle of these two embracing -with groans, tears, and ejaculations—scarcely -yet assured of their escape from the hands of their -hateful tyrant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But our attention is required within the dwelling. -Rapidly extricating himself from the body of the -loyalist captain, Coulter naturally turned to look for -Frederica. She was just recovering from her swoon. -She had fortunately been spared the sight of the -conflict, although she continued long afterward to -assert that she had been conscious of it all, though -she had not been able to move a limb, or give utterance -to a single cry. Her eyes opened with a wild -stare upon her husband, who stooped fondly to her -embrace. She knew him instantly—called his name -but once, but that with joyful accents, and again -fainted. Her faculties had received a terrible shock. -Coulter himself felt like fainting. The pain of his -wounded arm was great, and he had lost a good deal -of blood. He felt that he could not long be certain -of himself, and putting the bugle to his lips, he -sounded three times with all his vigor. As he did -so, he became conscious of a movement in the -corner of the room. Turning in this direction, he -beheld, crouching into the smallest possible compass, -the preacher, Veitch. The miserable wretch was -in a state of complete stupor from his fright.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bring water!” said Coulter. But the fellow -neither stirred nor spoke. He clearly did not comprehend. -In the next moment, however, the faithful -Brough made his appearance. His cries were those -of joy and exultation, dampened, however, as he beheld -the condition of his young mistress.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fear nothing, Brough, she is not hurt—she has -only fainted. But run for your old mistress. Run, -old boy, and bring water while you’re about it. -Run!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But you’ arm, Mass Dick—he da bleed! You -hu’t?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, a little—away!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Brough was gone; and with a strange sickness of -fear, Coulter turned to the spot where Elijah Fields -lay, to all appearance, dead. But he still lived. -Coulter tore away his clothes, which were saturated -and already stiff with blood, and discovered the -bullet-wound in his left side, well-directed, and ranging -clear through the body. It needed no second -glance to see that the shot was mortal; and while -Coulter was examining it, the good preacher opened -his eyes. They were full of intelligence, and a pleasant -smile was upon his lips.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You have seen, Richard, the wound is fatal. -I had a presentiment, when we parted this morning, -that such was to be the case. But I complain not. -Some victim perhaps was necessary, and I am not -unwilling. But Frederica?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She lives! She is here; unhurt but suffering.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah! that monster!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By this time the old couple made their appearance, -and Frederica was at once removed to her own -chamber. A few moments tendance sufficed to -revive her, and then, as if fearing that she had not -heard the truth in regard to Coulter, she insisted on -going where he was. Meantime, Elijah Fields had -been removed to an adjoining apartment. He did -not seem to suffer. In the mortal nature of his hurt, -his sensibilities seemed to be greatly lessened. But -his mind was calm and firm. He knew all around -him. His gaze was fondly shared between the -young couple whom he had so lately united.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Love each other,” he said to them; “love each -other—and forget not me. I am leaving you—leaving -you fast. It is presumption, perhaps, to say that -one does not fear to die—but I am resigned. I have -taken life—always in self-defense—still I have taken -life! I would that I had never done so. That -makes me doubt. I feel the blood upon my head. -My hope is in the Lord Jesus. May his blood atone -for that which I have shed!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His eyes closed. His lips moved, as it were, in -silent prayer. Again he looked out upon the two, -who hung with streaming eyes above him. “Kiss -me, Richard—and you, Frederica—dear children—I -have loved you always. God be with you—and—me!” -He was silent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Our story here is ended. We need not follow -Richard Coulter through the remaining vicissitudes -of the war. Enough that he continued to distinguish -himself, rising to the rank of major in the service of -the state. With the return of peace, he removed to -the farm-house of his wife’s parents. But for him, -in all probability, the estate might have been forfeited; -and the great love which the good old Dutchman -professed for King George might have led to -the transfer of his grant to some one less devoted to -the house of Hanover. It happened, only a few -months after the evacuation of Charleston by the -British, that Felix Long, one of the commissioners, -was again on a visit to Orangeburg. It was at the -village, and a considerable number of persons had -collected. Among them was old Frederick Sabb -and Major Coulter. Long approached the old man, -and, after the first salutation, said to him—“Well, -Frederick, have we any late news from goot King -Tshorge?” The old Dutchman started as if he had -trodden upon an adder—gave a hasty glance of indignation -to the interrogator, and turned away ex-claiming—“D—n -King Tshorge! I don’t care -dough I nebber more hears de name agen!”</p> - -<hr class='tbk116'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='169' id='Page_169'></span><h1><a id='audu'></a>AUDUBON’S BLINDNESS.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY PARK BENJAMIN.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'> John James Audubon, the great American naturalist, has</p> -<p class='line' style='margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'>entirely lost his sight. <span class='it'>Newspaper Paragraph.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>Blind—blind! yes, blind—those eyes that loved to look</p> -<p class='line'>On the bright pictures in great Nature’s book.</p> -<p class='line'>Quenched is that visual glory which arrayed</p> -<p class='line'>All the winged habitants of grove and glade,</p> -<p class='line'>And hill and prairie, in a garb as fair</p> -<p class='line'>As their own plumage stirred by golden air.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Alas! no more can he behold the beam</p> -<p class='line'>Of morning touch the meadow or the stream;</p> -<p class='line'>No more the noontide’s rays pervade the scene,</p> -<p class='line'>Nor evening’s shadows softly intervene,</p> -<p class='line'>But on his sense funereal Night lets fall</p> -<p class='line'>The moveless folds of her impervious pall.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>But he shall wake! and in a grander clime,</p> -<p class='line'>With vales more lovely, mountains more sublime,</p> -<p class='line'>There shall he view, without a film to hide,</p> -<p class='line'>Delicious pastures, streams that softly glide,</p> -<p class='line'>Groves clothed in living greenness, filled with plumes</p> -<p class='line'>Bright as the dawn, and various as the blooms</p> -<p class='line'>With which the early Summer decks his bowers—</p> -<p class='line'>Gems all in motion, life-invested flowers.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Fairer than those, albeit surpassing fair,</p> -<p class='line'>His pencil painted with a skill so rare</p> -<p class='line'>That they, whose feet have never trod the far</p> -<p class='line'>And wondrous places where such creatures are,</p> -<p class='line'>Know all their beauty with familiar love—</p> -<p class='line'>From the stained oriole to the snow-white dove.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Blind—blind! Alas! he is bereft of light</p> -<p class='line'>Who gave such pleasure to the sense of sight.</p> -<p class='line'>His eyes, that, like the sun, had power to vest</p> -<p class='line'>All forms with color, are with darkness prest:</p> -<p class='line'>Sealed with a gloom chaotic like the deep;</p> -<p class='line'>Shut in by shadows like the realm of sleep.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Yet ’tis not meet to mourn a loss so brief—</p> -<p class='line'>A pain, to which time cannot yield relief—</p> -<p class='line'>But which Eternity must banish soon,</p> -<p class='line'>With beams more lustrous than the blaze of noon;</p> -<p class='line'>Yet softer than the evening is or morn,</p> -<p class='line'>When he to light immortal shall be born;</p> -<p class='line'>And with a vision purified behold</p> -<p class='line'>More than the prophets, priests and bards have told.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk117'/> - -<div><h1><a id='sonn'></a>SONNETS.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MARY SPENSER PEASE.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>LOVE’S SUNSET.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>As shadows lengthen with the day’s declining,</p> -<p class='line'>  Like troops of dusky spectres onward creeping,</p> -<p class='line'>Weaving swart stripes amid the golden shining</p> -<p class='line'>  Where meadow, brook and moss-grown hill lie sleeping;</p> -<p class='line'>With murky fingers Nature’s sweet book closing—</p> -<p class='line'>  Each bell and blossom and each three-leaved clover,</p> -<p class='line'>With stealthy march the sun’s glad sway deposing,</p> -<p class='line'>  Till, widening, deepening, darkness shrouds earth over:</p> -<p class='line'>So, thy declining love casts o’er my spirit</p> -<p class='line'>  Chill shadows, freezing all my soul’s warm giving,</p> -<p class='line'>Chill shadows, deadening all my soul’s best merit,</p> -<p class='line'>  And making blackest night my brightest living:</p> -<p class='line'>A long, long, fearful night—that knows no morning,</p> -<p class='line'>Save in wild, glowing dreams, that speak thy love’s returning.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>LOVE’S SUNRISE.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>As shadows vanish with the dawn’s advancing,</p> -<p class='line'>  Like things of evil fleeing from Truth’s whiteness,</p> -<p class='line'>The mem’ry of their dark spell but enhancing</p> -<p class='line'>  The warmth and light of morning’s dewy brightness;</p> -<p class='line'>Their chill power over—with a glad awaking</p> -<p class='line'>  Starts to new life each sleeping leaf and flower,</p> -<p class='line'>Each bird and insect into wild song breaking—</p> -<p class='line'>  All Nature’s heart-pulse thrilleth to the hour:</p> -<p class='line'>Thus, my life’s sun—its glory all pervading—</p> -<p class='line'>  Fuses my soul with daylight warm and tender;</p> -<p class='line'>Thus, all strange fears, my spirit darkly shading—</p> -<p class='line'>  All doubtings flee from its excess of splendor:</p> -<p class='line'>Thus, through my inmost heart—like joy-bells ringing—</p> -<p class='line'>The birds and honey-bees of thy dear love come singing.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk118'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='170' id='Page_170'></span><h1><a id='doct'></a>DOCTRINE OF FORM.</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>There is a connection natural and necessary between -the forms and essences of things; some law -which compels figure and faculty into correspondence; -some tie which binds nature, function, and -end to shape, volume, and intrinsic arrangement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That a wheel must be circular, a lever inflexible, -and a screw, wedge and inclined plane shall have a -determinate form, is clearly a condition of adaptation -to use; and because in machinery the arrangement -of inert matter is thus essential to the action and aim -of all contrivance and mutual adjustment of parts, -we are apt to think configuration entirely a question -of mechanical fitness, and indifferent to and independent -of structures having no such office. But it is -not so. Facts beyond number show that it has definite -and fixed relation to substance universally, -without limitation to a particular kind or sphere of -use, or manner or purpose of being.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>I. There are examples enough to prove that the -fundamental law, connecting shape and arrangement -with function, is stronger in the vital and spiritual -than in the mechanical sphere, and even supercedes -its settled order and method. An instance of this -overruling force:—The elephant in general organization -is a quadruped, eminently; but his sagacity -rises so high above the ordinary level of brutes as to -require the service of a proboscis, which is nearly -equal in capabilities of use to the human hand. Furnished -with a sort of finger at the extremity of this -excellent instrument of prehension, he can draw a -cork, lift a shilling piece from the ground, or separate -one blade of grass from a number with dexterity -and despatch. In this his eminence of intellect is -indicated, for external instruments are in accurate relation -to internal faculties, and considerable handicraft -bespeaks a proportionately high range of mental -power. Now observe how his organization differs -from that of other quadrupeds, and approaches, -against all the analogies of classification, toward the -arrangements of the human form. He has the rudiments -of five toes on each foot, shown externally by -five toe-nails. This is one toe more than belongs to -any beast below the monkey tribe. He has a kneepan -on the hind leg, and the flexure of the limb is -backward, like the human, and unlike other quadrupeds. -The breast of the female is removed from its -usual position upon the pelvis, to the chest or breast -bone, as in the more elevated races; and all the organs -of reproductive life correspond to those of the -higher orders. All this is unexplained by any mechanical -necessity or advantage, and is so far, in -violation of the analogies of that lower constitution -by which he is linked to the order of four footed animals. -Of his internal organization I have no means -of information within reach, but I am satisfied <span class='it'>a -priori</span> that the human configuration and position of -ports are approximated wherever the quadruped form -and attitude leaves it possible. Comparative anatomists -make great account of all instances of mechanical -accommodations which they meet with, but they -are in nothing so remarkable or so conspicuous as -those which we are now noticing. They have the -advantage of being understood, and are therefore -much insisted upon; but the facts which we have -given and hinted at are at once so striking and so conclusive, -as to leave no doubt and no necessity for -further proof of the preeminence of the law which -they indicate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>II. In looking over the world of animal and vegetable -forms there is nothing more remarkable than -the continual sacrifice of strength to beauty, and of -quantity or bulk to symmetry and shapeliness. Use -seems postponed to appearance, and order, attitude -and elegance take rank of quantity in the forms of -things. I suppose that the law under consideration -determines these conditions of structure; and that -the beauty to which the sacrifice is credited, as an -end and object, is only an incident; and, that the -pleasure derived arises upon the felt correspondence -of such forms with our faculties, innately adjusted -to the harmonies of this universal law—in other -words—that there is an intrinsic force of essence -which compels organization, limits its dimensions, -and determines its figure, and so, all substances take -shape and volume from a law higher and more general -than individual use and efficiency. Beauty, being -but the name for harmony between faculty and object, -may well serve as a rule of criticism, but the -efficient cause which determines form lies deeper; it -lies, doubtless, in the necessary relation of organization -and essence—structure and use—appearance -and office—making one the correspondent and exponent -of the other in the innermost philosophy of -signs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The abrogation of a rule, and departure from an -established method of conformation, belonging to a -whole class of natural beings, in order to attain the -forms and order of arrangement of another class into -whose higher style of constitution the lower has -been somewhat advanced, as in the case of the elephant; -and, the clear evidence that mechanical perfection -is everywhere in the human mechanism subordinated -to a law of configuration, which has respect -to another standard and a higher necessity—each, -in its own way, demonstrates that form is not -only a necessity of mechanics, but is still more eminently -an essential condition of all substance. Facts -from these sources hold a sort of raking position in -the array of our argument, but the multitude and variety -of examples which muster regularly under the -rule are, of themselves, every way adequate to maintain -it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>III. Our proposition (to vary the statement of it) is, -that form, or figure, and, doubtless, dimension also, -have a fixed relation to the special qualities and characters -of beings and things, and that it is not indifferent -in the grand economy of creation whether they -be put into their present shapes or into some other; -but, on the contrary, the whole matter of configuration -and dimension is determined by laws which arise -out of the nature of things.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In generals the evidence is clear, and it must, -therefore, be true in the minutest particulars; for the -law of aggregates is the law of individuals—the mass -and the atom have like essential conditions. It is, -indeed, difficult to trace facts into the inmost nature -of things, and quite impossible to penetrate by -observation as deep as principles lead by the process -of mental investigation—so much more limited in the -discovery of truth, even the truth of physics, are -the senses than the reasoning faculties. We need, -however, but open our eyes to see that the diversities -of form among all created things are, at least, as -great as their differences of character and use; and -whether there be a determinate relation of appearance -to constitution or not, there is at least an unlikeness -of configuration or dimension, or of both, -wherever there is unlikeness of quality; and that -this difference of form thus commensurate with difference -of constitution, is not merely a matter of arbitrary -distinctiveness among the multifarious objects -of creation, as names or marks are sometimes -attached to things for certainty of reference and recognition, -appears from such facts and considerations -as follow—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>1. All mineral substances in their fixed, that is, -in their crystaline form, are angular with flat sides -and straight edges. This is not only a general rule -and an approximate statement, but exactly accurate -and universal; for in the few instances of crystals -occurring with convex or curvilinear faces, such as -the diamond, it is known that their primary forms -have plane or flat faces and a parallel cleavage—making -the rule good against accidental influences -and superficial appearances.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Here then we have a mode of configuration appropriate -to and distinctive of one whole kingdom of nature.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>2. In vegetables we have a different figure and -characteristic conformation. Their trunks, stems, -roots and branches are nearly cylindrical, and uniformly -so, in all individuals clearly and completely -within the class.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Soon as we enter the precincts of life curvature of -lines and convexity of surface begin to mark the -higher styles of existence, the law being that nothing -which lives and grows by the reception and assimilation -of food is angular, rectilinear or included -within plane surfaces. Inert bodies take straight, -but life assumes curve lines.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>3. In animal forms the curve or life line is present -of necessity, but it undergoes such modification and -departure from that which marks vegetable existence -as our law demands. We no longer have -almost cylindrical simplicity of shape as the sign of -character and kind, but, retaining curvity, which is -common to vitality of all modes, we find the cylinder -shaped or tapered toward the conical, with continually -increasing approach to a higher style of configuration -as we ascend toward a higher character -of function.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the human body all that belongs to the whole -inferior creation is represented and reproduced, for -man is logically a microcosm, and in his body we -find the various orders of natural beings marked by -their appropriate modes of construction and configuration—from -a hair to a heart, the multifarious parts -bring with them the forms native to their respective -varieties of being.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The bones have in them the material of the mineral -kingdom, and they have conformity of figure. In -the short, square bones of the wrist, in the teeth, and -several other instances, the flatness, straightness and -angularity proper to crystalized matter, marks its -presence as an element of the structure.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The correspondence of the vascular system with -the forms proper to vegetation, is most striking. A -good drawing of the blood vessels is a complete picture -of a tree. Now, animals and vegetables differ -widely in their manner of taking in food, but they are -alike in the method and end of the distribution of the -<a id='nutr'></a>nutritious fluids, and between them the resemblance -of form obtains only in this, as our law requires. -There is nothing in trees, shrubs or grasses, that has -any outline likeness to the esophagus, stomach or -intestinal tube; nothing in them has any resemblance -of office, and nothing, therefore, is formed -upon their pattern. The roots of trees, which are -the avenues of their principal aliment, are merely -absorbing and circulating instruments—a sort of -counterpart branches in function—and they have, -therefore, what scientific people call the arborescent -arrangement wherever they find it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If it is answered here that a hydraulic necessity -determines the general form of circulating vessels, -and that certain immediate mechanical advantages -belong to the cylindrical over the square or polygonal -shape of tube, our point is not affected. We are -showing, now, that the expected conformity never -fails. It is essential to our position that mechanical -requirements shall not over-rule the general law. -The instance given is in accordance, and a presumption -rises that even mechanical conformation -itself is covered and accommodated by the great -principle which we are illustrating. It is enough for -us, however, that no facts contradict, though it be -doubted whether all the instances cited afford us the -expected support.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But, leaving the functions and organs, which belong -to all living and growing beings in common, -and entering the province of animal life and animal -law proper, we everywhere observe a significant -departure from the angular and cylindrical forms of -the mineral and vegetable kingdoms, and an approach, -in proportion to the rank and value of the -organ and its use, toward an ideal or model, which -is neither conical nor heart-shaped, exactly, but such -a modification of them as carries the standard figure -farthest from that uniformity of curve which marks -a globe, from the parallelism of fibre which belongs -to the cylinder, and from the flatness of base and -sharpness of apex which bound the cone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The limbs that take their shape from the muscles -of locomotion, and the internal parts concerned in -those high vital offices, of which minerals and vegetables -are wholly destitute, are examples and proof -of the configuration proper to the animal kingdom. -The thigh, leg, arm, fore-arm, finger, the neck and -shoulders, the chest, and the abdomen meeting it -and resting on the pelvic bones, are felt to be beautiful -or true to the standard form as they taper or -conform to this intuitive life-type.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The glands are all larger at one end than the other, -and those that have the highest uses are most conspicuously -so, and have the best defined and most -elegant contour. The descending grade of figure and -function is marked by tendency to roundness and -flatness. In the uses, actions and positions of these -organs, there is nothing mechanical to determine -their figure. The human stomach is remarkable for -an elegance of form and conformity to the ideal or -pattern configuration, to a degree that seems to have -no other cause, and, therefore, well supports the -doctrine that the importance of its office confers such -excellence of shape. The facts of comparative anatomy -cannot be introduced with convenience, but -they are believed to be in the happiest agreement -and strongest corroboration.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The heart, lungs and brain, are eminent instances -of the principle. They hold a very high rank in the -organization, and, while their automatic relations, -uses and actions are <span class='it'>toto cœlo</span> dissimilar, their agreement -with each other in general style of configuration, -and their common tendency toward the standard -intimated, is most remarkable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Their near equality of rank and use, as measured -by the significance of form, over-rides all mechanical -difference in their mode of working. The heart is, -in office, a forcing pump or engine of the circulation. -The lungs have no motion of their own, and the porosity -or cellular formation of the sponge seems to -be the only quality of texture that they require for -their duty, which is classed as a process of vital -chemistry. The brain differs, again, into a distinct -category of function, which accepts no classification, -but bears some resemblance to electrical action. -Yet, differing thus by all the unlikeness that there is -between mechanical, chemical and electro-vital -modes of action, they evidently derive their very -considerable resemblance of figure from their nearly -equal elevation and dignity of service in the frame. -This near neighborhood of use and rank allows, however, -room enough for their individual differences -and its marks. The heart is lowest of the three in -rank, and nearest the regularly conical form. The -lungs, as their shape is indicated by the cavity which -they occupy, are more delicately tapered at their -apex, and more oblique and variously incurvated at -their base. And the brain, whether viewed in four -compartments, or two, or entire, (it admits naturally -of such division,) answers still nearer to the highest -style and form of the life pattern; and with the due -degree of resemblance, or allusion to it, in its -several parts, according to their probable value; for -the hemispheres are shaped much more conformably -to the ideal than the cerebellum or the cerebral apparatus -at the base of the brain, where the office begins -to change from that of generating the nervous -power to the lower service of merely conducting it -out to the dependencies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>IV. Hitherto we have looked for proof and illustration -only to well marked and clearly defined examples -of the orders and kinds of things examined. -But the borders of kingdoms and classes, the individuals -which make the transitions, and the elements -and qualities common to several provinces -which link kind to kind and rank to rank, confess the -same law, and even more nicely illustrate where, to -superficial view, they seem to contradict it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Every species of beings in the creation is a reproduction, -with modifications and additions, but a real -reproduction, in effect, of all that is below it in the -scale; so that the simplest and the lowest continues -and reappears in all, through all variety of advancement, -up to the most complex and the highest; in some -sense, as decimals include the constituent units, and -hundreds include the tens, and other multiples of -these embrace them again, until the perfect number -is reached, if there be any such bound to either numerals -or natures.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>1. The rectilinear and parallel arrangement of -parts proper to crystalization, which is the lowest -plastic power of nature known to us, continues, -proximately, in the stems and branches of vegetables. -This will accord with our theory, if ascribed -to the abundant mineral elements present in the -woody fibre, and to its insensibility and enduring -nature, as shown by its integral preservation for -ages after death, to a degree that rivals the rocks -themselves. But the stems of trees are not exactly -cylindrical and their fibres are not quite parallel; for -there is something of life in them that refuses the -arrangement of dead matter. From root to top they -taper, but so gradually that it is only decidedly seen -at considerable distances or in the whole length.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>2. A section of a timber tree shows a regular concentric -arrangement of rings—the successive deposits -of sequent years—and its cleavage proves that -it has also a radiated disposition of fibres. In the -flat bones of the head this same arrangement of parts -obtains. The cartilaginous base of bone has a life -of perhaps equal rank with that of the vegetable -structure; it has its insensibility, elasticity, and durability -at least, with scarcely any higher qualities; -and the osseous deposit is thrown into figure and -order similar to the ligneous.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>3. The fruits, kernels, and seeds of plants, being -the highest results of the vegetable grade of living -action, and so bordering upon the sphere of animal -existence, and even intruding into it, begin to take -its proper forms, and they are spheroidal, oblate -spheroids, conical exactly, ovoid, and even closely -touch upon the heart-shaped; yet without danger of -confusion with the forms distinctive of the higher -style of life. This comparison, it must be remarked -also, is between the fruits of one kind and the organic -structures of the other, and not of organ with organ, -which in different kinds shows the greatest diversity, -but of spheres of existence immediately contiguous, -and therefore closely resembling each other.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>V. Of these forms the globular is probably the very -lowest; and, accordingly, of it we have no perfect -instance in the animal body, and no near approach -to it, except the eye-ball, where mechanical law compels -a rotundity, that muscle, fat, and skin seem employed -to hide as well as move and guard, and, in -the round heads of bones, where the ball and socket-joint -is required for rotatory motion. But in both these -cases the offices which the roundness serves are -mechanical, and so, not exceptions to our rule. The -perfectly spherical must rank as a low order of form, -because it results from the simplest kind of force, -mere physical attraction being adequate to its production, -without any inherent modifying power or -tendency in the subject. It is, accordingly, very -repugnant to taste in the human structure; as, for -instance, rotundity of body, or a bullet-head. Nothing -of that regularity of curve which returns into -itself, and might be produced upon a turning lathe, -and no continuity of straight lines within the capacity -of square and jack-plane, are tolerable in a human -feature. Lips, slit with the straightness of a button-hole, -or conical precision, or <a id='roly'></a>roly-poly globularity, -would be equally offensive in the configuration of -any feature of the face or general form. Cheek, chin, -nose, brow, or bosom, put up into such rotundity and -uniformity of line and surface, have that mean and -insignificant ugliness that nothing can relieve. In -raggedest irregularity there is place and space for -the light and shade of thought and feeling, but there -is no trace or hint of this nobler life in the booby -cushiony style of face and figure. Nose and brows, -with almost any breadth of angle; and chin, with -any variety of line and surface, are better, just as -crystalization, flat and straight and sharp as it is, -nevertheless, seems to have some share in its own -make and meaning, which rolls and balls cannot -lay any claim to.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>VI. But the law under consideration cannot be -restrained to shape only. Dimension is also a result -of intrinsic qualities, and must in some way and to -some extent, indicate the character to which it corresponds. -Druggists are so well aware of, and so -much concerned with the difference in the size of -the drops of different fluids, that they have constructed -a table of equivalents, made necessary by -the fact. Thus a fluid drachm of distilled water -contains forty-five drops, of sulphuric ether one -hundred and fifty, of sulphuric acid ninety, and of -Teneriffe wine seventy-eight. So that the law is -absolutely universal, however varied in expression, -and a specific character in fluids and other parts of -the inanimate world declares itself as decidedly in -bulk or volume, as difference of constitution is shown -by variety of figure in the living and sentient creation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Among the crystals termed <span class='it'>isomorphous</span> by chemists, -the dominant ingredient which is common to -them all, controls the form, but difference of size -answers sufficiently to the partial unlikeness of the -other less active elements; and so in the instances of -cubes and octahedrons formed of dissimilar minerals -where difference of constitution is indicated by varied -dimensions only.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>VII. Crystal and crystal, and, drop and drop, are -alike within the limits of the species, or their unlikeness, -if there be any, is not appreciable to our -senses, and scarcely conceivable though not absolutely -impossible to thought; but we know certainly -that clear individuality of character is everywhere -pursued and marked by peculiarity of form and size -throughout the entire universe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While among minerals and fluids dissimilarity occurs -obviously only between species, among plants -it begins to be conspicuous between individuals, -growing more and more so as observation ascends -in the vegetable kingdom. Two stalks of grass -may resemble each other as much as two crystals -of the same salt, but timber trees grow more unlike, -and fruit trees differ enough to make their identification -comparatively easy. But it is in the animal -kingdom, eminently, and with increasing distinctness -as the rank rises, that individuals become distinguishable -from each other; for it is here that -diversity of character gets opportunity, from complexity -of nature, freedom of generating laws, and -varied influence of circumstances, to impress dissimilarity -deepest and clearest. Crystals undergo no -modification of state but instant formation and the -sudden violence which destroys them. Vegetables -pass through the changes of germination and growth, -and feel the difference of soil, and winds, and temperature, -and to the limits of these influences, confess -them in color, size, and shape; but animals, -endowed with acuteness of sense, enjoying locomotion, -and related to all the world around them—living -in all surrounding nature, and susceptible of -all its influences—their individual differences know -no limits, and they are universally unlike in appearance -as in circumstances, training and character.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Even in the lower orders there is ample proof of -this. The mother bird and beast know their own -young; the shepherd and the shepherd’s dog know -every one of their own flock from every other on all -the hills and plains; and among the millions of men -that people the earth, a quick eye detects a perfectly -defined difference as broad as the peculiarity of character -which underlies it.</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Narrowness of relations and Simplicity of function are -as narrowly restrained in range of conformation; Complexity -makes proportionate room for difference; and -Variety is the result, the sign, and the measure of Liberty.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Detailed illustrations of the law would interest -in proportion to the range of the investigation; and -gratification and delight would keep pace with the -deepening conviction of its universality; but the -limits of an essay restrain the discussion to mere -hints and suggestions, and general statements of -principles which reflection must unfold into formal -demonstration for every one in his own department -of observation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Some inaccuracies of statement have been indulged -to avoid the complexity which greater precision -would have induced. Broad, frank thinking will -easily bring up this looseness of language to the -required closeness of thought as the advancing and -deepening inquiry demands. Moreover, it may be -difficult or impossible to meet every fact that presents -itself with an instant correspondence in the -alleged law; but such things cannot be avoided until -people learn how to learn, and cease to meet novel -propositions with a piddling criticism, or a wrangling -spirit of controversy. Looking largely and deeply -into facts in a hundred departments of observation -will show the rule clear in the focal light of their -concurrent proofs, or, looking out from the central -position of <span class='it'>a priori</span> reasoning, it will be seen in every -direction to be a <span class='it'>necessary</span> truth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It would be curious, and more than curious, to -trace ascent of form up through ascertained gradation -of quality in minerals, plants, fruits, and animal -structures; and it would be as curious to apply a -criticism derived from this doctrine to the purpose -of fixing the rank and relations of all natural beings—in -other words, to construct a science of taste and -beauty, and, striking still deeper, a science of universal -physiognomy, useful at once as a law of -classification, and as an instrument of discovery. -The scale would range most probably from the globular, -as the sign of the lowest character, through -the regularly graded movement of departure which -in nature fills up all the stages of ascending function -from a drop of fluid to the model configuration -of, perhaps, that cerebral organ which manifests the -highest faculty of the soul.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The signs that substance and its states give of -intrinsic nature and use, or the connection of configuration -and function, are not understood as we understand -the symbols of arithmetic, and the words -of artificial language; that is, the symbols of our own -creation answer to the ideas they are intended for, -but the signs of the universal physiognomy of nature -are neither comprehended fully, nor translated even -to the extent that they are understood, into the formulæ -of science and the words of oral language. -Many of them are telegraphed in dumb show to our -instincts, to the great enlargement of our converse -with nature, both sentient and inanimate; but still -a vast territory of knowledge lies beyond the rendering -of our intuitions, and remains yet unexplored -by our understanding; a dark domain that has not -been brought under any rule of science, nor yielded -its due tribute to the monarch mind. We have no -dictionary that shows the inherent signification of a -cube, a hexagon, an octagon, circle, ellipse, or -cylinder; no tables of multiplication, addition, subtraction, -and division, which, dealing in forms and -their equivalents, might afford the products, quotients, -and remainders of their various differences -and interminglings with each other. States, qualities, -and attitudes of structure, contribute much of that -natural language by which we converse with the -animal world beneath us, and with the angel world -within us, but it remains as yet instinctual, except -so far only as the fine arts have brought it out of the -intuitive and oracular into rule and calculation, -nor have we any methodic calculus, universally -available, by which these revelations of nature may -be rendered into demonstrative truth ruled by scientific -method.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is conceivable that the form of every natural -being is a full report of its constitution and use, but -as yet, tedious and dubious chemical analysis, observation, -and experiment are our directory to the -hidden truth. In some things it is otherwise. We -know perfectly a passion or emotion, and the meaning -of the attitudes, colors, and forms of limb, person -and feature which denote them; and the interior -qualities of texture, also, as they are intimated to -the sight and touch, lead us without reasoning, to -definitive judgments of human character. Of animals, -in their degree, we receive similar impressions and -with equal conviction, but we know so little more -about these things, than that we know them, that -we can make no advantage of such knowledge -beyond its most immediate purpose in our commerce -with the living beings which surround us.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It remains, therefore, for mind to explore the philosophy -of form, that all which lies implied in it, -waiting but still undiscovered, may come out into -use, and all that we instinctively possess of it may -take a scientific method, and so render the service -of a law thoroughly understood.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The principle gives us familiar aid every day, yet -without revealing its own secret, in physiognomy, -painting, statuary, architecture, and elocution. It is -obeyed in all the impersonations of metaphor, fable -and myth; it is active every instant in the creations -of fancy, and supplies, so to speak, the material for -all the structures of thought—ruling universally in -the earth, and fashioning and peopling the heavens. -To the most delicate movements of the imagination -it gives a corresponding embodiment of beauty; and -it helps, as well, to realize the monstrous mixtures of -man and beast occurring in human character by the -answering monstrosity of centaur, syren, sphinx, -and satyr. The old Greek theology held that the -eternal Divinity made all things out of an eternal -matter, after the forms of eternal, self-subsisting -patterns; a statement, in its utmost depth beyond -the discovery of human faculties, certainly, but not -too strong to express the universal prevalence of this -law in the creation. To the human intellect all -things <span class='it'>must</span> exist in space, bounded and determined -by figure appropriate to the subject; in fact, we can -conceive of nothing except under such conditions; -and our doctrine but refers this necessity of mind -to a primordial necessity of being, ranking it among -the harmonies of existence, as an adaptation of sense, -thought, and feeling to the correspondent truth in -the constitution of the universe.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;margin-top:0.5em;'>E.</p> - -<hr class='tbk119'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='175' id='Page_175'></span><h1><a id='tayl'></a>ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL TAYLOR.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY R. T. CONRAD.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='blockquote30em'> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Quid me mortuum miserum vocas, qui te sum multo felicior? aut quid acerbi mihi putas contigisse?</span></p> - -</div> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>  Weep not for him! The Thracians wisely gave</p> -<p class='line'>Tears to the birth-couch, triumph to the grave.</p> -<p class='line'>’Tis misery to be born—to live—to die:</p> -<p class='line'>Ev’n he who noblest lives, lives but to sigh.</p> -<p class='line'>The right not shields from wrong, nor worth from wo,</p> -<p class='line'>Nor glory from reproach; he found it so.</p> -<p class='line'>Not strong life’s triumphs, not assured its truth;</p> -<p class='line'>Ev’n virtue’s garland hides an aspic tooth.</p> -<p class='line'>His glorious morn was past, and past his noon;—</p> -<p class='line'>Life’s duty done, death never comes too soon.</p> -<p class='line'>Then cast the dull grave’s gloomy trappings by!</p> -<p class='line'>The dead was wise, was just—nor feared to die.</p> -<p class='line'>  Weep not for him. Go, mark his high career;</p> -<p class='line'>It knew no shame, no folly and no fear.</p> -<p class='line'>More blest than is man’s lot his blameless life,</p> -<p class='line'>Though tost by tempests and though torn by strife.</p> -<p class='line'>’Neath the primeval forest’s towery pride,</p> -<p class='line'>Virtue and Danger watched his couch beside;</p> -<p class='line'>This taught him purely, nobly to aspire,</p> -<p class='line'>That gave the nerve of steel and soul of fire.</p> -<p class='line'>No time his midnight lamps—the stars—could dim;</p> -<p class='line'>His matin music was the cataract’s hymn;</p> -<p class='line'>His Academe the forest’s high arcade—</p> -<p class='line'>(To Numa thus Egeria blessed the shade;)</p> -<p class='line'>With kindling soul, the solitude he trod—</p> -<p class='line'>The temple of high thoughts—and spake with God:</p> -<p class='line'>Thus towered the man—amid the wide and wild—</p> -<p class='line'>And Nature claimed him as her noblest child.</p> -<p class='line'>  Nurtured to peril, lo! the peril came,</p> -<p class='line'>To lead him on, from field to field, to fame.</p> -<p class='line'>’Twas met as warriors meet the fray they woo:</p> -<p class='line'>To shield young Freedom’s wild-wood homes he flew;</p> -<p class='line'>And—fire within his fortress, foes without,</p> -<p class='line'>The rattling death-shot and th’ infuriate shout—</p> -<p class='line'>He, where the fierce flames burst their smoky wreath,</p> -<p class='line'>And war’s red game raged madliest, toyed with death;</p> -<p class='line'>Till spent the storm, and Victory’s youngest son</p> -<p class='line'>Glory’s first fruits, his earliest wreath, had won.</p> -<p class='line'>  Weep not for him, whose lustrous life has known</p> -<p class='line'>No field of fame he has not made his own:</p> -<p class='line'>In many a fainting clime, in many a war,</p> -<p class='line'>Still bright-browed Victory drew the patriot’s car.</p> -<p class='line'>Whether he met the dusk and prowling foe</p> -<p class='line'>By oceanic Mississippi’s flow;</p> -<p class='line'>Or where the southern swamps, with steamy breath,</p> -<p class='line'>Smite the worn warrior with no warrior’s death;</p> -<p class='line'>Or where, like surges on the rolling main,</p> -<p class='line'>Squadron on squadron sweep the prairie plain;</p> -<p class='line'>Dawn—and the field the haughty foe o’erspread,</p> -<p class='line'>Sunset—and Rio Grande’s waves run red;</p> -<p class='line'>Or where, from rock-ribbed safety, Monterey</p> -<p class='line'>Frowns death, and dares him to the unequal fray;</p> -<p class='line'>Till crashing walls and slippery streets bespeak</p> -<p class='line'>How frail the fortress where the heart is weak;</p> -<p class='line'>How vainly numbers menace, rocks defy,</p> -<p class='line'>Men sternly knit and firm to do or die;</p> -<p class='line'>Or where, on thousands thousands crowding, rush</p> -<p class='line'>(Rome knew not such a day) his ranks to crush,</p> -<p class='line'>The long day paused on Buena Vista’s height,</p> -<p class='line'>Above the cloud with flashing volleys bright;</p> -<p class='line'>Till angry Freedom, hovering o’er the fray,</p> -<p class='line'>Swooped down, and made a new Thermopylæ;—</p> -<p class='line'>In every scene of peril and of pain,</p> -<p class='line'>His were the toils, his country’s was the gain.</p> -<p class='line'>From field to field, and all were nobly won,</p> -<p class='line'>He bore, with eagle flight, her standard on:</p> -<p class='line'>New stars rose there—but never star grew dim</p> -<p class='line'>While in his patriot grasp. Weep not for him.</p> -<p class='line'>  The heart is ne’er a castaway; its gift</p> -<p class='line'>Falls back, like dew to earth—the soul’s own thrift</p> -<p class='line'>Of gentlest thoughts by noblest promptings moved:</p> -<p class='line'>He loved his country, and by her was loved.</p> -<p class='line'>To him she gave herself, a sacred trust,</p> -<p class='line'>And bade him leave his sword to rest and rust;</p> -<p class='line'>And, awed but calm, nor timid nor elate,</p> -<p class='line'>He turned to tread the sandy stairs of state.</p> -<p class='line'>Modest, though firm; decided, cautious, clear;</p> -<p class='line'>Without a selfish hope, without a fear;</p> -<p class='line'>Reverent of right, no warrior now, he still</p> -<p class='line'>Cherished the nation’s chart, the people’s will;</p> -<p class='line'>Hated but Faction with her maniac brand,</p> -<p class='line'>And loved, with fiery love, his native land.</p> -<p class='line'>Rose there a foe dared wrong in her despite,</p> -<p class='line'>How eager leaped his soul to do her right!</p> -<p class='line'>Her flag his canopy, her tents his home—</p> -<p class='line'>The world in arms—why, let the armed world come!</p> -<p class='line'>Thus loved he, more than life, and next to Heaven,</p> -<p class='line'>The broad, bright land to which that life was given;</p> -<p class='line'>And, loving thus and loved, the nation’s pride,</p> -<p class='line'>Her hope, her strength, her stay—the patriot died!</p> -<p class='line'>  Weep not for him—though hurried from the scene:</p> -<p class='line'>’Twill be earth’s boast that such a life has been.</p> -<p class='line'>Taintless his truth as Heaven; his soul sincere</p> -<p class='line'>Sparkled to-day, as mountain brooklets clear.</p> -<p class='line'>O’er every thought high honour watchful hung,</p> -<p class='line'>As broods the eagle o’er her eyried young.</p> -<p class='line'>His courage, in its calmness, silent, deep,</p> -<p class='line'>But strong as fate—Niagara in its sleep;</p> -<p class='line'>But when, in rage, it burst upon the foe—</p> -<p class='line'>Niagara leaping to the gulf below.</p> -<p class='line'>His clemency the graceful bow that, thrown</p> -<p class='line'>O’er the wild wave, Heaven lights and makes its own.</p> -<p class='line'>His was a spirit simple, grand and pure,</p> -<p class='line'>Great to conceive, to do and to endure;</p> -<p class='line'>Yet the rough warrior was, in heart, a child,</p> -<p class='line'>Rich in love’s affluence, merciful and mild.</p> -<p class='line'>His sterner traits, majestic and antique,</p> -<p class='line'>Rivaled the stoic Roman or the Greek;</p> -<p class='line'>Excelling both, he adds the Christian name,</p> -<p class='line'>And Christian virtues make it more than fame.</p> -<p class='line'>  To country, youth, age, love, life—all were given;</p> -<p class='line'>In death, she lingered between him and Heaven;</p> -<p class='line'>Thus spake the patriot in his latest sigh,</p> -<p class='line'>“<span class='it'>My duty done—I do not fear to die.</span>”</p> -<p class='line'>  Weep not for him; but for his country, tost</p> -<p class='line'>On Faction’s surges: “think not of the lost,</p> -<p class='line'>But what ’tis ours to do.”<a id='r2'/><a href='#f2' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[2]</span></sup></a> The hand that stayed,</p> -<p class='line'>The pillar that upheld, in dust are laid;</p> -<p class='line'>And Freedom’s tree of life, whose roots entwine</p> -<p class='line'>Thy fathers’ bones—will it e’er cover thine?</p> -<p class='line'>Root, rind and leaf a traitor tribe o’erspread;</p> -<p class='line'>Worms sap its trunk and tempests bow its head.</p> -<p class='line'>But the land lives not, dies not, in one man,</p> -<p class='line'>Were he the purest lived since life began.</p> -<p class='line'>Upon no single anchor rests our fate:</p> -<p class='line'>Millions of breasts engird and guard the state.</p> -<p class='line'>Yet, o’er each true heart, in the nation’s night,</p> -<p class='line'>Will Taylor’s memory rise, a pillared light;</p> -<p class='line'>His lofty soul will prop the patriot’s pride,</p> -<p class='line'>His virtues animate, his wisdom guide.</p> -<p class='line'>Faction, whose felon fury, blind and wild,</p> -<p class='line'>Would rend our land, as Circe tore her child,</p> -<p class='line'>In sordid cunning or insensate wrath,</p> -<p class='line'>Scattering its quivering limbs along her path—</p> -<p class='line'>Ev’n Faction, at his name, will cower away,</p> -<p class='line'>And, shrieking, shrinking, shield her from the day.</p> -<p class='line'>Then up to duty! true, as he was true;</p> -<p class='line'>As pure, as calm, as firm to bear and do;</p> -<p class='line'>Nerve every patriot power, knit every limb,</p> -<p class='line'>And up to duty: but <span class='it'>weep not for him</span>!</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='footnotemark'/> - -<div class='footnote'> -<table summary='footnote_2'> -<colgroup> -<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/> -<col span='1'/> -</colgroup> -<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'> -<div id='f2'><a href='#r2'>[2]</a></div> -</td><td> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Non quos amisimus, sed quantum lugere par sit cogitemus.</span> <span class='sc'>Cicero.</span></p> - -</td></tr> -</table> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk120'/> - -<div><h1><a id='psyc'></a>“PSYCHE LOVES ME.”</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>I have no gold, no lands, no robes of splendor,</p> -<p class='line'>  No crowd of sycophants to siege my door;</p> -<p class='line'>But fortune in one thing at least is tender—</p> -<p class='line'>  For Psyche loves me! Could I ask for more?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>I have no fame, nor to the height of honor</p> -<p class='line'>  Will my poor name on tireless pinions soar;</p> -<p class='line'>Yet Fate has never drawn my hate upon her—</p> -<p class='line'>  For Psyche loves me! Could I ask for more?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>I have no station, know no high position,</p> -<p class='line'>  And never yet the robes of office wore;</p> -<p class='line'>Yet I can well afford to scorn ambition—</p> -<p class='line'>  For Psyche loves me! Could I ask for more?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>I have no beauty—beauty has forsworn me,</p> -<p class='line'>  On others wasting all her charming store;</p> -<p class='line'>Yet I lack nothing now which could adorn me—</p> -<p class='line'>  For Psyche loves me! Could I ask for more?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>I have no learning—in nor school nor college</p> -<p class='line'>  Could I abide o’er quaint old tomes to pore;</p> -<p class='line'>But this I know which passeth all your knowledge—</p> -<p class='line'>  That Psyche loves me! Could I ask for more?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Now come what may, or loss or shame or sorrow,</p> -<p class='line'>  Sickness, ingratitude or treachery sore,</p> -<p class='line'>I laugh to-day and heed not for the morrow—</p> -<p class='line'>  For Psyche loves me—and I ask no more.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk121'/> - -<div><h1><a id='tothe'></a>TO THE LOST ONE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY DUNCAN MOORE.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Vale et Benedicite.</span></p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>In joy we met; in anguish part;</p> -<p class='line'>  Farewell, thou frail, misguided one!</p> -<p class='line'>Young Hope sings matins in thy heart,</p> -<p class='line'>  While dirges ring in mine alone,</p> -<p class='line'>  Solemn as monumental stone.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Thy life is Spring, but Autumn mine;</p> -<p class='line'>  Thy hope all flowers; mine bitter fruit,</p> -<p class='line'>For hope but blossoms to repine;</p> -<p class='line'>  It seldom hath a second shoot;—</p> -<p class='line'>  A shadow that evades pursuit.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Though poets are not prophets here,</p> -<p class='line'>  Yet Time must pass and you will see,</p> -<p class='line'>While o’er dead joys you drop the tear,</p> -<p class='line'>  This world is one Gethsemane</p> -<p class='line'>  Where all weep—die—still dream to be.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Flowers spring, birds sing in the young heart,</p> -<p class='line'>  But Time spares not the flowers of Spring;</p> -<p class='line'>The birds that sang there soon depart,</p> -<p class='line'>  And leave God’s altar withering—</p> -<p class='line'>  Flowerless and no bird to sing.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>God pronounced all things good in Eden;</p> -<p class='line'>  Young Adam sang—not knowing evil,</p> -<p class='line'>Until the snake plucked fruit forbidden,</p> -<p class='line'>  And made himself to Eve quite civil.—</p> -<p class='line'>  Did he tempt her, or she the devil?</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>True, she made Eden Adam’s heaven;—</p> -<p class='line'>  Also the green earth Adam’s hell;</p> -<p class='line'>Tore from his grasp all God had given;</p> -<p class='line'>  Cast him from bliss in sin to dwell;</p> -<p class='line'>  To make her food by his sweat and blood.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Then what should man from woman hope,</p> -<p class='line'>  Who hurled from Paradise his sire?</p> -<p class='line'>Her frailty drew his horoscope,</p> -<p class='line'>  And barred the gates of heaven with fire;</p> -<p class='line'>  Changed God’s intent for her desire.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>And what should she from man expect</p> -<p class='line'>  Who slew his God her soul to save?</p> -<p class='line'>A dreary life of cold neglect;—</p> -<p class='line'>  For Eden lost;—a welcome grave,</p> -<p class='line'>  Where kings make ashes with the slave!</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>A welcome grave! man’s crowning hope!</p> -<p class='line'>  All trust from dust we shall revive;</p> -<p class='line'>Despite our gloomy horoscope,</p> -<p class='line'>  Incarnadined God will receive</p> -<p class='line'>  His children who slew him to live.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>A frail partition but divides</p> -<p class='line'>  Your husband from insanity;</p> -<p class='line'>He stares as madness onward strides</p> -<p class='line'>  To crush each spark of memory—</p> -<p class='line'>  I gave you all—this you give me!</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Vale et Benedicite.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk122'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='177' id='Page_177'></span><h1><a id='coqu'></a>COQUET <span class='it'>versus</span> COQUETTE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'> <span class='it'>Benedict.</span> One woman is fair; yet I am well:</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>another is wise; yet I am well: another virtuous;</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>yet I am well: but till all graces be in one woman,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>one woman shall not come in my grace.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Much Ado About Nothing.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';fs:0.9em;' --> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Princess.</span> We are wise girls to mock our lovers so.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Rosaline.</span> They are worse fools to purchase mocking so.</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>That same Biron I’ll torture ere I go.</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>How will I make him fawn, and beg, and seek;</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>And wait the season, and observe the times,</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes;</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>And shape his service wholly to my behests;</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>And make him proud to make me proud that jests!</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>So portent-like would I o’ersway his state</p> -<p class='line' style='font-size:0.9em;'>That he should be my fool, and I his fate.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;'><span class='it'>Love’s Labor Lost.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>Nature had been very profuse in bestowing her -favors upon Mr. Frank Gadsby. In the first place -she had given him a very elegant person, tall and -of manly proportions; secondly, a pair of large, -dark-hazel eyes, which could beam with tenderness -or become fixed in the “fine frenzy” of despair, as -best suited the pleasure of their owner. Above them -she had placed a broad, white forehead, and adorned -it with waving hair, of a dark, glossy brown. Next, -a splendid set of teeth attested her skill and favor; -and, to complete the <span class='it'>tout ensemble</span>, whiskers and -moustache were unsurpassable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” said Fortune, rather ruffled, “if Nature -has been so prodigal, he shall have none of my assistance—not -he! Let him make his way through -the world by his good looks, if he can. I will seek -out some ordinary looking fellow, whom nature has -neglected, and with my golden smiles atone for the -want of those attractions which soonest win the -favor of the fair.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And thus, under the ban of Fortune, Frank Gadsby -left college.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He professed to study the law as a means of winning -the favor of the goddess, and had a small backroom, -up three flights of stairs, furnished with a -table and two chairs, on which table several voluminous -law-books very quietly reposed, being seldom -forced to open their oracular jaws to give forth their -sage opinions. This was his study. But the person -who should expect to find him there, I am sorry -to say, would have a fruitless visit, and drag up -those steep stairs for nothing. He would be much -more likely to meet him promenading Chestnut -street, gallanting some beautiful young girl up and -down its thronged <span class='it'>pavé</span>—or at the Art Union, with -an eye upon the living beauties there congregated, -not upon the pictures which adorn its walls.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And yet I would not wish to convey an erroneous -opinion, in thus hinting at the usual whereabouts of -Mr. Gadsby. If he did not study, it was not for the want -of talents or aptness; for he possessed a fine mind, -and only needed some impetus to call forth those -brilliant traits which were concealed beneath an exterior -so vain and trifling—for vain he certainly was, -and trifling I think I can prove beyond dispute. The -fact is, being a general favorite with the ladies, he -was inclined to push his advantage a little too far; -or, in other words, Frank Gadsby was a coquet—a -male coquet, of the first magnitude—insinuating, -plausible, soft-voiced, and, in the words of Spencer,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>“When needed he could weep and pray,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And when he listed he could fawn and flatter,</p> -<p class='line0'>Now smiling smoothly, like to summer’s day,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Now glooming sadly so to cloke the matter.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>But although, like the fickle zephyr, he wooed -with light dalliance every fair flower of beauty -which came across his path, he yet managed to retain -his heart safe in his own lordly bosom, and -Frank Gadsby, the charmer, alone possessed that -love sworn to so many.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet, as one cannot very well live without money, -especially in the atmosphere which surrounded my -hero, and as the law put little money in his purse, -and the small annuity left him by some deceased relative -almost as little, Mr. Gadsby resolved to make -a rich match one of these days; no hurry—there -was time enough—he had but to pick and choose—any -lady would be proud to become Mrs. Frank -Gadsby—and until stern necessity forced it upon -him, he would wear no conjugal yoke! And, with -this self-laudatory decision, he continued his flirtations.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A conversation which passed between Mr. Gadsby -and his friend Clarence Walton, will serve better -than any thing I can vouch to substantiate the -charge of trifling which I have preferred against -him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This same charge Walton had been reiterating, -but to which, with perfect <a id='nonc'></a>nonchalance, Gadsby answered:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A trifler—a coquet! Come, that is too bad, -Walton! To be sure, I pay the ladies attentions, -such as they all expect to receive from the gentlemen. -I give flowers to one, I sit at the feet of a second, -go off in raptures at the music of a third, press -the fair hand of a fourth, waltz with a fifth, and play -the gallant to all—but it is only to please them I do -it; and then, I say, Walton, if they will fall in love -with me, egad, how can I help it!” and, saying this, -our coxcomb looked in the glass, as much as to say, -“poor things, <span class='it'>they</span> surely cannot help it!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There was Caroline D——, for instance,” replied -his friend; “why, as well as I know your -roving propensities, I was induced to think you serious -there!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What, Cara D.! I smitten! O, no! I said some -very tender things to her, to be sure, and visited her -every day for a month—wrote her notes, and presented -her daily with some choice <a id='bouq1'></a>bouquet; but I -was honorable; as soon as I saw she was beginning -to like me too well, why, I retreated. Did, upon -my honor! Here is her last note—read it Walton!” -taking one from a private drawer, evidently crowded -with a multitudinous collection of faded <a id='bouq2'></a>bouquets, -knots of ribbon, gloves, fans, billet-doux, and silken -ringlets of black, brown and golden hair.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No; excuse me, Frank, from perusing your love -notes,” said Walton! “but there was also Emma -Gay.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, poor Emma! She was a bewitching little -creature!” was the answer. “I wrote some verses -to her beautiful eyes, and gazed into them so tenderly -that they folded themselves in their drooping -lids to hide from me. She gave me a lock of her -soft, brown hair—I have it somewhere; but, faith, I -have so many such tokens that it is difficult to find -the right one. O, here it is!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And Cornelia Hyde!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She was a splendid girl! Sang like an angel, -waltzed like a sylph! Yes, I flirted with her half a -season. I believe she did get a little too fond of me—sorry -for it; upon my soul I meant nothing!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But you can hardly say your attentions to Miss -Reed meant nothing,” said Walton, continuing the -category.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, what could I do?” answered Gadsby. -“Confound it, if she did not send for me every third -night to sing duets with her, and every other morning -to pass judgment upon her paintings. I could -not be otherwise than civil.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then, there was Julia Hentz, and her friend, -Hatty Harwood.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“O, spare me, Walton! Julia was a sentimental -beauty, doating upon the moon, and stars, and charity -children! On my soul, it is no unpleasant thing to -stroll in the beautiful moonlight with a pretty, romantic -girl leaning upon your arm, and to gaze -down into her languishing eyes as they turn their -brilliant orbs to the less brilliant stars. I tell you -what, it is a taking way, and came pretty near -taking me; for I was nearer popping the question to -the sentimental, moon-struck, star-gazing Julia, than -I love to think of now; see what I drew from her -fair hand on our last moonlight ramble,” (showing a -delicate glove.) “As for her friend Harriet, although -not so handsome as Julia, she is a shrewd, sensible -girl—told me, with all the sang-froid imaginable, -that I was flirting a little too strongly—that she -could not think of having me dangling after her, for -two reasons—conclusive ones. First was, she did not -like me; and, secondly, my professions were all -feigned, for she knew me to be the greatest coquet -extant—a character which, she added, with provoking -coolness, she had no respect for!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good! A sensible girl, Frank!” said Walton, -laughing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hang me if I did not begin to like her all the -better after that,” continued Gadsby, “and had a -great mind to pursue the game in earnest; but I -found it would not pay the exertion. She is as poor -as myself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What can you say of the sisters, Louise and -Katrine Leslie, whom you followed as their shadow -for more than six weeks?” pursued the indefatigable -Walton.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The brunette and the blonde,” answered Gadsby. -“Both charming girls. Louise, with those large, -tender, black eyes—why, she melted one’s heart as -though but a lump of wax; but, then, the roguish -glances of Katrine’s sparkling gray ones! Well, -well; a sensible fellow might be very happy with -either. Fact is, they were jealous of each other—ha, -ha, ha. If I wrote poetry to Louise, then Katrine -pouted, and her little white dimpled shoulder -turned very coldly upon me. So, I gave flowers to -Katrine and pressed her dimpled hand; then the bewitching -Louise cast her reproachful eyes upon me, -and a sigh came floating to me on her rose-scented -breath, at which I placed myself at her feet, and -read the Sorrows of Evangeline in Search of her -Lover, and begged for the ringlet on which a tear -had fallen; then Katrine—but no matter; they were -both very fond, poor things!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In the words of the song, I suppose you might -have sung,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>“‘How happy could I be with either,</p> -<p class='line0'>If the other charmer were away,’”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>exclaimed Walton.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Precisely. Have you finished your catechism?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have; although many other names, whose fair -owners you have trifled with, are in my mind,” said -Walton. “You must excuse my frankness, Gadsby, -when I tell you that your conduct is unworthy a -man of honor or principle. There is not one of the -ladies of whom we have spoken, but has had reason -to think herself the object of your particular interest -and pursuit; and if, as you flatter yourself, they have -seemed partial to your attentions, that partiality has -been awakened by those winning words and manners -which none better than yourself know how to -assume. Shame on the man, I say, who can thus -insinuate himself into the affections of a young, unsuspecting -girl, merely to flatter his own egregious -vanity or his self-love! Coquetry, idle as it is, is -more properly the province of woman. Nature has -given them sprightliness, grace and beauty, which, -in their hands, like the masterly fan in the days of the -Spectator, they are expected to use as weapons against -us; but for a man to assume the coquet, renders him -contemptible. If there is any thing which can add -to its meanness, it is boasting of his conquests—playing -the braggart to his own vanity. Woman’s -affections are too sacred to be thus trifled with, nor -should her purity be insulted by the boasts of a—caricature, -not a man! Burn all these idle toys, Gadsby—trophies -of unworthy victories—turn to more -noble pursuits, nor longer waste the talents which God -has given you, nor the time which can never be regained.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As fine a lecture as I ever listened to,” quoth -Gadsby, feigning a laugh. “When do you take -orders, most reverend Clarence? Why, you deserve -to be elected moralist of the age—a reformer -in the courts of Cupid. However, I will give you -the credit of honesty, and more—for I confess you -have given me some pretty sharp home-thrusts, -which I will not pretend to parry; but you take -things too seriously, upon my soul you do. One of -these days you shall behold me a sober, married -man, in a flannel night-cap; but until then, Walton,</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:0.5em;'>“<span class='it'>vive l’amour!</span>”</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>“Blue or pink, Charlotte?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“O, the blue, by all means, Lucia.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And pearls or rubies?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pearls.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Blue and pearls! Why, I shall personate the -very ideal of maiden simplicity. I might as well -appear all in white!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And it would be beautiful, Lucia,” answered -her friend.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Think so? Well, I have a great mind to try it, -for you must know it is my desire to look uncommonly -well to-night,” said Lucia.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But why to-night do you so particularly wish to -shine?” inquired Charlotte.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why? Why, don’t you know we are to meet -that renowned enslaver of hearts, that coquet, Frank -Gadsby! Is not that enough to inspire my vanity?” -replied the lively girl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And you are resolved upon leading this renowned -conqueror in your own chains, Lucia?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He shall not escape them, Charlotte. I will -bring him to my feet, and thus become the champion -of my sex,” said Lucia.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And have you no fears for yourself? Where so -many have yielded their willing hearts, do you expect -to escape without paying the same penalty?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fears!” answered Lucia. “Why, Charlotte, -you don’t think I would give up my affections to -one who has no heart, and never had one; or, if he -had, it has been so completely divided and sub-divided, -quartered and requartered, and parceled out -by inches, that not a fragment is left to hang a hope -upon! Why, I should as soon think of falling in -love with one of those effigies of beau-dom—those -waxen busts at a barber’s window—as with this -hollow-hearted Frank Gadsby.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are right, Lucia; for I certainly think that -when you marry, it would be well to have at least -one heart between you and your <span class='it'>cara sposa</span>, for I -am sure you have none,” said Charlotte, laughing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, that is the unkindest cut of all, Charlotte—I -no heart! Why, I am ‘all heart,’ as poor Mrs. -Skewton would say,” answered Lucia.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, Lucia, it is conceded by all, I believe, that -you are an arrant coquette.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I a coquette!” exclaimed Lucia. “I deny the -charge; there is my gage!” drawing off her little -glove and throwing it at the feet of Charlotte.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I accept the challenge,” answered her friend. -“In the first place, let me remind you of a poor Mr. -F——.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You need not remind me of him,” answered -Lucia. “I am sure I shall not soon forget him, with -his tiresome calls every day, nor his attempts to look -tender with those small, twinkling gray eyes of his. -Imagine an owl in love, that’s all.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And yet you encouraged his visits. Then, there -was young Dornton.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dornton! yes, I remember. Poor fellow, how he -did torment me with his execrable verses!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Execrable! If I remember, Lucia, you once -told me they were beautiful.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, I tired of them, and him too, in a fortnight. -Why, Charlotte, it was a perfect surfeit of antimony -wrapped up in honey.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then, your long walks last summer with Dr. -Ives.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Were very pleasant walks until he grew sentimental, -and suddenly popped down upon his knees, -one day, in the high grass, <a id='like'></a>like a winged partridge; -he looked so ridiculous that really I could not help -laughing in his face. It was a bitter pill; doctor, as -he was, he could not swallow it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For six weeks you flirted with Henry Nixon,” -continued Charlotte. “Why, he was your shadow, -Lucia; what could have tempted you to trifle with -him as you did? I am sure he loved you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There you are mistaken,” was the reply. “He -was only flattered by my smiles and proud of being in -my train. Such magnificent bouquets, too, as he -brought me! It was party season, you know, and -his self-love, thus embodied in a flower to be worn -by me, was quite as harmless to him as convenient -for myself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But not so harmless were the smiles and flattering -words you bestowed upon young Fairlie. O, -Lucia, your thoughtless vanity ruined the happiness -of that young man, and drove him off to a foreign -clime, leaving a widowed mother to mourn his absence.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Indeed, Charlotte,” replied Lucia, in a saddened -tone, “I had no idea James Fairlie really loved me -until too late. He painted so exquisitely that, at my -father’s request, he was engaged to paint my portrait. -I believe I gave him a lock of my hair, and -allowed him to retain a small miniature which he -had sketched of me; but, as I told him, when he so -unexpectedly declared his love, I meant nothing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, Lucia,” said her friend, reproachfully, “and -did you mean nothing when you allowed the visits -of Colonel W——?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“O, the gallant Colonel! Excuse me Charlotte—a -pair of epaulettes answer very well, sometimes, in -place of a heart. The Colonel’s uniform was a -taking escort through the fashionable promenades; -and, then, he was so vain that it did one good to see -him lose the ‘bold front of Mars’ in the soft blandishments -of Cupid; and not forgetting, even when -on his knees, to note, in an opposite mirror, the irresistible -effect of his gallant form at the feet of a fair -lady! So far, I think, I have supported my ground -against your accusation of coquetry,” added Lucia.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“On the contrary, my dear Lucia, I am sorry to -say that you have but proved its truth,” answered -Charlotte. “Sorry, because there is, to my mind, -no character so vain and heartless as that of a coquette, -and I would not that any one whom I love -should rest under such an imputation. The moment -a woman stoops to coquetry she loses the charm of -modesty and frankness, and renders herself <a id='unun'></a>unworthy -the pure affection of any noble-minded -man. It betrays vanity, a want of self-respect, and -an utter disregard for the feelings of others. A coquette -is a purely selfish being, who, by her hollow -smiles and heartless professions, wins to the shrine -of her vanity many an honest heart, and then casts -it from her as idly as a child the plaything of -which he has tired. She is unworthy the name of -woman.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hollow smiles—heartless professions! Why, -what is all this tirade about, Charlotte?” interrupted -Lucia, indignantly. “I do not understand you. You -surely do not mean to class me with those frivolous -beings you have named.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It will do for young coxcombs and fops,” <a id='concon'></a>continued -Charlotte, “whose brains centre in an -elegant moustache or the tie of a cravat, who swear -pretty little oaths, and can handle their quizzing -glass with more skill than their pen—it will do for -them to inflate their vanity by the sighs of romantic -school-girls; but for a high-minded, noble woman, -like you, Lucia, to descend from the dignity of your -position to the contemptible artifices of a coquette—fie, -Lucia, be yourself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“From no other but you, Charlotte,” she replied, -“would I bear the unjust imputation you cast upon -me, and I should blush did I think myself deserving -one half your censure. I do not feel that I have descended -at all from the ‘dignity of my position,’ as -you are pleased to term it, and consider a coquette -quite as contemptible as you do.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, Lucia,” said Charlotte, archly,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>“O wad some power the giftie gie us,</p> -<p class='line0'>To see oursel’s as ithers see us.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nonsense! I know I am not a coquette, Charlotte,” -retorted Lucia. “Gay and thoughtless I may -have been; but I have never, nor would I ever, -trifle with the affections of one whom I thought any -other feeling but his own vanity had brought to my -feet. But come, Madam Mentor, I will make a -truce with you. I must first vanquish this redoubtable -Gadsby, in honorable warfare, and with his -own weapons, and then, I promise you, no duenna -of old Spain ever wore a more vinegar aspect than -shall Lucia Laurence, spinster.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, Lucia—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No—no—no! stop! I know what you are going -to say,” interrupted the gay girl, playfully placing -her little hand over the mouth of her friend. “Positively -I must have my way this time. And now -for the business of the toilet. Let me see—blue -and pearls; no, white—white, like a bride, Charlotte!”</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>A brilliant company swept through the elegant -apartments of Mrs. De Rivers. It was the opening -soirée of the season, and here had gathered, in the -regal train of Fashion and Display, the wealth, wit, -beauty, and grace, of Penn’s fair city. Music’s enchanting -strains breathed delight, fair forms moved in -the graceful dance, and through the thronged assembly -gay groups were gathered,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>            “Where the swift thought,</p> -<p class='line0'>Winging its way with laughter, lingered not,</p> -<p class='line0'>But flew from brain to brain.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who is that queenly young lady, dressed with -such elegant simplicity, talking with Miss De -Rivers?” inquired Frank Gadsby of a friend at his -elbow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where? ah, I see. Why, is it possible you do -not know Miss Laurence? She is the greatest coquette -in Philadelphia. Beware—no one escapes -who comes under the influence of her bewitching -eyes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A fair challenge—I will dare the danger. Will -you introduce me?” was the reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“With pleasure—but remember my warning,” answered -his friend. “Miss Laurence is full of wit, and -will cut up your fairest speeches to serve her ridicule; -she is proud, and leads her many captives after -her with the air of a Juno; she is sensible, and will -carry out an argument with the skill of a subtle -lawyer. She is handsome—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That is easily seen,” interrupted Gadsby. “Pray -spare me further detail, and give me an opportunity, -if you please, to judge of the rest for myself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the same moment when these remarks were -passing between the gentlemen, Lucia said to Miss -De Rivers:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pray tell me, Fanny, who is that stylish gent -lounging so carelessly near the door?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tall—talking with young Bright, do you mean?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The same.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, beware!” was the answer; “that same -gentleman wears a perjured heart. He is no other -than that gay deceiver—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who—Mr. Gadsby!” interrupted Lucia.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, Frank Gadsby, whose vows of love are as -indiscriminate as his smiles.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have heard of him, Fanny. Well, he is certainly -very handsome,” said Lucia.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And as fascinating in his manners as he is handsome,” -replied her friend. “Why, he makes every -woman in love with him—myself excepted, Lucia; -every fair lady elicits, in turn, the same homage, the -same tender speeches, and, in turn, finds herself the -dupe of his flattery and melting glances.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perfectly absurd!” exclaimed Lucia, with a toss -of her head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But see, Lucia, he has already marked you; -look, he approaches, with Earnest Bright. Now -prepare for the introduction, which he has, no doubt, -solicited.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The presentation was gone through with in due -form. Lucia assumed an air of the most perfect indifference, -scarcely deigning to notice the elegant -man of fashion, who, by his most courtly smiles and -winning compliments, endeavored to attract her -favorable attention. But both smiles and fine -speeches were thrown away; and, not a little chagrined -at his reception from the fair Lucia, Gadsby -at length turned coldly away, and began chatting, in -a gay tone, with Miss De Rivers, while, at the same -moment, Miss Laurence, giving her hand to a young -officer, joined the dancers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, how do you like Miss Laurence, Frank?” -said Earnest Bright, later in the evening, touching -the shoulder of Gadsby, who stood listlessly regarding -the gay scene.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She has fine eyes, although I have seen finer,” -was the answer; “a good figure, but there are others -as good; ’pon my soul, I see no particular fascination -about her—I could pick out a dozen here more -agreeable.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Think so? Well, don’t be too secure, that’s -all,” replied his friend.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never fear. I have escaped heart-free too long -to be caught at last by one like Miss Laurence. -Less imperiousness, and more of woman’s gentleness, -for me,” said Gadsby. “And yet, it were -worth while to subdue this inflexible beauty, and entangle -her in her own snares,” he mentally added.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the supper-room Charlotte Atwood found herself, -for a moment, near her friend Lucia.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, you have met the foe; what think you -now, Lucia?” she whispered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of Mr. Gadsby, I suppose you mean,” she replied. -“I am sadly disappointed, to tell you the -truth. I expected to find him too much a man of the -world to betray his own vanity. Why, he is the -most conceited fellow I ever met with.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you wonder at it? Such a universal favorite -as he is with the ladies, has reason to be conceited,” -said Charlotte.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps so. It would be doing him a kindness, -therefore, to take a little of this self-conceit out of him—don’t -you think so?” Lucia laughingly replied.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>These two invincible coquettes are now entered -for a trial of their skill, in fair and equal combat. -“Let him laugh who wins,” but a crown to the victor, -I say. A too minute detail of this well-contested -game, might prove tedious; therefore, we will pass -over three months of alternate frowns and smiles, -and allow the reader to judge, by the following -chapter, to whose side the victory most inclines.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER IV.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>A pleasant spring morning found Frank Gadsby—where? -Not promenading Chestnut street—not -lounging upon the steps of a fashionable hotel, nor -whispering smooth flatteries in the ear of beauty; -but positively up those three flights of stairs, in that -gloomy back room dignified by the name of study. -Several books were open before him, and papers—promising, -business-like looking papers, with red -tapes and huge seals—were scattered around him. -Indeed, the very man himself had a more promising, -business-like appearance; there was less of the -dandy, more of the gentleman, and the look of self-complacency -lost in a more serious, thoughtful expression. -As I said before, Mr. Gadsby had talents, -hidden beneath the mask of frippery, which needed -but some impetus to bring into power, and this impetus -seemed now to have been supplied.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For three months the fashionable world had wondered -why so often its most brilliant ornament had -been missing from its gay gatherings; nor, perhaps, -wondered more than Mr. Gadsby himself at his own -sudden distaste for those pursuits which had but -lately afforded him so much pleasure. Perhaps the -remonstrances of his friend Walton had awakened -him to a sense of the unprofitable life he was leading; -but, as we have more to do with effects than -causes, at present, we will not pursue the inquiry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For some time, perhaps half an hour, Gadsby -steadily applied himself to his studies—now turning -over the pages of a folio, now lost in deep thought, -and then rapidly transferring his conclusions to -paper. At length, with a sigh of relief, as if he had -mastered some complicated problem of the law, he -pushed books and papers from him, and, rising from -the table, walked back and forth the narrow limits -of his study.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you ready?” said Clarence Walton, unceremoniously -opening the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I believe I shall not go. Make my excuses, if -you please, to the ladies,” replied Gadsby, slightly -embarrassed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not go! Why, what has come over you, man? -The party are now only waiting your presence to -start. What will Miss Laurence think? It will -never do to slight her invitation in this way. Come!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No!” answered Gadsby. “Say what you -please for me to Miss Laurence; if she chooses to -take offense, it matters but little to me. The frowns -of one whose smiles are so general, are easily -borne. I hope you will have a pleasant ride.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But what new freak is this? Last night you -were in fine spirits for the excursion, and I am sure -you received the invitation of Miss Laurence with -undisguised pleasure.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Think so? Well, I have altered my mind—that’s -all,” said Gadsby, carelessly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah-ha! Are your wings scorched, that you thus -shun the presence of the irresistible Lucia?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Cannot a man of business absent himself from -the society of a flirt, without giving a reason, Walton?” -said Gadsby, tartly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A man of business! Good—excellent! I will -report that weighty concerns of the law interfere -with your engagements. You wont go, then?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No!” and saying this, Gadsby took up a book -and sat down, with a dogged, resolute air.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, I must be off. <span class='it'>Au revoir.</span>”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No sooner did the door close after his friend, than, -throwing away the book, Gadsby started up, exclaiming:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No! this syren—this coquette—this all fascinating -woman, as she is called, shall find I am not so -easily made her dupe! She is a perfect mistress of -art, that is certain; for who that did not know her -would think the light of her beautiful eyes shone only -to deceive—they are heavenly! Who would think -that sweet, gentle smile which she sometimes wears, -and the soft, witching tones of her voice were but -superficial. In outward appearance she is a type of -all that is most perfect in woman; and if this beauty -of mind and person but extended to the heart—ah, I -dare not think of it! I am told she considers me a vain, -conceited fellow—ha! ha! she shall find yet that I -am not what I have appeared, and that this vain, -conceited fellow, has at least wit enough to see -through and despise her arts. What a beautiful -morning for the ride. I was foolish not to go; besides, -she may think—no matter what she thinks. -But then I would not be uncivil; as I accepted the -invitation, I should have gone. I wish I had. Let -me see, it is now ten o’clock; perhaps I may yet be -in time. Yes, I will show her that I can meet her -fascinations unmoved, and leave her without one -sigh of regret—heigh, ho!” And Mr. Gadsby ended -his soliloquy by catching up the broom-brush and -rapidly applying it to his shoulders and arms, and -then with a glance at the small looking-glass, he -seized his hat, and rushing down stairs, swiftly -thridded his way through the crowd until he reached -the residence of Miss Laurence, whence the party -were to set forth. Running up the steps, he rang -the bell.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Much to his mortification he learned the party had -been gone about ten minutes, and he was turning -from the door, when the servant added,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Miss Laurence is at home—will you walk in, -sir?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then she had not gone! Strange!—no, he would -not go in; but perhaps he had better, and apologize -for his apparent rudeness. Yes, he would go in; -and following the servant, he was ushered into the -drawing-room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sending up his card, Gadsby sat down to await -the entrance of the lady. Opposite the sofa on which -he reclined hung the full length portrait of Miss -Laurence—the work of the unfortunate young painter -whom love of her had driven from his native land. -It was a beautiful creation of art, but not more beautiful -than the fair original herself. There was grace, -dignity, and repose in the attitude, harmonizing so -perfectly with the sweet expression of the features. -The eyes of Gadsby were soon riveted upon it, and -rising from his seat, he approached nearer, and remained -standing before it, lost in contemplating its -loveliness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Charming girl!” he exclaimed inadvertently -aloud; “but false as thou art charming!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Imprudent man! These words were not lost; even -as he spoke the fair Lucia herself stood very near -him, waiting for him to turn around that she might -address him; but as she caught this expression, a -glow of indignation suffused her features, and with -noiseless footsteps she glided from the room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How dare he say this of me!” she exclaimed, as -she closed the door of her chamber; “what reason -have I given him for such a supposition! He judges -of me by his own false and fickle heart; yet why -should I care for the opinion of such a man as he is. -How stupid in John to say I was at home. I believe -I will send word I am engaged; no, I will -even see him, and let him know by my indifference -how little value I place either on his society or his -opinion.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And Lucia re-entered the drawing-room with a -stately step, and received the salutation of her visiter -with the utmost hauteur of manner.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have called, Miss Laurence, to apologize for -my apparent incivility in not keeping the engagement -formed with you last evening,” said Gadsby, -with evident embarrassment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was not necessary, Mr. Gadsby, to take so -much trouble for that which is of so little consequence,” -answered Lucia, coldly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pardon me, Miss Laurence, nothing but—but -imperative business—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pray do not exhaust your invention, sir, for -excuses.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Gadsby’s face crimsoned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let me hope nothing serious prevented your -accompanying the party, Miss Laurence,” he at -length said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To be more honest than you, I had no inclination -to go, and therefore did not.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But last evening—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“O, last evening I arranged the excursion merely -for my friends, not feeling, of course, obliged to go -with them,” was the answer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then I certainly cannot regret so much the cause -which prevented my joining them, since the only attraction -would have been wanting.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This implied compliment was noticed only by a -haughty bow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Cold, unyielding beauty!” thought Gadsby, carelessly -turning over the leaves of an annual.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“False, idle flatterer!” thought Lucia, pulling her -bouquet to pieces.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Those are beautiful flowers, Miss Laurence—what -have they done to merit such treatment at your -fair hands!” said Mr. Gadsby, glad of the opportunity -to say something, for he felt himself completely -embarrassed by her repulsive manners. “You -treat them with as little favor as you do your admirers, -and throw them from you with as little -mercy. Fair, beautiful flowers!” he added, gathering -up the leaves of a rose from the rich carpet, -“fit emblems they are in their fragility of woman’s -short-lived faith and truth.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A lesson upon faith and truth from Mr. Gadsby -is a paradox well worth listening to!” retorted Lucia, -with a sarcastic smile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why so—do you then believe me destitute of -them?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I have never deemed the subject worthy of reflection; -yet, if I mistake not, the world does not -burthen you with such attributes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And the world is probably right, Miss Laurence,” -answered Gadsby, piqued and angry. He arose, and -walked several times across the room, then again -pausing before her, he said in a softened tone, “And -yet, although our acquaintance has been but brief, I -trust I have given you no reason to pass such severe -censure upon me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A quick retort rose to the lips of Lucia, but as she -raised her eyes, they met those of Gadsby fixed upon -her with an expression such as she could not well -define, so strangely were reproach and tenderness -blended. She was embarrassed, a deep blush mantled -her face, and the words were unspoken.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She is not, then, utterly heartless—that blush -belies it!” thought Gadsby. “Say, Miss Laurence, -may I not hope for a more lenient judgment from you -than the world accords?” he said, again addressing -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What ails me? Why do I tremble thus? Am I -really to be the dupe of this deceiver. No! let me -be true to myself!” mentally exclaimed Lucia; and -then, with a look which instantly chilled the warm -impulse in the heart of Gadsby, she said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My opinion can be of very little consequence to -Mr. Gadsby.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“True, Miss Laurence. I wish you good morning,” -and proudly bowing himself out of the room, -Gadsby took leave.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fool that I am to blush before him, who of all -men has the least power over me. It is well I know -him, or even I might be deceived by such looks as -he just now cast upon me!” cried Lucia, as the -door closed after her visiter.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER V.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>It was some weeks after this ere Mr. Gadsby so -far mastered his pride as to call again upon the disdainful -Miss Laurence. To his great regret he was -then informed that she was ill, very ill; and for -many days his inquiries were all met by the same -painful answer. There is nothing sooner breaks -down the barrier of feigned indifference than the illness -of one whom we are schooling ourselves to avoid; -and thus, in the heart of Gadsby, coldness, distrust, -disdain, yielded at once to the most painful solicitude -and deep tenderness. This sudden revulsion quite -overcame even the caution of this redoubtable coquet, -so captious of any appearance of surrendering the -long boasted freedom of his heart; and careless of -what “the lookers on in Venice” might say, he -called daily to make inquiries, and sent to the fair -invalid the most beautiful flowers as delicate memorials -of his sympathy, however he might once -have named them as fit emblems of the frailty of -woman’s vows.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One morning early Clarence Walton entered the -office of Gadsby.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good morning. Have you heard from Miss -Laurence to-day, Walton?” was the first inquiry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am sorry to say she is not so well.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is it possible! Who told you—are you sure?” -said Mr. Gadsby, turning quite pale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes; I am told she is better of the old complaint, -but her friends think now that she has a confirmed -heart disease!” answered Walton, gravely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good God! you don’t say so! Is it incurable—is -there no hope?” exclaimed Gadsby, starting from -his seat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Heart complaints are very dangerous in all cases, -I believe,” replied Walton, turning his head to conceal -a smile, “yet I hope Miss Laurence is not incurable; -indeed, I feel quite confident that if she -would but call in a physician I could recommend, -she might soon be restored.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And wont she? Have you spoken to her friends? -Where is he to be found—for not a moment should -be lost; it is your duty to insist upon it!” cried -Gadsby, catching the arm of his friend, who seemed -provokingly indifferent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If she will only consent to see him, I shall gladly -name him to you—but why are you so much interested? -To be sure, common kindness dictates -sympathy for the illness of one so young and beautiful; -but why you should take her sickness so much -at heart, quite astonishes me,” said Walton.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then, Walton, let me tell you that it is because -I love her; yes, love her more than my life!” replied -Gadsby. “I know she despises me, for I -have appeared to her in a false light, for which I -may thank my own folly, and in giving my heart to -her, I have sealed my own wretchedness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Walton respected the feelings of his friend at this -candid avowal, and checking the well-merited jest -which rose to his lips, said,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In so hasty a decision, and one so fatal to your -happiness, I think you do both Miss Laurence and -yourself injustice; if you really love her, pursue the -game boldly—I think you need not despair.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Grateful for his forbearance on a point to which -he was aware he was a fair subject for ridicule, and -somewhat encouraged by the words and manner of -Walton, Gadsby frankly continued,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If her life is spared, I will show her that I am -not what she has thought me. Yes, I will study to -win her love. O, my friend, should I succeed—should -I gain that rich treasure of beauty and intelligence, -my whole life shall be devoted to her <a id='happ'></a>happiness!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What think you now, dear reader, of our invincible -coquet?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Let us now change the scene to the sick room of -Lucia.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Look, my darling! see what beautiful flowers -have been sent you this morning!” said Mrs. Laurence, -as Charlotte Atwood entered the room, bearing -in her hands two large and splendid bouquets.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How beautiful!” cried Lucia, a faint color -tinging her pale cheek.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, they are beautiful,” said her friend Charlotte; -“really, Lucia, to be so tenderly remembered -in sickness, compensates for a great deal of -suffering. But you are favored; now I dare say poor -I might look in vain for any such fragrant tokens of -kindness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You carry them always with you, dear Charlotte; -your heart is a perfect garden of all fair and -beautiful flowers,” said Mrs. Laurence, smiling -gratefully at the affectionate girl, who had shared -with her so faithfully the cares and anxieties of her -child’s sick bed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you know who sent them?” asked Lucia, as -she bent her head to inhale their sweetness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That I shall not tell you,” answered Charlotte, -catching the flowers from her hand. “They are -offerings from your captive knights, fair princess; -now choose the one you like best, and then I will -tell you; but be as wary as Portia’s lovers in your -choice, for I have determined in my mind that on -whichever your selection falls, the fortunate donor -shall also be the fortunate suitor for your hand—come, -choose!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The bouquets were both beautiful. One was composed -of the rarest and most brilliant green-house -flowers arranged with exquisite taste; the other -simply of the modest little Forget-me-not, rose-buds, -and sweet mignonette.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In the words of Bassanio, then, I will say,</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Outward shows be least themselves,</p> -<p class='line0'>The world is still deceived with ornament;</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>and thus I make my choice,“ answered Lucia, -smiling, and blushing as she took the forget-me-not, -and pressed them to her bosom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“O happy, happy Mr. Gadsby!” cried Charlotte, -laughing and clapping her hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are these from him, then!” exclaimed Lucia, as -she cast the beautiful flowers from her. “Then -pardon me, Charlotte, if I make a new choice; Mr. -Gadsby is too officious—pray bring me no more -flowers from him!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are really ungenerous, Lucia,” said Mrs. -Laurence; “no one has been so attentive in their -inquiries since you have been ill as Mr. Gadsby. -I believe not a day has passed without his calling; -they have not been merely formal inquiries either—his -countenance betrays a real interest.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lucia colored, and a gentle sigh heaved her bosom—but -she said, coldly,</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is not difficult, dear mother, for Mr. Gadsby -to feign an interest for any lady upon whom he -chooses to inflict his attentions.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, Lucia, I take a bold, defensive ground for -Mr. Gadsby,” exclaimed Charlotte. “You have -abused the poor man unmercifully since you first -knew him, nor given him credit for one honest feeling. -Well, there is one comfort, you do not think -worse of him than he does of you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then there is no love lost!” said Lucia, rather -hastily.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I am sure of that!” replied Charlotte, laughing. -“There is none lost, it is true, but treasured -in your very hearts, hidden away as fire beneath the -snowy surface of Hecla, and which will one day -suddenly burst its frigid bonds—now mark my -words!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You talk in enigmas, Charlotte, and I am too -weary to solve them,” said Lucia.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pardon me, dearest, I forgot you were sitting -up so long—you must lie down;” and as Charlotte -turned to arrange the pillows for the fair invalid, -in an opposite mirror she saw Lucia take up the -discarded flowers, and—<span class='it'>press them to her lips</span>.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;'>——</p> - -<h2 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER VI.</h2> - -<p class='pindent'>For the first time for many weeks, Lucia once -more left her chamber, and was able to receive the -congratulatory visits of her friends. It was not long -ere Mr. Gadsby took advantage of her convalescence -to express in person his own pleasure at her -recovered health.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She had never looked more lovely in his eyes than -when he thus met her. If, at the moment when he -first looked upon her, her paleness pained him, the -bright color which instantly mantled her cheek, and -the agitation of her manner, sent a thrill of happiness -to his heart. He took her small, attenuated -hand, and pressed it tenderly, as, in an agitated voice, -he told the happiness it gave him to see her again; -and as Lucia raised her eyes to reply, she saw his -fine countenance beaming with an expression which -deepened her bloom and increased her embarrassment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You have been very kind, Mr. Gadsby, during -my illness,” she said, at length, averting her face, -“and I have to thank you for the many beautiful -flowers with which you have cheered my sick -chamber.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>These kind words from her—from the proud Lucia, -rendered Gadsby almost beside himself with joy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do not thank me for so trifling a favor, when, if -I could, I would so gladly have poured out my life’s -blood to have saved you a moment’s pain! O, my -dear Miss Laurence—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now spare me, kind reader; I was never good at -a love scene. Only just fancy as pretty a declaration -of love as you ever listened to, or poured from -your own throbbing heart, and you will have the -result of Mr. Gadsby’s interview with the fair Lucia, -the self-styled “champion of her sex”—yet proving -herself a recreant, after all her boasting; for I have -been told, confidentially, that, so far from spurning -this “hollow-breasted Frank Gadsby” from her -feet, when Miss Atwood rather abruptly entered the -drawing-room, she actually found her with her -beautiful head resting on his shoulder, while his -manly arm was thrown around her delicate waist—you -must remember she was an invalid, and required -support!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There is a snug little house not a stone’s throw -from the residence of Mr. Laurence. It is furnished -with perfect neatness and taste, and there, loving -and beloved, our two coquettes have settled themselves -down, in the practice of those domestic virtues -and kindly affections which contribute so -largely to the happiness of life. Frank Gadsby is -now respected as an able lawyer, and bids fair to -attain to great eminence in his profession; and never -did Lucia, even in the most brilliant assembly, receiving -the homage of so many eyes and hearts, -look more lovely than now, as in her neat morning -dress, with her beautiful hair in “braided tramels -’bout her daintie ears,” and</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>“Household motions light and free,</p> -<p class='line0'>And steps of virgin liberty,”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='noindent'>she goes about dispensing order in her cherished -home.</p> - -<hr class='tbk123'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='185' id='Page_185'></span><h1><a id='geni'></a>THE GENIUS OF BYRON.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY REV. J. N. DANFORTH.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Twenty-five years ago it was announced, in an -Edinburgh Journal, by Sir Walter Scott: “That -mighty genius, which walked among men as something -superior to ordinary mortality, and whose -powers were beheld with wonder, and something -approaching to terror, as if we knew not whether -they were of good or of evil, is laid as soundly to -rest as the poor peasant, whose ideas never went -beyond his daily task. The voice of just blame, -and that of malignant censure, are at once silenced; -and we feel almost as if the great luminary of -heaven had suddenly disappeared from the sky, at -the very moment when every telescope was leveled -for the examination of the spots which dimmed its -brightness.” Thus did the great “Wizard of the -North” open his beautiful tribute to the memory of -the Noble Enchanter of the South, within whose -fascinated circle had been drawn the beauty, fashion, -genius and literature of England. It was as if the -light of one star answered to that of another, or as if -the music of the one responded to the dying strains -of the other—each in his exalted sphere, when the -“Great Unknown” thus uttered his voluntary eulogy -on a kindred genius, not to say imperial rival, of the -first magnitude, if the magnanimous spirit of the -former could so conceive of any cotemporary. The -first fervor of admiring enthusiasm of the genius of -Byron having been cooled by the lapse of time, we are -enabled to form a more judicious estimate of it, and -of the treasures it poured forth with such lavish profusion. -It is not now the image of the young lord -we see in the brilliant saloon, surrounded by gay -admirers, with a face of classic beauty, expressive -eyes, an exquisite mouth and chin, hands aristocratically -small and delicately white, while over his -head strayed those luxuriant, dark-brown curls, that -seem to constitute the mystery of finishing beauty -about the immortal brow of man and womankind, -and quite to defy the art of the sculptor. It is not -such an one we see—a living, moving form, like -our own; but we think of the ghastly image of -death, we revert to the form mouldering in its -subterranean bed, relapsing into as common dust as -that of the poorest beggar. But the <span style='font-size:smaller'>MIND</span> remains—that -which has stamped its burning thoughts on the -poetic page; it survives, imperishable, in another, -an etherial sphere. It has sought congenial companionship -in one of the two states of perpetual being, -as inevitably demonstrated by reason as taught -by revelation. Byron himself might scorn to aspire -after celestial purity and glory, but he could draw -with a dark and flagrant pencil the terrors of remorse -and retribution. He believed in the future -existence of the soul, whatever words of ominous -meaning might at times be inserted to complete a -line or to indulge a whim of fancy. “Of the immortality -of the soul,” said he, “it appears to me -there can be but little doubt, if we attend for a moment -to the action of mind; it is in perpetual activity. -I used to doubt it, but reflection has taught me -better. It acts also so very independent of the body—in -dreams, for instance. . . I have often been -inclined to materialism in philosophy, but could -never bear its introduction into Christianity, which -appears to me essentially founded on the soul. For -this reason Priestly’s materialism always struck me -as deadly. Believe the resurrection of the <span class='it'>body</span>, if you -will, but not without the <span class='it'>soul</span>.” Thus there were -times when the “divinity stirred within him,” and -the soul asserted its regal prerogatives, and vindicated -its own expectations of the future. Nay, the -sentiment must have been habitual, for how often is -it naturally implied in the ardor of composition, as -in those beautiful lines:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>“Remember me! Oh, pass not thou my grave,</p> -<p class='line0'>Without one thought whose relics there recline.</p> -<p class='line0'>The only pang my bosom dare not brave,</p> -<p class='line0'>Would be to find forgetfulness in thine.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>But our chief concern is with the <span class='it'>Poet</span> Byron, not -with the Philosopher or the Peer. It has been said that -in reviewing the lives of the most illustrious poets—the -class of intellect in which the characteristic features -of genius are most strongly marked—we shall -find that, from Homer to Byron, they have been -restless and solitary spirits, with minds wrapped up, -like silk-worms, in their own tasks, either strangers -or rebels to domestic ties, and bearing about with -them a deposit for posterity in their souls, to the -jealous watching and enriching of which most all -other thoughts and considerations have been sacrificed. -In accordance with this theory, Pope said: -“One misfortune of extraordinary geniuses is, that -their very friends are more apt to admire than to -love them.” True, they have often “dwelt apart,” -have been so engaged in cultivating the imaginative -faculty, as to become less sensible to the objects of -real life, and have substituted the sensibilities of the -imagination for those of the heart. Thus Dante is -accused of wandering away from his wife and children -to nurse his dream of Beatrice, Petrarch to have -banished his daughter from his roof, while he luxuriated -in poetic and impassioned ideals, Alfieri -always kept away from his mother, and Sterne preferred, -in the somewhat uncouth language of Byron, -“whining over a dead ass to relieving a living -mother.” But did not Milton love his daughter with -an intense tenderness? Than Cowper who a more -filial and devoted son to the memory of his mother? -A fond father as well as faithful son was Campbell. -Burns, too, delighted in his “fruitful vine,” and -“tender olive plants.” In Wordsworth the beauty -and purity of domestic life shone forth to the end. -Southey had a home of love and peace. Scott was -a model of a husband and father. Nothing can exceed -the exquisite tenderness of some passages in -his diary at the death of his wife. Goldsmith was -neither husband nor father, yet his fine poetry never -alienated his heart from the softer scenes and sympathies -of life. It seemed rather to augment their -claims, and the clear current from the fountain -of the imagination is seen to flow right through the -channel of the heart, sparkling with beauty and murmuring -natural music in the enchanted ear. Even -the voluptuous Moore is said to have repaired his -fame and prolonged his days by settling down into -the sobrieties of domestic life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To return to Byron. He might be said to be unfortunate -in his cradle. His young days were brought -under sinister influences and associations. The -youth that is deprived of a healthy maternal guardianship, -is to be pitied. Such was Byron’s lot. -Alternately indulged and abused, petted and irritated, -his temper was formed in a bad mould. Never -could he forget the feeling of horror and humiliation -that came over him when his mother, in one of her -fits of passion, called him a “lame brat.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now, as men of genius, being by a law of genius -itself susceptible of strong impressions, are in the -habit of reproducing those impressions in their -works, a man of a sensitive poetic temperament, like -Byron, and one so highly, so dangerously endowed -with intellect, and a vigorous power of expression, -would give to all these thoughts and associations a -local habitation, a living permanence in poetry, romance, -and even in history, so far as it could be -turned to such a purpose. In his Deformed Transformed, -Bertha says: “Out, hunchback!” Poor -Arnold replies: “I was born so, mother!” If, then, -we find the traits of misanthropy, scorn, hate, revenge, -and others of the serpent brood, so often obtruding -themselves in his poetry as to compel us to -believe they were combined with the very texture -of his thoughts and the action of his imagination, imparting -to it a sombre and menacing aspect, we must -refer much of this melancholy idiosyncracy to his -early education. He was always grieving over the -malformation of his foot. Far more lamentable was -the malformation of his mental habits. But this, -unlike the other, could be corrected. He should -have exerted himself to achieve so noble a victory. -Instead of this he resigned himself to the strength of -the downward current, and was finally dashed -among the rocks, where other stranded wrecks -uttered their warning voice in vain. There did he -take up the affecting lamentation:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>“The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree</p> -<p class='line0'>I planted—they have torn me, and I bleed.</p> -<p class='line0'>I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Goethe said of him, that he was inspired with the -<span class='it'>genius of Pain</span>. The joyous, cheerful spirit that -pervades the works of men who, like Scott and -Southey, were educated under auspicious influences, -and by a healthy process grew up to manhood with -an habitual regard to the sacred sanctions annexed -to their physical and moral being, contrasts strongly -with the morbid, gloomy, and often bitter and sarcastic -temper of that poetry, which seems to flow as -if from some poisoned fountain of Helicon. Sometimes, -indeed, he forgets his fancied wrongs and real -woes, as when walking amid the ruins of imperial -Rome, and kindred contiguities, he throws himself -back into the very bosom of classic antiquity, and -pours out the purest strains of eloquence, enriched -with the glowing sunlight of poetry. For a time -the shadow of the evil spirit appears to depart from -him, and the true glory of his genius shines forth -without a cloud, while the sentiments that rise in -his soul ascend to a pitch of moral sublimity beyond -which the ambition of the human imagination could -not desire to go. In the fourth canto of Childe Harold -his power of conception and expression culminated, -and the publication of that poem called forth -a judgment of the Lord Chief Justice of the Bench -of Literature, Francis Jeffrey, which almost deserves -a coequal immortality with the poem itself, and it is -impossible to account for this splendid piece of criticism -being left out of the recent collection of the elegant -Critic and Essayist, except on the supposition that -the most accomplished judges of other men’s works -are some times incompetent to fix the right estimate -of their own. Genius does not always accurately -weigh its own productions, since Milton preferred -his Paradise Regained to his Paradise Lost, and Byron -himself was inveterately attached to a poem, or -rather a translation, to restrain him from publishing -which cost the strongest efforts of his most influential -friends.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was then a voluntary exile from his native -land, that noble England, which should be dear to all -great men, because the mother of so many; he was -nursing many fictitious sorrows; affecting a scorn -for his country he could not feel; defying the judgments -of men to which he was painfully sensitive; -mourning over the blasted blossoms of domestic -happiness; seeking new sources of gratification, or -old gratifications in new forms; in the <a id='midst'></a>midst of all he -plunges into the arcana of classic lore; he dives into -the crystal depths of classic antiquity, to draw forth -beautiful gems, dripping with the sparkling element, -untainted by its passage through centuries of time. -He reconstructs the whole scene to our view, mingling -his illustrations from those severer arts with the -sweet and graceful touches of a pencil that seems -capable of catching and delineating every form of -beauty that can engage the fancy or awaken the imagination. -We have been filled with admiration, we -have been fired with enthusiasm, at some of these -magnificent strains of poetry, noble ideas, burning -thoughts, assuming precisely the dress, the costume, -which best became them. Whether the poet takes -us along the bank of some classic stream, places us -before some romantic city, flies over the battle-field, -luxuriates in a moonlight scene, lingers amid broken -columns and bubbling fountains, gazes on the splendid -remnants of statues that almost seem instinct -with the breath of life, conducts us to the roaring of -the cataract, across whose dread chasm, “the hell of -waters,” is arched here and there the lovely Iris, -with her seven-fold dyes, “like Hope upon a death-bed,” -then upward passes and beholds the solemn -mountains, the Alps or Appenines, scenes of heroic -daring and suffering, contemplates the mighty ocean, -“dark, heaving, boundless, endless and sublime, the -image of eternity,” over whose bosom ten thousand -fleets have swept, and left no marks; finally, if he -leads us back to the Eternal City, not as in her pride -of place and power, but as oppressed with the -“double night of ages,” as the “Niobe of nations,” -the “lone mother of dead empires,” sitting in solitude, -“an empty urn within her withered hands,” -and draws mighty lessons from all these objects, in -all this we behold the splendor of true genius; we -feel its power; we wonder at the gifts of God thus -bestowed; we tremble at the responsibility of the -man thus rarely endowed by his Creator. That regal -imagination, disdaining at times the vulgarities to -which a depraved heart would subject it, asserts its -native dignity, and as it ranges among more quiet -scenes utters, with the solemnity of a prophet, such -a lesson as this:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>“If from society we learn to live,</p> -<p class='line0'>  ’Tis solitude should teach us how to die.</p> -<p class='line0'>It hath no flatterers; vanity can give</p> -<p class='line0'>  No hollow aid; alone, man with his God must strive.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Besides that <span style='font-size:smaller'>ORIGINALITY</span>, which is a distinguishing -attribute of the genius of Byron, there is in his -language a power of concentration, which adds -greatly to its vigor; some condensing process of -thought is going on, the result of which is much -meaning in few words, and those words kept under -the law of fitness with more than military precision, -yet without constraint. Few feeble words or straggling -lines disfigure his poetry. That infamous effusion -of a putrid mind, Don Juan, has most of them, -while it has also some exquisite gems of beauty. -As the last offspring of a teeming mind, it evidences a -progress in sensual depravity, and an effrontery in -publishing it to the world, seldom adventured by the -most reckless contemner of the opinion of his fellow -men, or the most impious blasphemer of the majesty -of God. Indeed, his moral sense must have reached -that region said to be inhabited by demons, who -“impair the strength of better thoughts,”</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>“Making the sun like blood, the earth a tomb,</p> -<p class='line0'> The tomb a hell, and hell itself a murkier gloom.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>It was of this last, deeply characteristic work, -that Blackwood’s Magazine said, at the time: “In -its composition there is unquestionably a more thorough -and intense infusion of genius and vice, power -and profligacy, than in any poem which had ever -been written in the English, or indeed in any other -modern language.” No poem, perhaps, ever exhibited -a more remarkable mixture of ease, strength, -fluency, gayety, mock-seriousness, and even refined -tenderness of sentiment along with coarse indecency. -Love, honor, purity, patriotism, chastity, religion, -are all set forth or set at naught, just as suits the present, -vagrant fancy of the author. The Edinburgh -Review justly said: “We are acquainted with no -writings so well calculated to extinguish in young -minds all generous enthusiasm and gentle affection, -all respect for themselves, and all love for their -kind; to make them practice and profess hardly -what it teaches them to suspect in others, and actually -to persuade them that it is wise and manly, and -knowing, to laugh, not only at self-denial and restraint, -but at all aspiring ambition, and all warm -and constant affection.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The opinion of admiring and impartial critics, indeed, -was, that the tendency of his writings was to -destroy all belief in the reality of virtue, to make -constancy of devotion ridiculous; not so much by -direct maxims and examples of an imposing or seducing -kind, as by the habitual exhibition of the -most profligate heartlessness in the persons who had -been represented as actuated by the purest and most -exalted emotions, and in the lessons of that same -teacher who, a moment before, was so pathetic and -eloquent in the expression of the loftiest conceptions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>How nobly different was Burns, the peer of Byron -in genius—analogous to him, as well in the strength -of passion as in the beauty of imagination; attracted, -like him, by the Circean cup, absorbed at times in -his convivialities, but never jesting with virtue, -jeering at religion, or scorning the recollections of a -pious home and a praying father. They rose by the -force of their genius—they fell by the strength of -their passions; but the fall of the one was only a -repetition of the lapses of apostate humanity—guilty, -indeed, but profoundly self-lamented, often expiated -in tears wept on the bosom of domestic affection. The -fall of the other was like that of the arch-angel ruined, -defying Omnipotence, even when rolling in agony on -a sea of fire. Even when feeding his fancy and invigorating -his imagination amid the rural charms -and sublimities of Switzerland, Byron thus writes in -his journal: “I am a lover of nature and an admirer -of beauty. I can bear fatigue and welcome privation, -and have seen some of the noblest views in -the world. But in all this, the recollection of bitterness, -and more especially of more recent and -more home desolation, which must accompany me -through life, have preyed upon me here; and neither -the music of the shepherd, the crashing of the avalanche, -nor the torrent, the mountain, the glacier, -the forest, nor the cloud, have for one moment -lightened the weight upon my heart, nor enabled me -to lose my own wretched identity in the majesty, and -the power, and the glory around, above, and beneath -me.” Or, as expressed in another form:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>            “——I have thought</p> -<p class='line0'>Too long and darkly, till my brain became,</p> -<p class='line0'>In its own eddy, boiling and o’er wrought—</p> -<p class='line0'>A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Why all this? A part of the secret is disclosed -by himself, in a letter to his friend Dallas: “My -whole life has been at variance with propriety, not -to say decency. . . . My friends are dead or -estranged, and my existence a dreary void.” It had -not been so had passion been held in check by principle, -instead of principle being subjected to passion. -There is, indeed, too much reason to believe the -truth, that in connection with great versatility of -powers, there is too often found a tendency to versatility -of principle. So the unprincipled Chatterton -said: “he held that man in contempt who -could not write on both sides of a question.” Byron -delights in sketching the most odd and opposite sorts -and styles of pictures, and in abruptly bringing into -rude collision the most opposite principles, as if he -would amuse himself with the shock while he distresses -the sensibilities of others. His powers were -mighty, various, beautiful; but they needed adjustment. -There was no regular balance-wheel in his -intellectual and moral system. In another, or more -painful sense, than the pensive and drooping genius -of Cowper expressed it, might Byron say:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>“The howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed,</p> -<p class='line0'>Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost,</p> -<p class='line0'>And day by day some current’s thwarting force</p> -<p class='line0'>Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>His refined and exquisite sense of the beautiful in -poesy could not be surpassed. His pictures of mortal -loveliness are quite inimitable, and there is at times -in the strains of his muse, in the very structure of -his language, a tenderness, which it would seem impossible -could co-exist with that severity so often, so -naturally sharpening into sarcasm, as if it were a -part of the staple of his mind. The lash of criticism -having first roused up the dormant energies of his -genius, his first impulse was to seize the sharpest -weapons of satire he could find, and even the poisoned -arrows of vituperation and slander, and with a power -and precision of archery seldom surpassed, to take -his full measure of retaliation. Nay, he became so -fond of the sport, or so unable otherwise to satisfy -his revenge, that he multiplied innocent victims, -assailing his own relations, and even the noble, generous, -genial Scott, whose maxim it was never to -provoke or be provoked, especially in his intercourse -with the irritable tribe of authors. Firmly and -calmly Scott resolved to receive the fire of all sorts -of assailants, who were engaged in the “raving -warfare of satire, parody, and sarcasm.” This sudden, -bellicose production of Byron’s impulsive -genius—English Bards and Scotch Reviewers—cost -even him shame and sorrow the rest of his life. But -still he was ever fond of sailing on that quarter. His -impulses must ever be of the fiery, fitful kind. It is -a wonder that, among all his paradoxes and peregrinations, -he did not pay a visit to the <span class='it'>Dead Sea</span>. That -<span class='it'>would</span> have been a congenial pilgrimage for Childe -Harold; and, then, for such a drake as he was to -swim in its waters! The exploit of Leander was only -repeated by him from Sestus to Abydos. The other -would have been an original feat, worthy of the taste -of a man who preferred drinking out of a skull to the -usual mode of potation out of the ordinary goblets of -civilization.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Severe, scornful, passionate, vengeful, as he often -was, how do those stern features relax, and the -milder sensibilities rise into tender exercise, when, -as a father in exile, he writes:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>“My daughter! with thy name this song begun,</p> -<p class='line0'>  My daughter! with thy name thus much shall end.</p> -<p class='line0'>I see thee not—I hear thee not—but none</p> -<p class='line0'>  Can be so wrapt in thee; thou art the friend</p> -<p class='line0'>To whom the shadows of far years extend;</p> -<p class='line0'>  Albeit my brow thou never shouldst behold,</p> -<p class='line0'>My voice shall with thy future visions blend,</p> -<p class='line0'>And reach into thy heart—when mine is cold,</p> -<p class='line0'>A token and a tone, even from thy father’s mould.”</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus, with a certain style of uniformity everywhere -observable, especially in his characters, there -is much variety of thought, emotion and passion, -evidential of great fertility of mind. If he does reproduce -the same hero under different names, and -even give strong indications of his identification with -himself, still the wand of the enchanter invests him -with so many brilliant aspects, places him in so -many imposing attitudes, as to produce all the effect of -novelty. His muse less delights in planning incidents -and grouping characters, than in working out, as -with the sculptor’s energetic art, single, stern, -striking models of heroic humanity, albeit stained -with dangerous vices. His very genius has been -declared to be inspired with the classic enthusiasm -that has produced some of the most splendid specimens -of the chisel; “his heroes stand alone, as upon -marble pedestals, displaying the naked power of -passion, or the wrapped up and reposing energy of -grief.” Medora, Gulnare, Lara, Manfred, Childe -Harold, might each furnish an original from which -the sculptor could execute copies, that would stand -the proud impressive symbols of manliness or of loveliness, -satisfying even those intense dreams of beauty -which poets and lovers sometimes indulge in their -solitary musings.</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>“There, too, the goddess loves in stone, and fills</p> -<p class='line0'>The air around with beauty; we inhale</p> -<p class='line0'>The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils</p> -<p class='line0'>Part of its immortality.” <span class='sc'>Childe Harold.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This poem, indeed, is a perfect gallery of art, -whose paintings and statues are drawn and fashioned -from the life, with the skill of a consummate master -and the facility of a powerful creative, divinely endowed -genius. He places his hand on the broad canvas -of life, and behold the figures that rise under -his magic pencil! They are, indeed, too often dark, -stern, mysterious and awful, stained with vices, and -pre-doomed, for their guilt, to the pains of a terrible -reprobation. With such characters the genius of -Byron had a strange sympathy. Hence his admiration -of that historical passage in the Scriptures, -in which the crime and the doom of Saul is so -solemnly set forth at the tomb of the prophet Samuel, -whose sepulchral slumbers were so rudely disturbed -by the intrusion of the anxious and distressed monarch, -now forsaken by his God. Shakspeare, having -finished off one of these dark and repulsive pictures, -as in his Macbeth or Lear, passes to the sketching of -more cheerful and even humorous portraits; but -Byron, for the most part, delights to dwell in darkness. -Thus, in this poem, when the curse is imprecated, -the time midnight, the scene the ruined site -of the temple of the Furies, the auditors the ghosts of -departed years, the imprecator a spirit fallen from -an unwonted height of glory to the depths of wo. -Principals and accessaries assume the sombre coloring -of his imagination, from which, however, at -times, shoots a gleam of beauty, that imparts loveliness -to the whole scene. Milton, with his almost -perfect sense of beauty, and the fitness of things, -would never have put such words as these in the -mouth of his Eve:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>“May the grass wither from thy foot! the woods</p> -<p class='line0'>Deny thee shelter—earth a home—the dust</p> -<p class='line0'>A grave! the sun his light! and Heaven her God!”</p> -<p class='line0' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;'><span class='sc'>Cain.</span></p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>It was quite suitable for Byron to talk so in his -Cain, but he has not unsettled the position of the -world’s estimate of its first mother, so firmly established -by Milton. He was, at the time, perhaps, -thinking of himself as Cain, and of his own mother -as in one of her imprecating paroxysms. Alas, that -he should have gone on in lawless indulgence, insulting, -both in poetry and practice, the sanctity of -domestic, heaven-constituted, earth-blessing ties, -until, after an abortive, ill-directed struggle for poor -Greece, he sunk into an early grave, at 36 aet., the -very meridian of life! He was never satisfied with -his earthly lot, not even with the rare gifts of his -genius, nor with the achievements it made. He -professed to consider a poet, no matter what his eminence, -as quite a secondary character to a great -statesman or warrior. As he had failed in the first -character, he resolved to try the second, and strike -for the liberty he had sung. But Fame had no place -for him in this part of her temple. With the rest of -the tuneful tribe, he descends to the judgment of -posterity as a <span class='sc'>Poet</span>; with all men of genius above -the million, as more deeply responsible than they to -the author of all mercies; with all men whatever, -as a <span style='font-size:smaller'>MORAL AND IMMORTAL BEING</span>, accountable at -the tribunal of God.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The mind would fail in any attempt to estimate -the immense influence of his genius and writings -upon the youthful mind and morals of the past generation—an -influence to be augmented in a geometrical -ratio in the future. What is written, is -written, constituting a portion of the active influence -circulating in the world—not to be recalled, not to -be extinguished, but to move on to the end of time, -and finally to be met by its originator, where all -illusions will vanish, and all truth, justice and purity -be vindicated.</p> - -<hr class='tbk124'/> - -<div><h1><a id='outw'></a>OUTWARD BOUND.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>Fare ye well, our native valleys,</p> -<p class='line'>  And our native hills farewell;</p> -<p class='line'>Though we part, your blessed memory</p> -<p class='line'>  Shall be with us like a spell:—</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>For with you are souls in silence</p> -<p class='line'>  Breathing for us hopes and prayers,</p> -<p class='line'>Loving eyes that weep in secret</p> -<p class='line'>  Gazing on the vacant chairs.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Tender hearts made dear unto us</p> -<p class='line'>  By unnumbered sacred ties,</p> -<p class='line'>Bend at eve their tearful vision</p> -<p class='line'>  To the stars that o’er us rise.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>There are children, darling children,</p> -<p class='line'>  In the April of their years,</p> -<p class='line'>In their play they cease and call us,</p> -<p class='line'>  And their laughter melts to tears.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>There are maidens overshadowed</p> -<p class='line'>  With a transient cloud of May,</p> -<p class='line'>There are wives who sit in sorrow</p> -<p class='line'>  Like a rainy summer day.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>There our parents sit dejected</p> -<p class='line'>  In the darkness of their grief,</p> -<p class='line'>Mourning their last hope departed</p> -<p class='line'>  As the autumn mourns its leaf.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>But the prayers of these are with us</p> -<p class='line'>  Till the winds that fill the sails</p> -<p class='line'>Seem to be the breath of blessings</p> -<p class='line'>  From our native hills and vales.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Then farewell, the breeze is with us,</p> -<p class='line'>  And our vessel ploughs the foam;</p> -<p class='line'>God, who guides the good ship seaward</p> -<p class='line'>  Will protect the loved at home.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk125'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i119.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0001' style='width:450px;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span class='bold'>HE COMES NOT.</span><br/> <br/><span style='font-size:smaller'>Painted by W. Brown and Engraved expressly for Graham's Magazine by W. Holl</span></p> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk126'/> - -<div><h1><a id='comes'></a>HE COMES NOT.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;'><span class='bold'>[WITH AN ENGRAVING.]</span></p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY C. SWAIN.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>Night throws her silver tresses back,</p> -<p class='line'>  And o’er the mountain-tops afar</p> -<p class='line'>She leaves a soft and moonlight track,</p> -<p class='line'>  More glorious than the day-beams are;</p> -<p class='line'>And while she steers her moonlight <a id='barq2'></a>barque</p> -<p class='line'>  Along that starry river now,</p> -<p class='line'>Each leaf, each flower, each bending bough,</p> -<p class='line'>  Starts into beauty from the dark;</p> -<p class='line'>Each path appears a silver line,</p> -<p class='line'>And naught in earth—but all divine.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Oh, never light of moon was shed</p> -<p class='line'>Upon a maid’s more timid tread;</p> -<p class='line'>And never star of heaven shone</p> -<p class='line'>On face more fair to look upon.</p> -<p class='line'>Hark! was not that a whisper light?</p> -<p class='line'>A step—a movement—yet so slight,</p> -<p class='line'>That silence holds its breath in vain</p> -<p class='line'>To catch that fleeting sound again.</p> -<p class='line'>Well may’st thou start, lone, timid dove,</p> -<p class='line'>To-night he comes not to thy love.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk127'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='190' id='Page_190'></span><h1><a id='rail'></a>RAIL AND RAIL SHOOTING.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF FRANK FORESTER’S “FIELD SPORTS,” “FISH AND FISHING,” ETC.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/i126.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0002' style='width:450px;height:auto;'/> -<p class='caption'><span class='bold'>THE VIRGINIA RAIL. (<span class='it'>Rallus Virginianus.</span>)</span><br/><span class='bold'>THE SORA RAIL. (<span class='it'>Rallus Carolinensis.</span>)</span></p> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>With the present month commences the pursuit of this -singular and delicious species of game, and, although as -a sport it is not to be compared with the bolder and more -varied interest of shooting over dogs on the upland, still -the great numbers which are killed, and the rapidity with -which shot after shot is discharged in succession, render -Rail-shooting a very favorite pastime, more especially -with the sportsmen of Philadelphia, in the vicinity of -which city this curious little bird is found in the greatest -abundance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Of the <span class='it'>rallidæ</span>, or Rail family, there are many varieties -in America, all of them more or less aquatic in their habits, -and none of them being, as the Corncrake, or Land Rail, -of Europe, purely terrestrial; though the little Yellow-Breasted, -or New York Rail, <span class='it'>Rallus Noveboracencis</span>, approaches -the most nearly to that type, being frequently -killed in upland stubble or fallow fields.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The principal of these species, and those most worthy -of notice, are—the Clapper Rail, or great Salt-Water Rail, -variously known as the Meadow Hen, or Mud Hen; found -very extensively along all the tide morasses, and salt -meadows of the Atlantic coast, but more especially on -the shores of Long Island, and in New Jersey, at Barnegat -and Egg Harbor. This, the scientific name of which -is <span class='it'>Rallus crepitans</span>, is the largest of the species; it is shot -from row boats in high spring tides, when the water has -risen so much as to render it impossible for the Rails -either to escape by running, which they do at other times -with singular fleetness, baffling the best dogs by the -celerity with which they pass between the thick-set stalks -of the reeds and wild oats, constituting their favorite -covert, or to lurk unseen among the dense herbage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This Rail, like all its race, is a slow and heavy flyer, -flapping awkwardly along with its legs hanging down and -a laborious flutter of the wings. It is, of course, very -easily shot, even by a bungler, and there is little or no -sport in the pursuit, though its flesh is tender and delicate, -so that it is pursued on that account with some eagerness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Second to the Clapper Rail, in size, and infinitely superior -to it in beauty and excellence of flesh, is the King -Rail, <span class='it'>Rallus elegans</span>, which is by far the handsomest of -the species. It is commonly known as the Fresh-Water -Meadow Hen, though it is not with us to the northward a -frequent or familiar visitant, the Delaware river being for -the most part its northeastern limit, and very few being -killed to the eastward of that boundary. A few are found, -it is true, from time to time, in New Jersey, and it has -occurred on Long Island, and in the southern part of New -York, though rather as an exception than as a rule.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Next to these come the Virginia Rail, which is represented -to the right hand of the cut at the head of this -paper, and the Sora, which accompanies it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Virginia Rail, <span class='it'>Rallus Virginianus</span>, notwithstanding -its nomenclature, which would seem to indicate its -peculiar local habitation, is very generally found throughout -the United States, and very far to the northward of -the Old Dominion. I have myself killed it in the State of -Maine, as well as in New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania, -at the marsh of the <span class='it'>Aux Canards</span> river, in Canada -East, and on the head waters of the Lake Huron Rivers. -In the great wild rice marshes of the St. Clair river, the -Virginia Rail, like most of the aquatic birds and waders, -is very common. It is rather more upland in its habits -than its companion, the Sora, which delights in the wettest -tide-flowed swamps where the foot of man can scarcely -tread, being frequently killed by the Snipe-shooter in wet -inland meadows, which is rarely or never the case with -the Sora.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Virginia Rail is, however, not unfrequently found -in company with the other on the mud flats of the Delaware, -and, with it, is shot from skiffs propelled by a pole -through the reed beds at high water.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Virginia Rail is a pretty bird, measuring about eight -inches in length. The bill is about an inch long, slightly -decurved, red at the base and black at the extremity; the -nostrils linear. The top of the head is dark-brown, with -a few pale yellowish streaks; a blackish band extends -from the base of the bill to the eye, and a large, ash-colored -spot, commencing above the eye posteriorily, occupies -the whole of the cheeks. The throat, breast, and belly, -so far as to the thighs, which partake the same color, are -of a rich fulvous red, deepest on the belly. The upper -parts, back of the neck, scapulars, and rump, are dark -blackish-brown, irregularly streaked and dashed with pale -yellowish-olive. The wing-coverts are bright bay, the -quills and tail blackish-brown. The vent black, every -feather margined with white. The legs are red, naked a -little way up the tibia. It is a very rapid runner, but -flies heavily. It affords a succulent and highly flavored -dish, and is accordingly very highly prized, though scarcely -equal in this respect to its congener, the Sora, which is -regarded by many persons as the most delicious of all -game, though for my own part I would postpone it to the -Canvas-Back, <span class='it'>Fuligula valisneria</span>, the Upland Plover, -<span class='it'>Totanus Bartramius</span>, and the Pinnated Grouse, or Prairie -Fowl, <span class='it'>Tetrao cupido</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Sora Rail, <span class='it'>Rallus Carolinus</span>, which is more especially -the subject of this paper, is somewhat inferior in -size to the last species, and is easily distinguished from it -by the small, round head, and short bill, in which it differs -from all the rest of its family. This bill is scarcely half -an inch in length, unusually broad at the base, and tapering -regularly to a bluntly rounded point. At the base -and through nearly the whole length of the lower mandible -it is pale greenish-yellow, horn-colored at the tip. -The crown of the head, nape, and shoulders, are of a -uniform pale olive-brown, with a medial black stripe on -the crown. The cheeks, throat, and breast, pale rufous -brown, fading into rufous white on the belly, which is -mottled with broad transverse gray lines. The back, -scapulars, wing-coverts, and rump, are olive-brown, -broadly patched with black, and having many of the -feathers margined longitudinally with white, the quills -dark blackish-brown, the tail dark reddish-brown. The -lower parts from the tail posteriorily to the vent transversely -banded with black and white. The legs long and -slender, bare a short way up the tibia, of a pale greenish -hue. The iris of the eye is bright chestnut. The male -bird has several black spots on the neck.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This bird is migratory in the United States, passing along -the sea-coast as well as in the interior; a few breed in -New Jersey, on the Raritan, Passaic, and Hackensack -rivers; but on the Delaware and its tributaries, which -abound with wild rice, it is exceedingly abundant, as it is -also in the great northwestern lakes and rivers which are -all plentifully supplied with this its favorite food. It is -rarely killed in New York or to the eastward, though a -few are found on the flats of the Hudson. It winters for -the most part to the south of the United States, although -a few pass the cold season in the tepid swamps and morasses -of Florida and Louisiana. All this is now ascertained -beyond doubt, but till within a few years all sorts -of strange fabulous tales have been in circulation concerning -the habits of this bird; arising from the circumstance -of its very sudden and mysterious arrival and disappearance -on its breeding-grounds, the marshes being one day -literally alive with them, and the next solitary and deserted. -Add to this its difficult, short, and laborious flight, -apparently so inadequate to the performance of migrations -thousands of miles in length, and it will be easy to conceive -that the vulgar, the ignorant, and the prejudiced, -should have been unable to comprehend the possibility of -its aërial voyages, and should have endeavored to account -for their disappearance by insisting that they burrow into -the mud and become torpid during the winter, as I have -myself heard men maintain, incredulous and obstinate -against conviction. Audubon has thought it necessary -gravely, and at some length, to controvert this absurd -fallacy, and in doing so has recorded the existence of a -planter on the James River, in Virginia, who is well convinced -that the Sora changes in the autumn into a frog, -and resumes its wings and plumage in the spring, thus renewing -the absurd old legend of Gerardus Cambrensis in -relation to the tree which bears shell-fish called <span class='it'>barnacles</span>, -whence in due season issue <span class='it'>barnacle geese</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Sora Rail arrives in the Northern States in April or -May. I saw one killed myself this spring in a deep tide -marsh on the Salem creek, near Pennsville, in New Jersey, -on the 25th of the former month, which was in pretty good -condition. They migrate so far north as to Hudson’s -Bay, where they arrive early in June, and depart again -for the south early in the autumn. They breed in May -and June, making an inartificial nest of dry grass, usually -in a tussock in the marsh, and laying four or five eggs of -dirty white, with brown or blackish-white spots. The -young run as soon as they are hatched, and skulk about -in the grass like young mice, being covered with black -down. The Sora Rail is liable to a curious sort of epileptic -fit, into which it appears to fall in consequence of the -paroxysms of fear or rage to which it is singularly -liable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The following account of the habits and the method of -shooting this bird, from Wilson’s great work on the Birds -of America, is so admirably graphic, truthful, and life-like, -that I prefer transcribing it for my own work on -Field Sports, into which I copied it entire as incomparably -superior to any thing I have elsewhere met on the subject, -to recording it myself with, perhaps, inferior vigor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Early in August, when the reeds along the shores of -the Delaware have attained their full growth, the Rail -resort to them in great numbers, to feed on the seeds of -this plant, of which they, as well as the Rice-birds, and -several others, are immoderately fond. These reeds, -which appear to be the <span class='it'>Zizania panicula effusa</span> of Linnæus, -and the <span class='it'>Zizania clavulosa</span> of Willenden, grow up -from the soft muddy shores of the tide-water, which are, -alternately, dry, and covered with four or five feet of -water. They rise with an erect tapering stem, to the -height of eight or ten feet, being nearly as thick below as -a man’s wrist, and cover tracts along the river for many -acres. The cattle feed on their long, green leaves, with -avidity, and wade in after them as far as they dare safely -venture. They grow up so close together, that except at -or near high water, a boat can with difficulty make its -way through among them. The seeds are produced at the -top of the plant, the blossoms, or male parts, occupying -the lower branches of the <a id='pan'></a>panicle, and the seeds the -higher. The seeds are nearly as long as a common-sized -pin, somewhat more slender, white, sweet to the taste, -and very nutritive, as appears by their effects on the -various birds that feed on them at this season. When the -reeds are in this state, and even while in blossom, the -Rail are found to have taken possession of them in great -numbers. These are generally numerous, in proportion to -the full and promising crop of the former. As you walk -along the embankment of the river, at this season, you -hear them squeaking in every direction, like young puppies. -If a stone be thrown among the reeds, there is a general -outcry, and a reiterated <span class='it'>kuk, kuk, kuk</span>—something like -that of a Guinea-fowl. Any sudden noise, or discharge -of a gun, produces the same effect. In the meantime, none -are to be seen, unless it be at or near high water—for -when the tide is low, they universally secrete themselves -among the insterstices of the reeds; and you may walk -past, and even over them, where there are hundreds, -without seeing a single individual. On their first arrival, -they are generally lean and unfit for the table, but as the -seeds ripen, they rapidly fatten, and from the 20th September -to the middle of October, are excellent, and eagerly -sought after. The usual method of shooting them in this -quarter of the country is as follows.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The sportsman furnishes himself with a light batteau, -and a stout, experienced boatman, with a pole of twelve -or fifteen feet long, thickened at the lower end, to prevent -it from sinking too deep in the mud. About two hours or -so before high water, they enter the reeds, and each takes -his post—the sportsman standing in the bow, ready for -action, the boatman on the stern-seat, pushing her steadily -through the reeds. The Rail generally spring singly as -the boat advances, and at a short distance a-head, are -instantly shot down, while the boatman, keeping his eye -on the spot where the bird fell, directs the boat forward, -and picks the bird up, while the gunner is loading. It is -also the boatman’s business to keep a sharp look out, and -give the word ‘Mark,’ when a Rail springs on either side, -without being observed by the sportsman, and to note the -exact spot where it falls, until he has picked it up; for -this once lost sight of, owing to the sameness in the appearance -of the reeds, is seldom found again. In this -manner the boat moves steadily through and over the -reeds, the birds flushing and falling, the gunner loading -and firing, while the boatman is pushing and picking up. -The sport continues an hour or two after high water, -when the shallowness of the water, and the strength and -weight of the floating reeds, as also the backwarkness of -the game to spring, as the tide decreases, oblige them to -return. Several boats are sometimes within a short distance -of each other, and a perpetual cracking of musketry -prevails above the whole reedy shores of the river. In -these excursions, it is not uncommon for an active and expert -marksman to kill ten or twelve dozen in a tide. They -are usually shot singly, though I have known five killed -at one discharge of a double-barrelled piece. These instances, -however, are rare. The flight of these birds -among the reeds, is usually low, and shelter being abundant, -is rarely extended to more than fifty or one hundred -yards. When winged, and uninjured in their legs, they -swim and dive with great rapidity, and are seldom seen -to rise again. I have several times, on such occasions, -discovered them clinging with their feet to the reeds -under the water, and at other times skulking under the -reeds, with their bills just above the surface; sometimes, -when wounded, they dive, and rising under the gunwale -of the boat, secrete themselves there, moving round as the -boat moves, until they have an opportunity of escaping -unnoticed. They are feeble and delicate in every thing -except the legs, which seem to possess great vigor and -energy; and their bodies being so remarkably thin, and -compressed so as to be less than an inch and a quarter -through transversely, they are enabled to pass between -the reeds like rats. When seen, they are almost constantly -jetting up the tail, yet though their flight among the reeds -seems feeble and fluttering, every sportsman who is acquainted -with them here, must have seen them occasionally -rising to a considerable height, stretching out their -legs behind them, and flying rapidly across the river, -where it is more than a mile in width. Such is the -mode of Rail shooting in the neighborhood of Philadelphia.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In Virginia, particularly along the shores of James -River, within the tide-water, where the Rail, or Sora, are -found in prodigious numbers, they are also shot on the -wing, but more usually taken at night in the following -manner:—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A kind of iron grate is fixed on the top of a stout pole, -which is placed like a mast in a light canoe, and filled -with fire. The darker the night, the more successful is -the sport. The person who manages the canoe, is provided -with a light paddle, ten or twelve feet in length; -and about an hour before high water, proceeds through -among the reeds, which lie broken and floating on the -surface. The whole space, for a considerable way -round the canoe, is completely enlightened—the birds -start with astonishment, and, as they appear, are knocked -over the head with a paddle, and thrown into the canoe. -In this manner, from twenty to eighty dozen have -been killed by three negroes in the short space of three -hours.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At the same season, or a little earlier, they are very -numerous in the lagoons near Detroit, on our northern -frontier, where another species of reed, of which they are -equally fond, grows in shallows, in great abundance. -Gentlemen who have shot them there, and on whose judgment -I can rely, assure me that they differ in nothing from -those they have usually killed on the shores of the Delaware -and Schuylkill; they are equally fat, and exquisite -eating.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To this I shall only add, that a very light charge of -powder and three-quarters of an oz. of No. 9 shot will be -found quite sufficient to kill this slow flying bird. I have -found it an excellent plan to have a square wooden box, -with two compartments, one holding ten lbs. of shot, with -a small tin scoop, containing your charge, and the other -containing a <span class='it'>quantum suff.</span> of wadding, placed on the -thwarts of the boat, before you, and to lay your powder -flask beside it, by doing which you will save much time -in loading; a great desideratum where birds rise in such -quick succession as these will do at times, a couple of -hundred being some times killed by one gun in a single -tide.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A landing net on a long light pole will be found -very convenient for recovering dead birds. No rules are -needed for killing rail, as they lie so close and fly so -slowly that a mere bungler can scarce miss them, unless -he either gets flurried or tumbles overboard. When dead -he is to be roasted, underdone, like the snipe, served on a -slice of crisp buttered toast, with no condiment save a -little salt and his own gravy. If you are wise, gentle -reader, you will lay his ghost to rest with red wine—Burgundy -if you can get it, if not, with claret. For supper -he is undeniable, and I confess that, for my own part, I -more appreciate the pleasure of eating, than the sport of -slaying him; and so peace to him for the present, of -which he surely will enjoy but little after the twentieth -of September, until the early frosts shall drive him to his -asylums, in the far southern wilds and waters.</p> - -<hr class='tbk128'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='193' id='Page_193'></span><h1><a id='fine'></a>THE FINE ARTS.</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Twenty-Seventh Annual Exhibition of the Pennsylvania -Academy of the Fine Arts.</span>—Viewed in all -its bearings and relations, we believe this to have been -the most important exhibition of this excellent institution. -Not that we think the present by any means the best collection -of paintings we remember to have seen in these -same rooms. We believe it is generally known that for -some time past a considerable business has been done in -the way of importing paintings, statues, etc., for purposes -of speculation. Through the exertions of the individuals -engaged in this traffic, scores of foreign pictures have -been scattered over the country. With this business it is -not our purpose to meddle. Undoubtedly these gentlemen -possess the right to invest their money in whatever will -yield the largest per centage, and we are glad to perceive -that a fondness for art exists to such an extent as tempts -shrewd speculators and financiers to enter into operations -of this description. But, keeping in view the state of -affairs induced by the exertions of these gentlemen, no -surprise will exist in the mind of any one at the unparalleled -interest created in the public mind by the announcement -that the Directors of the Pennsylvania Academy of -Fine Arts, impelled by a laudable desire to patronize art -and artists, had offered certain “prizes or sums of money,” -to be competed for by artists all over the world. -The mere announcement put public curiosity on the <span class='it'>qui -vive</span>. Expectation was on tip-toe. At length, after protracted -delay, on the 16th of May last, the Academy was -thrown open to the public.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The two galleries—the south-east and the north-east—those -usually appropriated to the new works, contained -one hundred and eighty pictures, which, with some half -dozen scattered through the old collection, made about -one hundred and ninety new pictures, by modern artists. -Of this number some seventy or eighty were foreign—the -majority of these German. How many were submitted -for the “prizes or sums of money” we are not informed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>328 of the catalogue—Death of Abel, etc., by <span class='sc'>Edward -du Jardin</span>, is probably, so far as subject is involved, the -most important work in the collection. As a whole, we -look on these pictures as a failure, as a <span class='it'>dead failure</span>. -Parts of the works are well drawn, and carefully, even -laboriously studied, but what could be more absurd than -the habiliments, attitude and expression of the angel in -the first of the three? The Adam in the centre is a regular -<span class='it'>property</span> figure—one of those <span class='it'>stock</span> studies which embellish -the portfolio of every young artist who has ever been -to Europe. The attitude and expression are such as can -be purchased by the franc’s worth from any one of the -scores of models to be found in almost every city in Europe. -The Eve possesses more of the character of a repentant -Magdalene than the “mother of mankind.” The -third picture is to our mind the best; but, taken all together, -the works are barely passable—not by any means -what we should have expected from a professor of painting -in one of the first schools in Europe. Religious art -requires abilities and perceptions of the first order—feelings -different from any manifested in this production.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Of a different order is 56—Rouget de Lisle, a French -officer, singing for the first time the Marsellaise Hymn, -(of which he was the author,) at the house of the Mayor -of Strasburg, 1792—Painted by <span class='sc'>Godfroi Guffens</span>. Every -thing here is fire and enthusiasm—the enthusiasm that -ought to pervade <span class='it'>every work of art</span>—which makes the intelligent -spectator <span class='it'>feel</span> as the artist felt in its production. -We have heard various and conflicting remarks made -upon this work, and the general feeling among competent -judges is that it is the best of the foreign works. In our -opinion it is, perhaps, <span class='it'>the best</span> modern picture in the collection. -The grouping, actions, and expressions of the -figures are in admirable keeping with the subject, and the -color is rich, agreeable, and subdued.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Murray’s Defense of Toleration.</span>—<span class='sc'>P. F. Rothermel.</span> -If to the exquisite qualities of color, composition, etc., -Mr. Rothermel would add (we know he can) <span class='it'>expression</span>, -he would unquestionably be <span class='it'>the</span> historical painter of America. -In a refined, intellectual perception of the general -character of his subject, Mr. R. is unsurpassed, perhaps -unapproached by any painter in the country. His pictures -give evidence of the greatest care and study—no part <a id='part'></a>is -slighted—nothing done with the “that will do” feeling, -which dreads labor. The picture under consideration -embraces a great number of figures—in fact the <a id='canv'></a>canvas is -literally covered, but not crowded, every inch giving evidence -of intelligence and design. Concerning the work, -we have heard, from the public press as well as from individuals, -but one expression, that of the strongest commendation—in -which we heartily concur.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>150, from the Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act IV., -Scene 1st., also by Mr. <span class='sc'>Rothermel</span>, is conceived in the -true feeling of the great poet. The figures of Bottom, and -Titania and the other fairies, are fine conceptions. Some -comparatively unimportant defects in drawing might be -remedied, without injuring the general effect.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. <span class='sc'>Winner</span> contributes a large work—Peter Healing -the Lame Man at the Beautiful Gate of the Temple. This -picture possesses great merit, and evinces a most commendable -ambition. The grouping is well managed—the -expressions of Peter and John are good—the cripple capital. -A stumpy shortness of the figures mars the general -character of this otherwise beautiful production. Mr. -Winner paints drapery well, and perhaps unconsciously -loads his figures with it. This defect is conspicuous in -his grand work of “Christ raising the Daughter of Jairus,” -now in our Art Union Gallery. The heads and extremities -of Mr. Winner’s pictures are perfect studies of -color and modeling, and evince a masterly knowledge of -anatomy. We should be rejoiced to see the efforts of our -artists liberally sustained, as they ought to be, in the -higher departments of art.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>41, The Happy Moment—105, The Recovery—<span class='sc'>Carl -Hubner</span>. These, no doubt, are <span class='it'>popular</span> works—as works -of certain classes always will be. We have heard much -said in praise of them. They are beautifully, exquisitely -painted—especially the “Happy Moment,” in which the -color and execution are admirable. But in <span class='it'>sentiment</span>, -or any of the <span class='it'>ideal</span> qualities of such subjects, they are -lamentably deficient. Like nearly all the German painters, -Carl Hubner possesses much greater <span class='it'>executive</span> than <span class='it'>imaginative</span> -powers—he is more of a <span class='it'>mechanic</span> than an <span class='it'>artist</span>. -He gratifies the <span class='it'>eye</span> at the expense of the <span class='it'>mind</span>. Surely -rustic love is suggestive of something more than any -thing hinted at in the “Happy Moment.” “The Recovery” -is composed of the usual conventional material -of such subjects—a simpering physician, with a nice diamond -ring on his finger, friends, with the old, upturned -eyes and clasped hands, are mechanically put together—all -standing or sitting evidently on purpose to be painted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In landscape, the best works in the collection are Nos. -35 and 136, by <span class='sc'>Diday</span>, a Geneva artist—a Moonlight, No. -46, <span class='sc'>B. Stange</span>, and No. 78, a Roman Aqueduct at Alcala, -with caravans of muleteers, <span class='sc'>F. Bossuet</span>. The two first -are grand and imposing representations of scenery in the -High Alps—in color they are deep and rich in tone. The -Moonlight, by Stange, is the best we have ever seen. -The tremulous luminousness of the moonshine is rendered -with matchless truth. The Roman Aqueduct, by Bossuet, -is, beyond question, the finest landscape in the collection. -Sunlight, local color, and texture were never painted -with greater truth than in this splendid production. Light -and heat pervade every nook and corner of the picture, -from the dry, dusty foreground, off to the distant mountains -which close the scene. The work furnishes a grand -example of artistic execution and detail. No 52—Lake -George—<span class='sc'>Russel Smith</span>—is a beautiful piece of open daylight -effect, possessing great truth. A Scene on the North -River—<span class='sc'>Paul Weber</span>—possesses much merit. The color -is fresh and natural, and the sky is the best we have seen -by this artist.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the Marine department we have works from <span class='sc'>Schotel</span>, -<span class='sc'>De Groot</span>, <span class='sc'>Pleysier</span>, <span class='sc'>Mozin</span>, and other foreign -artists, and from <span class='sc'>Birch</span>, <span class='sc'>Bonfield</span>, and <span class='sc'>Hamilton</span>, American. -Hamilton stands preeminent in this department—his -“Thunder Storm,” and a poetic subject from Rogers’ -Columbus, are the best marines in the Academy. All his -works in the present exhibition have been so minutely described -in the daily and weekly papers, and so universally -commended, that we deem it unnecessary to do more than -add our unqualified acquiescence in the favorable judgment -thus far expressed concerning them. Not one of our -artists is attracting so much attention at the present moment -as Mr. Hamilton. We have no doubt he is fully -able to sustain the high expectations created by his works -within the last two years. Birch and Bonfield, each, maintain -their well-earned and well-deserved reputations. Of -the foreign marines, those of Pleysier and De Groot are -the best—but there is nothing remarkable in either.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A Still Life piece by <span class='sc'>Gronland</span>, a French artist, is a -splendid example of its class—as is, also, one of a similar -character by <span class='sc'>J. B. Ord</span>, the best painter of such subjects -in the United States.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Want of space prevents our entering into the discussion -of the comparative merits of native and foreign works. -We feel no hesitation, however, in saying that our artists, -as a body, have every reason to congratulate themselves -upon the probable results of the present exhibition.</p> - -<hr class='tbk129'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The Madonna del Velo.</span>—Among the many works of -art, which the unsettled state of the Continent has brought -into the London market, are a collection formerly the property -of the Bracca family of Milan. The gem of the -gallery is a remarkably fine and beautifully finished Madonna -del Velo by Raffaelle. This attractive picture derives -its title from the Virgin being represented as lifting -a transparent veil from the face of the sleeping Jesus. -She is gazing on the infant with all the devoted love of a -mother, and with all a Madonna’s reverence beaming from -her eyes and depicted in her countenance and her posture; -while the young St. John is standing by, an attentive and -interested spectator of the proceeding. The colors are -very beautiful, and are blended with the highest taste and -judgment. The details of the painting bear the closest -examination, and every new inspection brings to view -some unobserved charm, some previously undetected -beauty. The figures are worthy in all respects of the -highest praise, and the landscape forms a delightful and -effective back-ground. To mention one little example of -the singular skill and finish displayed in this beautiful -work, the veil which the Virgin is represented as lifting -from the sleeping infant’s face, is marvelously painted. -It is perfectly transparent, and seems so singularly fine, -filmy and light, that it has all the appearance of what a -silken cobweb might be imagined to be. It is a remarkable -specimen of the skill of the great artist even in the -most difficult and delicate matters. Indeed, the whole -painting is a “gem of purest ray.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk130'/> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>La Tempesta</span>”—a new opera, the joint composition -of Halevy and Scribe, has been produced in London, with -Sontag as Miranda, Lablache as Caliban, Coletti as Prospero, -and Carlotta Grisi as Ariel. Whether its original -source, the renown of the author of the libretto, the reputation -of the composer, or the combination of artistic -talent engaged, be considered, the opera is a work of unprecedented -magnitude, and naturally excited unusual interest -on the part of all lovers of art. Monsieur Scribe -has made legitimate use of Shakspeare’s “Tempest” in -its transmutation into a libretto—supernatural agency and -music are employed, even Caliban sings, and Ariel, besides -being an essentially musical part, heads a band of -sprites and elves “who trip on their toes, with mops and -mows.” But it was necessary, for lyrical purposes, that -a greater intensity of human interest should be added. -M. Scribe has found means of drawing these new points -from Shakspeare’s own text. He says in a letter to the -lessee of Her Majesty’s Theatre, “I have done the utmost -to respect the inspirations of your immortal author. All -the musical situations I have created are but suggestions -taken from Shakspeare’s ideas; and as all the honor must -accrue to him, I may be allowed to state that there are -but few subjects so well adapted for musical <a id='inte'></a>interpretation.” -We hope before long to have this last work from -Halevy transferred to the boards of the American Opera.</p> - -<hr class='tbk131'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>A Drama Thirty Centuries Old Revived.</span>—A recent -great theatrical wonder of the hour in Paris, has -been the revival of a piece from the Hindoo theatre, -“which was performed for the first time” some three -thousand years ago, in a city which no longer has an existence -on the earth, and written by the sovereign of a -country whose very name has become a matter of dispute. -The piece was translated from the original Sanscrit by -Gerald de Nerval, and met unbounded success. All Paris -has been aroused by this curious contemplation of the -ideas and motives of these remote ages, and a whimsical -kind of delight is experienced at finding the human nature -of Hindostan of so many centuries ago, and the human -nature of modern Paris, so exactly alike in their puerility -and violence, their audacity and absurdity, that the play -may verily be called a <span class='it'>pièce de circonstance</span>. King Sondraka, -the author, seems to have anticipated the existence -of such men as Louis Blanc and Proudhon, of Louis Bonaparte -and Carlier; so true it is, that there is nothing -new under the sun, and that not an idea floats on the tide -of human intelligence but what has been borne thither by -the waters of oblivion, where it had been already flung.</p> - -<hr class='tbk132'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Statue of Calhoun.</span>—The marble statue of the late -John C. Calhoun, executed by Hiram Powers, at Leghorn, -for the State of South Carolina, was lost on the coast -of Long Island, in July, by the wreck of the brig Elizabeth.</p> - -<hr class='tbk133'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Horace Vernet</span>, the great historical printer, has been -to St. Petersburg, having been requested by the Emperor -of Russia to furnish several battle pieces illustrative of -the principal scenes in the Hungarian campaign.</p> - -<hr class='tbk134'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<a href='images/i136f.jpg'><img src='images/i136.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0003' style='width:550px;height:auto;'/></a> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Drawn by Ch. Bodmer</span> <span style='font-size:smaller'>Eng<sup>d</sup> by Rawdon, Wright & Hatch</span><br/> <br/><span style='font-size:larger'><span class='it'><span class='bold'>Dance of the Mandan Indians.</span></span></span></p> -</div> - -<hr class='tbk135'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='195' id='Page_195'></span><h1><a id='mand'></a>MANDAN INDIANS.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-weight:bold;'>[WITH AN ENGRAVING.]</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The Mandans are a vigorous, well-made race -of people, rather above the middling stature, and -very few of the men could be called short. The -tallest man now living was Mahchsi-Karehde, (the -flying war eagle,) who was five feet ten inches two -lines, Paris measure, (above six feet English.) In -general, however, they are not so tall as the Manitaries. -Many of them are robust, broad-shouldered -and muscular, while others are slender and small -limbed. Their physiognomy is, in general, the same -as that of most of the Missouri Indians, but their -noses are not so long and arched as those of the -Sioux, nor have they such high cheek-bones. The -nose of the Mandans and Manitaries is not broad—sometimes -aquiline, or slightly curved, and often -quite straight. Their eyes are, in general, long and -narrow, of a dark brown color; the inner angle is -often rather lower in childhood, but it is rarely so in -maturer age. The mouth is broad, large, rather -prominent, and the lower jaw broad and angular. -No great difference occurs in the form of the skull; -in general I did not find the facile angle smaller than -in Europeans, yet there are some exceptions. Their -hair is long, thick, lank, and black, but seldom as -jet and glossy as that of the Brazilians; that of children -is often only dark brown, especially at the tips; -and Bradbury speaks of brown hair among the Mandans. -There are whole families among them, as -well as among the Blackfeet, whose hair is gray, or -black mixed with white, so that the whole head appears -gray. The families of Sih-Chida and Mato-Chiha -are instances of this peculiarity. The latter -chief was particularly remarkable in this respect; -his hair grew in distinct locks of brown, black, silver -gray, but mostly white, and his eyebrows perfectly -white, which had a strange effect in a tall, otherwise -handsome man, between twenty and thirty -years of age. They encourage the growth of their -hair, and often lengthen it by artificial means. Their -teeth, like those of all the Missouri Indians, are particularly -fine, strong, firm, even, and as white as -ivory. It is very seldom that you see a defect or a -tooth wanting even in old people, though, in the -latter, they are often worn very short, which is -chiefly to be attributed to their chewing hard, dry -meat. The women are pretty robust, and sometimes -tall, but, for the most part, they are short and -broad-shouldered. There are but few who can be -called handsome as Indians, but there are many -tolerable and some pretty faces among them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The engraving shows them in one of their celebrated -dances, and is beautifully done by the artists.</p> - -<hr class='tbk136'/> - -<div><h1><a id='moon'></a>THE BRIGHT NEW MOON OF LOVE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>———</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;font-size:0.8em;font-weight:bold;'>BY T. <a id='holl'></a>HOLLEY CHIVERS, M. D.</p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1.5em;'>———</p> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>At the dawn she stood debating</p> -<p class='line'>  With the angels at the door</p> -<p class='line'>Of Christ’s sepulchre, in waiting</p> -<p class='line'>  For his body evermore.</p> -<p class='line'>Pure as white-robed Faith to Sorrow,</p> -<p class='line'>  Pointing back to Heaven above—</p> -<p class='line'>(Happy Day for every Morrow)—</p> -<p class='line'>  Was the Bright New Moon of Love.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Nun-like, chaste in her devotion,</p> -<p class='line'>  All the stars in heaven on high,</p> -<p class='line'>With their radiant, rhythmic motion,</p> -<p class='line'>  Chimed in with her from the sky.</p> -<p class='line'>Sweeter far than day when breaking,</p> -<p class='line'>  Angel-like, in heaven above,</p> -<p class='line'>On the traveler lost, when waking,</p> -<p class='line'>  Was the Bright New Moon of Love.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Thus she glorified all sweetness</p> -<p class='line'>  With the angel-light she shed</p> -<p class='line'>From her soul in such completeness,</p> -<p class='line'>  That she beautified the dead.</p> -<p class='line'>When an angel, sent on duty</p> -<p class='line'>  From his Father’s throne above,</p> -<p class='line'>Saw the heaven-surpassing beauty</p> -<p class='line'>  Of this Bright New Moon of Love.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>For the Truth she loved was Beauty,</p> -<p class='line'>  Because Beauty was her Truth;</p> -<p class='line'>And to love her was his duty,</p> -<p class='line'>  Such as Boas owed to Ruth.</p> -<p class='line'>God had set his seal upon her,</p> -<p class='line'>  Her divinity to prove,</p> -<p class='line'>And this angel wooed her—won her—</p> -<p class='line'>  Won the Bright New Moon of Love.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Thus the Mission of True Woman</p> -<p class='line'>  She did act out in this life—</p> -<p class='line'>Showed the Divine in the Human,</p> -<p class='line'>  In her duties of the Wife.</p> -<p class='line'>For the Heaven that he had taken</p> -<p class='line'>  Was so much like that above,</p> -<p class='line'>That the heaven he had forsaken</p> -<p class='line'>  Was the Bright New Moon of Love.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>For the kingdom of Christ’s glory,</p> -<p class='line'>  Angel-chanted at her birth,</p> -<p class='line'>Is the theme now of the story</p> -<p class='line'>  Which I warble through the earth.</p> -<p class='line'>And because this fallen angel</p> -<p class='line'>  Took her home to heaven above,</p> -<p class='line'>I now write this <span class='sc'>New Evangel</span></p> -<p class='line'>  Of the Bright New Moon of Love.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk137'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='196' id='Page_196'></span><h1><a id='barca'></a>BARCAROLE.</h1></div> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:0.9em;font-weight:bold;'>WRITTEN AND COMPOSED FOR</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.2em;font-weight:bold;'><span class='gesp'>GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.</span></p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1em;font-weight:bold;'>BY R. J. DE CORDOVA.</p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<a href='images/music1f.jpg'><img src='images/music1.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0004' style='width:450px;height:auto;'/></a> -</div> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>Come Love with me, the moonlit sea</p> -<p class='line'>  Invites our <a id='barq3'></a>barque to wander o’er</p> -<p class='line'>Its glassy face where e’en a trace</p> -<p class='line'>  Of angry</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<a href='images/music2f.jpg'><img src='images/music2.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0005' style='width:450px;height:auto;'/></a> -</div> - -<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'>wave is seen no more.</p> -<p class='line'>Let Love repeat in accents sweet,</p> -<p class='line'>  The joys which only Love can tell</p> -<p class='line'>And Passion’s strain sing o’er again,</p> -<p class='line'>  In those fond tones I love so well.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>SECOND VERSE.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Put fear away, and in the lay</p> -<p class='line'>  Of love be all but love forgot;</p> -<p class='line'>Renounce the care of worldly glare.</p> -<p class='line'>  Oh heed its glittering falseness not,</p> -<p class='line'>But come with me, with spirit free,</p> -<p class='line'>  United, never more to part,</p> -<p class='line'>We’ll seize the time of youth’s gay prime.</p> -<p class='line'>  The summer of the heart.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;'>THIRD VERSE.</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>Then dearest rise, and let thine eyes,</p> -<p class='line'>  Where shine Love’s softest mightiest spells.</p> -<p class='line'>Reveal the bright refulgent light</p> -<p class='line'>  Which in their lustrous beauty dwells.</p> -<p class='line'>Let blissful song our joy prolong</p> -<p class='line'>  While gliding o’er the sparkling wave,</p> -<p class='line'>And be the theme affection’s dream</p> -<p class='line'>  Which ends but in the grave.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk138'/> - -<div><span class='pageno' title='198' id='Page_198'></span><h1><a id='rev'></a>REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.</h1></div> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>In Memoriam. Boston: Ticknor, Reed & Fields. 1 vol. -16mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The author of this exquisite volume, the finest ever laid -on the altar of friendship, is Alfred Tennyson, the most -subtle and imaginative of living poets. It derives its -title from the circumstance of being written in memory of -Arthur Hallam, son of the historian of the Middle Ages, -friend of the poet, and lover of his sister. In a hundred -and eight short poems, all in one peculiar measure, Tennyson -expresses not merely his grief for the loss of his -friend, but touches on all those topics of sorrow and consolation -kindred to the subject, or which the character of -young Hallam suggests. It may be said by some that the -object of the volume is unnatural and unmanly; that grief -does not express itself in verses but in tears; that sorrow -vents itself in simple words not in poetic conceits; and -that the surest sign of the deficiency of feeling is a volume -devoted to its celebration. But if we study the structure -of Tennyson’s mind, we shall find that, however much -these objections will apply to many mourners, they are -inapplicable to him. The great peculiarity of his genius -is intellectual intensity. All his feelings and impressions -pass through his intellect, and are steadily scanned and -reflected upon. In none of his poems do we find any outburst -of feeling, scorning all mental control, or rapidly -forcing the intellect into its service of rage or love. He -has never written any thing in which emotion is not indissolubly -blended with thought. There can be no doubt -that he loved the person whom he here celebrates, but he -loved him in his own deep and silent manner; his loss -preyed upon his mind as well as heart, and stung thought -and imagination into subtle activity. The volume is full of -beauty, but of beauty in mourning weeds—of philosophy, -but of philosophy penetrated with sadness. To a common -mind, the loss of such a friend would have provoked -a grief, at first uncontrollable, but which years would -altogether dispel; to a mind like Tennyson’s years will -but add to its sense of loss, however much imagination -may consecrate and soften it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This volume, accordingly, contains some of the finest -specimens of intellectual pathos, of the mind in mourning, -we have ever seen, and, in English literature, it has no -parallel. The author is aware, as well as his critics, of -the impossibility of fully conveying his grief in verses, -and has anticipated their objection in a short poem of -uncommon suggestiveness:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>I sometimes hold it half a sin</p> -<p class='line0'>  To put in words the grief I feel,</p> -<p class='line0'>  For words, like nature, half reveal</p> -<p class='line0'>And half conceal the soul within.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>But for the unquiet heart and brain</p> -<p class='line0'>  A use in measured language lies;</p> -<p class='line0'>  The sad mechanic exercise,</p> -<p class='line0'>Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>In words, like weeds, I’ll wrap me o’er,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Like coarsest clothes against the cold;</p> -<p class='line0'>  But that large grief which these unfold,</p> -<p class='line0'>Is given in outline and no more.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The following poem touches on the mind and character -of young Hallam; and, if a true picture, the world, as -well as the poet, has reason for regret at his early death:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Heart-affluence in discursive talk</p> -<p class='line0'>  From household fountains never dry;</p> -<p class='line0'>  The critic clearness of an eye,</p> -<p class='line0'>That saw through all the Muses’ walk;</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Seraphic intellect and force</p> -<p class='line0'>  To seize and throw the doubts of man;</p> -<p class='line0'>  Impassioned logic, which outran</p> -<p class='line0'>The hearer in its fiery course;</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>High nature amorous of the good,</p> -<p class='line0'>  But touched with no ascetic gloom;</p> -<p class='line0'>  And passion pure in snowy bloom</p> -<p class='line0'>Through all the years of April blood;</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>A love of freedom rarely felt,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of freedom in her regal seat</p> -<p class='line0'>  Of England, not the school-boy heat,</p> -<p class='line0'>The blind hysterics of the Celt;</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>And manhood fused with female grace</p> -<p class='line0'>  In such a sort, the child would twine</p> -<p class='line0'>  A trustful hand, unasked, in thine,</p> -<p class='line0'>And find his comfort in thy face;</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>All these have been, and thee mine eyes</p> -<p class='line0'>  Have looked on: if they looked in vain</p> -<p class='line0'>  My shame is greater who remain,</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor let thy wisdom make me wise.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>In the poem which we now extract, we think our -readers will recognize the force which pathos receives by -its connection with intense and excursive thought:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>One writes, that “Other friends remain,”</p> -<p class='line0'>  That “Loss is common to the race,”—</p> -<p class='line0'>  And common is the commonplace,</p> -<p class='line0'>And vacant chaff well meant for grain.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>That loss is common would not make</p> -<p class='line0'>  My own less bitter, rather more:</p> -<p class='line0'>  Too common! Never morning wore</p> -<p class='line0'>To evening, but some heart did break.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>O father, wheresoe’er thou be,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That pledgest now thy gallant son;</p> -<p class='line0'>  A shot, ere half thy draught be done,</p> -<p class='line0'>Hath stilled the life that beat from thee.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>O mother, praying God will save</p> -<p class='line0'>  Thy sailor, while thy head is bowed,</p> -<p class='line0'>  His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud</p> -<p class='line0'>Drops in his vast and wandering grave.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Ye know no more than I who wrought</p> -<p class='line0'>  At that last hour to please him well;</p> -<p class='line0'>  Who mused on all I had to tell,</p> -<p class='line0'>And something written, something thought.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Expecting still his advent home;</p> -<p class='line0'>  And ever met him on his way</p> -<p class='line0'>  With wishes, thinking, here to-day,</p> -<p class='line0'>Or here to-morrow will he come.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>O, somewhere, meek, unconscious dove,</p> -<p class='line0'>  That sittest ’ranging golden hair;</p> -<p class='line0'>  And glad to find thyself so fair,</p> -<p class='line0'>Poor child, that waitest for thy love!</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>For now her father’s chimney glows</p> -<p class='line0'>  In expectation of a guest;</p> -<p class='line0'>  And thinking “this will please him best,”</p> -<p class='line0'>She takes a ribbon or a rose;</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>For he will see them on to-night;</p> -<p class='line0'>  And with the thought her color burns;</p> -<p class='line0'>  And, having left the glass, she turns</p> -<p class='line0'>Once more to set a ringlet right;</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>And, even when she turned, the curse</p> -<p class='line0'>  Had fallen, and her future lord</p> -<p class='line0'>  Was drowned in passing through the ford</p> -<p class='line0'>Or killed in falling from his horse.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>O, what to her shall be the end?</p> -<p class='line0'>  And what to me remains of good?</p> -<p class='line0'>  To her, perpetual maidenhood,</p> -<p class='line0'>And unto me, no second friend.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The ringing of the Christmas bells prompts a grand -poem, in which the poet rises out of his dirges into a rapturous -prophecy of the “good time coming.” It is altogether -the best of many good lyrics on the same general -theme:</p> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Ring out wild bells to the wild sky,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The flying cloud, the frosty light:</p> -<p class='line0'>  The year is dying in the night;</p> -<p class='line0'>Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Ring out the old, ring in the new,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Ring, happy bells, across the snow:</p> -<p class='line0'>  The year is going, let him go;</p> -<p class='line0'>Ring out the false, ring in the true.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Ring out the grief that saps the mind,</p> -<p class='line0'>  For those that here we see no more;</p> -<p class='line0'>  Ring out the feud of rich and poor,</p> -<p class='line0'>Ring in redress to all mankind.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Ring out a slowly dying cause,</p> -<p class='line0'>  And ancient forms of party strife;</p> -<p class='line0'>  Ring in the nobler modes of life,</p> -<p class='line0'>With sweeter manners, purer laws.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Ring out the want, the care, the sin,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The faithless coldness of the times;</p> -<p class='line0'>  Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,</p> -<p class='line0'>But ring the fuller minstrel in.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Ring out false pride in place and blood,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The civic slander and the spite;</p> -<p class='line0'>  Ring in the love of truth and right,</p> -<p class='line0'>Ring in the common love of good.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Ring out old shapes of foul disease,</p> -<p class='line0'>  Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;</p> -<p class='line0'>  Ring out the thousand wars of old,</p> -<p class='line0'>Ring in the thousand years of peace.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<div class='blockquote0r9'> - -<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'>Ring in the valiant man and free,</p> -<p class='line0'>  The larger heart, the kindlier hand;</p> -<p class='line0'>  Ring out the darkness of the land,</p> -<p class='line0'>Ring in the Christ that is to be.</p> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>After these extracts we hardly need to commend the -volume to our readers as worthy of the genius of Tennyson. -It will not only give sober delight on its first -perusal, but it contains treasures of thought and fancy -which a frequent recurrence to its pages will alone reveal.</p> - -<hr class='tbk139'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Chronicles and Characters of the Stock Exchange. By -John Francis. Boston: Crosby & Nichols. 1 vol. 8vo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This volume, invaluable to merchants and brokers, -should be in the hands of all who have reason to be interested -in the secrets of stock-jobbing, or who have a -natural curiosity to understand the philosophy of the -whole system as now practiced in all civilized countries. -It gives a complete history of the National Debt of England, -from the reign of William the Third to the present -day, with sketches of the most eminent financiers of the -Stock Exchange, and large details of the political corruption -attending the making of loans. To these are added -stock tables from 1732 to 1846; dividends of the Bank of -England stock from 1694 to 1847; and descriptions of the -various panics in the English money market, with their -causes and effects. The sketch of Rothschild is a gem of -biography, and while his avarice and cunning are deservedly -condemned, more than usual justice is done to -the remarkable blending of amplitude with acuteness in -his powerful understanding. It is said that on one loan he -made £150,000. Though profane, knavish and ferocious, -with bad manners, and a face and person which defied the -ability of caricature to misrepresent, his all-powerful -wealth and talents made him courted and caressed, not -only by statesmen and monarchs, but by clergymen and -fastidious aristocrats. It was his delight to outwit others, -but he himself was very rarely outwitted; and the few -cases given by Mr. Francis, of his being overreached by -the cunning of other brokers, are probably the only ones -that the London Stock Exchange can furnish. Though he -lived in the most splendid style, gave expensive entertainments, -and occasionally subscribed to ostentatious -charities, he was essentially a miser; and his mind never -was so busy in calculations, in which millions of pounds -were concerned, as to lose the power of estimating within -a sixpence, the salary which would enable a clerk to exist.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Some curious anecdotes are given in this volume of the -corruption of members of Parliament. It is well known -that during the reigns of William the Third, Anne, -George I. and George II., and a portion of the reign of -George III., a seat in the House of Commons was considered, -by many members, as a palpable property, from -which a regular income was to be derived by selling -votes to the ministry in power. Sir Robert Walpole and -the Duke of Newcastle, were the greatest jobbers in this -political corruption; but Lord Bute, who entered office -on the principle of dispensing with the purchase of Parliamentary -support, carried the practice on one occasion -to an extent never dreamed of by his predecessors. He -discovered that the peace of 1763 could not be carried -through the House without a large bribe. Mr. Francis -quotes from Bute’s private secretary, a statement of the -sum distributed among one hundred and twenty members. -“I was myself,” says Mr. Ross Mackay, the secretary in -question, “the channel through which the money passed. -With my own hand I secured above one hundred and -twenty votes. Eighty thousand pounds were set apart -for the purpose. Forty members of the House of Commons -received from me a thousand pounds each. To -eighty others I paid five hundred pounds a piece.” This -system has been varied of late years. The mode of purchase -at present is by patronage. Offices and pensions -are now the price of votes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It would be impossible in a short notice to convey an -idea of the variety of curious information which this book -contains. To people who have money to lose, it is a regular -treatise on the art of preserving wealth. Every -private gentleman, smitten with a desire to speculate in -stocks, should carefully study this volume before he makes -the fatal investments.</p> - -<hr class='tbk140'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Evangeline; A Tale of Acadia. By Henry Wadsworth -Longfellow. Illustrated by forty-five engravings on -Wood, from designs by Jane E. Benham, Birket Foster, -and John Gilbert. Boston: Ticknor, Reed & Fields. -1 vol. 8vo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This volume, in paper, binding, and illustrations, is the -most beautiful and unique we have seen from an American -press. We hardly know, however, if we are right -in giving it an American origin, as its illustrations are -most assuredly English, and its typographical execution -is exactly similar to the English edition. No better evidence -is needed of Longfellow’s <a id='pop'></a>popularity abroad than -the appearance of an edition of one of his poems, embellished -like the present, with engravings so beautiful in -themselves, and so true to the spirit of the scenes and -characters they illustrate. The book is a study to American -artists, evincing, as it does, the rare perfection to -which their English brethren have carried the art of wood -engraving, and the superiority of the style itself to copper-plate -in many of the essential requisites of pictorial representation. -The poem thus illustrated, is more beautiful -than ever, its exquisite mental pictures of life and scenery -being accurately embodied to the eye. As a gift-book it will -doubtless be very popular among the best of the approaching -season, as its mechanical execution is in faultless -taste, and as the poem itself is an American classic.</p> - -<hr class='tbk141'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Rebels. Boston: Phillips, Sampson & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Many of our elderly readers will recollect the sensation -which this admirable novel created on its original appearance. -It was the first work which gave Mrs. Child, then -Miss Frances, her reputation as a writer and thinker. -The scene is laid in Boston, just before the revolution, and -contains a fine picture both of the characters and events of -the time. Many scenes are represented with great dramatic -effect, and there are some passages of soaring eloquence -which the accomplished authoress has never excelled. -We cordially hope that the novel is destined for -a new race of popularity.</p> - -<hr class='tbk142'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Heloise, or the Unrevealed Secret. A Tale. By Talvi. -New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>We presume that our readers know that “Talvi” is the -assumed name of Mrs. Robinson. The present novel is a -story of German and Russian life, written by one to -whom the subject is familiar, and will well repay perusal. -We think, however, that the accomplished authoress appears -to more advantage in works of greater value and -pretension—such as her late history of the literature of -the Slavic nations.</p> - -<hr class='tbk143'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Life of Jean Paul Frederic Richter. Compiled from -Various Sources. Together with his Autobiography. -Translated by Eliza Buckminster Lee. New York: D. -Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is a second edition of a charming biography, published -in Boston a number of years ago, and now very -properly reissued. It not only contains an accurate account -of the life and works of one of the most remarkable -and peculiar of German writers, but its pages throng with -interesting allusions and anecdotes relating to his contemporaries. -The letters of Jean Paul, especially, are full of -life and heartiness. In the following passage, referring to -his first introduction to Goethe, we have a living picture -painted in few words. “At last the god entered, cold, -one-syllabled, without accent. ‘The French are drawing -toward Paris,’ said Krebel. ‘Hem!’ said the god. His -face is massive and animated, his eye a ball of light. But, -at last, the conversation led from the campaign to art, -publications, etc., and Goethe was himself. His conversation -is not so rich and flowing as Herder’s, but sharp-toned, -penetrating and calm. At last he read, that is, -played for us, an unpublished poem, in which his heart -impelled the flame through the outer crust of ice, so that -he pressed the hand of the enthusiastic Jean Paul. He did -it again, when we took leave, and pressed me to call again. -By Heaven! we will love each other! He considers his -poetic course as closed. <span class='it'>His reading is like deep-toned -thunder, blended with soft, whispering rain-drops.</span> There is -nothing like it.” Goethe’s personal effect on his contemporaries, -would lead us to suppose that he was, to adopt -Mirabeau’s system of nicknaming, a kind of Webster-Wordsworth.</p> - -<hr class='tbk144'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Railway Economy; a Treatise on the New Art of Transport, -With an Exposition of the Practical Results of -the Railways in Operation in the United Kingdom, on -the Continent, and in America. By Dionysius Lardner, -D. C. L. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. -12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This is a very interesting account of the whole system -of railways, written by a person who understands it in -its facts and principles. The author has collected a vast -amount of information, which he conveys in a condensed -and comprehensible form. The motto of the work is one -of Bacon’s pregnant sentences: “There be three things -make a nation great and prosperous: a fertile soil, busy -workshops, and easy conveyance of men and things from -one place to another.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk145'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>Pictorial Field Book of the Revolution. By Benson J. -Lossing.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>The Harpers have just commenced the issue of this -beautiful work, which is to be completed in twenty numbers. -The mechanical execution is very neat, and the -wood engravings, from sketches by the author, are admirable. -Mr. Lossing writes with ardor and elegance, -his mind filled with his themes, and boiling over at times -into passages of descriptive eloquence. The book, when -completed, will contain an account of the localities and -action of all the battles of the Revolution, illustrated by -six hundred engravings. The enterprise deserves success.</p> - -<hr class='tbk146'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>A Discourse on the Baconian Philosophy. By Samuel -Tyler, of the Maryland Bar. Second Edition Enlarged. -New York: Baker & Scribner. 1 vol. 12mo.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>This work is very creditable to American literature as -a careful and learned Discourse on a large subject, demanding -a knowledge not only of Bacon but of Plato and -Descartes. Mr. Tyler evinces a thorough comprehension -of the externals of the subject, and few can read his book -without an addition to their knowledge; but we think he -misses Bacon’s method in his application of it to metaphysics -and theology. The peculiar vitality of Bacon’s -axioms he often overlooks in his admiration of their formal -expression, and occasionally astonishes the reader by -making Bacon commonplace, and then lauding the commonplace -as the highest wisdom.</p> - -<hr class='tbk147'/> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='hang'><span class='it'>The Unity of the Human Races Proved to be the Doctrine -of Scripture, Reason, and Science. By the Rev. Thomas -Smith, D. D. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol.</span></p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>It is well known that Professor Agassiz, at the last -meeting in Charleston of the American Association for the -Advancement of Science, startled the audience with an -expression of disbelief in the doctrine that all mankind -sprung from one original parent. The present book, in -some degree the result of his remark, takes strong ground -in favor of the common faith on the point. It is worthy of -attentive consideration from all readers, especially as it -popularises the important subject of Races—a subject -generally monopolized by technical <span class='it'>savans</span>; in unreadable -books.</p> - -<hr class='tbk148'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Arthur’s Gazette.</span>—We take great pleasure in calling -the attention of our readers to the prospectus of Mr. -Arthur’s newspaper, as set forth in full upon the cover of -Graham for this month.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Arthur’s name is a household word the Union over; -his stories have penetrated every village of the country, -and are read with delight for their high moral tone and -eminently practical character. The title is therefore very -fitly chosen, and we shall be much mistaken if the <span class='it'>Home</span> -Gazette is not welcomed from the start at thousands of -firesides, as a chosen and familiar friend.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Capital—a very necessary article in starting a new -enterprise—has, we are assured by Mr. Arthur, been -abundantly secured, and with the editor’s industry and -energy, there can be no such word as fail.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Arthur has discovered the true secret of success—to -charge such a price as will really enable him to make -a good paper—to make it so in all respects; and then to <span class='it'>advertise</span> -so as to let the public know that he has a first-rate -article for sale at a fair living price. If he allows no -temptation of <span class='it'>temporary</span> success to seduce him from the -just business ground thus assumed, he is as certain of -ultimate and permanent prosperity, as he can be of any -problem in mathematics. A simple business secret that -a great many publishers we know of, have yet to learn.</p> - -<hr class='tbk149'/> - -<p class='pindent'><a id='foll'></a></p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<a href='images/i149f.jpg'><img src='images/i149.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0006' style='width:450px;height:auto;'/></a> -<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Anaïs Toudouze</span> </p> -</div> - -<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'><span style='font-size:larger'><span class='bold'>LE FOLLET</span></span> Paris, boul<sup>t</sup>. S<sup>t</sup>. Martin, 69.</p> -<p class='line'><span class='it'>Chapeaux de M<sup>me</sup>.</span> <span class='bold'>Baudry</span>, <span class='it'>r. Richelieu, 81—Plumes et fleurs de</span> <span class='bold'>Chagot ainé</span>, <span class='it'>r. Richelieu, 73</span>.</p> -<p class='line'><span class='it'>Robes et pardessus M<sup>me</sup>.</span> <span class='bold'>Verrier Richard</span>, <span class='it'>r. Richelieu, 77—Dentelles</span> <span class='bold'>Violard</span>, <span class='it'>r. Choiseul, 4</span>.</p> -<p class='line'><span class='it'>The styles of Goods here represented can be had of Mess<sup>rs</sup>.</span> <span class='bold'>L.T. Levy & C<sup>o</sup>.</span> <span class='it'>Philadelphia</span>,</p> -<p class='line'><span class='it'>and at</span> <span class='bold'>Stewart’s</span>, <span class='it'>New York</span>.</p> -<p class='line'><span class='bold'>Graham’s Magazine</span>, 134 Chestnut Street.</p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='tbk150'/> - -<p class='line' style='margin-top:2em;font-size:1.1em;'><span class='bold'><a id='notes'></a>Transcriber’s Notes:</span></p> - -<p class='noindent'>Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained as well as some spellings -peculiar to Graham's. Punctuation has been corrected -without note. Other 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.</p> - -<div class='lgl' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'>page 140, speech of Lenox, ==> speech of <a href='#lenn'>Lennox</a>,</p> -<p class='line'>page 140, was for Malcom and ==> was for <a href='#malc'>Malcolm</a> and</p> -<p class='line'>page 145, at it’s outbreak ==> at <a href='#its2'>its</a> outbreak</p> -<p class='line'>page 148, added <a href='#tobe'>[<span class='it'>To be continued.</span></a></p> -<p class='line'>page 149, saw in vision ==> saw <a href='#avis'>in a</a> vision</p> -<p class='line'>page 149, “to saw the kernels ==> “to <a href='#sow'>sow</a> the kernels</p> -<p class='line'>page 153, thread-lace cape ==> thread-lace <a href='#caps'>caps</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 153, in in leaving her ==> <a href='#inle'>in</a> leaving her</p> -<p class='line'>page 154, had forsight to arm ==> had <a href='#fore'>foresight</a> to arm</p> -<p class='line'>page 154, everybody eat, not ==> everybody <a href='#ate'>ate</a>, not</p> -<p class='line'>page 154, hour passsed in ==> hour <a href='#pass'>passed</a> in</p> -<p class='line'>page 155, turned to Miss Houton ==> turned to Miss <a href='#haut'>Hauton</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 155, “Its a shameful ==> “<a href='#its1'>It’s</a> a shameful</p> -<p class='line'>page 155, “a very powerful ==> <a href='#isa'>“is a</a> very powerful</p> -<p class='line'>page 155, get a new troup ==> get a new <a href='#trou'>troupe</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 155, was evident spite ==> was evident <a href='#insp'>in</a> spite</p> -<p class='line'>page 155, she could excute ==> she could <a href='#exec'>execute</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 157, sleeping roses heart ==> sleeping <a href='#rose'>rose’s</a> heart</p> -<p class='line'>page 157, Our bark floats ==> Our <a href='#barq1'>barque</a> floats</p> -<p class='line'>page 166, conditon of the ==> <a href='#cond'>condition</a> of the</p> -<p class='line'>page 171, nutricious fluids ==> <a href='#nutr'>nutritious</a> fluids</p> -<p class='line'>page 173, roly-boly globularity ==> <a href='#roly'>roly-poly</a> globularity</p> -<p class='line'>page 177, perfect nonchalence ==> perfect <a href='#nonc'>nonchalance</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 178, some choice boquet ==> some choice <a href='#bouq1'>bouquet</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 178, of faded boquets ==> of faded <a href='#bouq2'>bouquets</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 179, lige a winged ==> <a href='#like'>like</a> a winged</p> -<p class='line'>page 180, herself ununworthy ==> herself <a href='#unun'>unworthy</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 180, and fops,” concontinued ==> and fops,” <a href='#concon'>continued</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 183, to her hapness ==> to her <a href='#happ'>happiness</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 186, in the of midst ==> in the <a href='#midst'>midst of</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 189, her moonlight bark ==> her moonlight <a href='#barq2'>barque</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 192, pannicle, and the ==> <a href='#pan'>panicle</a>, and the</p> -<p class='line'>page 193, no part slighted ==> no part <a href='#part'>is</a> slighted</p> -<p class='line'>page 193, fact the canvasi ==> fact the <a href='#canv'>canvas is</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 194, musical intepretation ==> musical <a href='#inte'>interpretation</a></p> -<p class='line'>page 195, BY T. HOLLY CHIVRES, M. D. ==> BY T. <a href='#holl'>HOLLEY CHIVERS</a>, M. D.</p> -<p class='line'>page 196, our bark to wander ==> our <a href='#barq3'>barque</a> to wander</p> -<p class='line'>page 199, Longfellow’s popularaity ==> Longfellow’s <a href='#pop'>popularity</a></p> -<p class='line'> </p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXVII, No. 3, -September 1850, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, SEPT 1850 *** - -***** This file should be named 54026-h.htm or 54026-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/0/2/54026/ - -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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