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diff --git a/old/54031-0.txt b/old/54031-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b55b21a..0000000 --- a/old/54031-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7733 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXVII, No. 4, -October 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. 4, October 1850 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George Rex Graham - -Release Date: January 20, 2017 [EBook #54031] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 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 and -the Los Angeles Public Library Visual Collections - - - - - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - VOL. XXXVII. October, 1850. NO. 4. - - - Table of Contents - - Fiction, Literature and Articles - - The Slave of the Pacha - Music - Pedro de Padilh - Edda Murray - Thomas Johnson - Early English Poets—George Herbert - Teal and Teal Shooting - The Fine Arts - Review of New Books - - Poetry, Music and Fashion - - A Night at The Black Sign - Sonnets: Suggested by Passages in the Life of - Christopher Columbus - To a Friend—with a Bunch of Roses - Spring Lilies - The Earth - Alone—Alone! - The Name of Wife - Sonnet.—The Olive. - Sin No More - Wordsworth - Inspiration. To Shirley. - Sonnets, On Pictures in the Huntington Gallery - Thinking of Minna - The Maiden’s Lament for Her Shipwrecked Lover - The Years of Love - Ah, Do Not Speak So Coldly - Le Follet - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: THE SLAVE OF THE PACHA. - -Painted by W. Brown and Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine by J. - Brown] - - * * * * * - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - VOL. XXXVII. PHILADELPHIA, OCTOBER, 1850. NO. 4. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE SLAVE OF THE PACHA. - - - A TALE OF ASIA MINOR. - - - FROM THE FRENCH OF SAINTINE. - - -I was botanizing lately in the woods of Luciennes, with one of my -friends, a distinguished Orientalist and renowned botanist, who had, a -few years since, traveled six thousand miles, and risked his life twenty -times, in order to obtain a handful of plants from the slopes of the -Taurus or the plains of Asia Minor. After we had wandered for some time -through the woods, gathering here and there some dry grass and orchis, -merely to renew an acquaintance with them, we lounged toward the -handsome village of Gressets and the delightful valley of Beauregard, -directing our steps toward a breakfast, which we hoped to find a little -further on, when, beneath an alley of lofty poplars, on the left of the -meadows of the Butard, we saw two persons, a man and a woman, both -young, approaching us. - -My companion made a gesture of surprise at the sight of them. - -“Do you know those persons?” I asked. - -“Yes.” - -“Of what class, genus and species are they?” I used the words merely in -their botanical sense. - -“Analyze, observe and divine,” replied my illustrious traveler. - -I determined then on applying to my individuals, not the system of -Linnæus, but that of Jussien, that of affinities and analogies. The -latter appeared to me to be more suitable and easier than the former. -The young man was dressed in a very simple and even negligent style, -wearing those high heeled shoes, three-quarter boots, which have -succeeded the half boots, (boots, since the introduction of comfort -among us, having steadily lessened,) and had not even straps to his -pantaloons. A pearl colored sack, colored shirt, and traveling cap with -a large visor, completed his costume. - -Near him walked a young woman, of the middle height and finely formed, -but with such an air of indolence in her movements, flexibility of the -body, and jogging of the haunches, as proclaimed a southern origin or a -want of distinction. They advanced with their heads down, speaking -without looking up, and walking side by side without taking arms, but -from time to time one leant on the shoulder of the other, with a -movement full of affection. - -It was not until we crossed them that I could see their figures; until -then I had been able to study only their costume and general outline. - -The young man blushed on recognizing my companion, and saluted him with -a very humble air; I had scarcely time, however, to catch a single -pathognomic line of his face. The female was very handsome; the elegance -of her neck, the regularity of her features, gave her a certain air of -distinction, contradicted, however, by something provoking in her -appearance. - -When they had passed on some distance, my friend said to me: - -“Well, what judgment do you pass on our two persons?” - -“Well,” replied I, positively, “the young man is your confectioner, who -is about to marry his head shop-girl;” but reading a sign of negation on -the countenance of my interrogator—“or a successful merchant’s clerk, -with a countess without prejudices.” - -“You are wrong.” - -I asked for a moment’s reflection, and, to render my work of observation -perfect, I looked after them. - -They had reached, near the place where we were, the side of a spring, -called, in the country, the “Priest’s Fountain.” The young female had -already seated herself upon the grass, and drawing forth a napkin spread -it near her, whilst the young man drew a paté and some other provisions -carefully from his basket. - -“Certainly,” I said to myself, “there are, evidently, in the face of -this beautiful person, traits both of the great lady and the grisette; -but, on thinking of her rolling fashion of walking, and especially -judging of her by the appearance of her companion, then stooping to -uncork a bottle, and whose unstrapped pantaloons, riding half way up his -leg, revealed his quarter boots, the grisette type prevailed in my -opinion.” - -“The lady,” I replied, but with less assurance than at first, “is a -figurante at one of our theatres, or a female equestrian at the Olympic -circus.” - -“There is some truth in what you say.” - -“He is a lemonade seller.” I judged so from the practiced facility with -which he appeared to open the bottle. - -“You are farther from the mark than ever,” said my companion. - -“Well, then, let us talk about something else.” - -Once at the Butard we thought no more of our two Parisian cockneys. -Whilst they were preparing our breakfast, and even whilst we were -breakfasting, my friend naturally recommenced speaking of his travels in -the Taurus and Anti-Taurus, in the Balkan, the Caucasus, on the banks of -the Euphrates, and then, to give me a respite from all his botanical and -geological descriptions, he related to me, piece by piece, without -appearing to attach the least importance to them, a story, which -interested me very much. He had collected the details of it (the scene -of which was laid not far from the shores of the Black Sea, between -Erzerum and Constantinople) from the lips of one of the principal actors -in it. - -I endeavored to reduce it to writing when with him, not in the same -order, or disorder, as to events, but at least so far as regards their -exactness, and availing myself of the knowledge of persons and places -acquired by my traveler. - - - CHAPTER I. - -Toward the middle of the month of July, in the year 1841, in the -pachalick of Shivas, in the vast gardens situated near the Red River, a -young girl, dressed in the Turkish costume, was walking slowly, with her -head bent down, followed by an old negress. At times she turned her head -rapidly, and when her eyes, through the massive maples and sycamores, -rested on the angle of a large building, with gilded lattices and -balconies of finely carved cedar, her complexion, usually pale, became -suddenly suffused, her small foot contracted against the ground, her -breast heaved, and she restrained with difficulty the sigh that -endeavored to escape. - -Silent and pre-occupied she stopped, and with her finger designated a -plantain tree to the negress. The latter immediately entered an elegant -kiosk, a few paces distant, and returned, bearing the skin of a tiger, -which she placed at the foot of the tree. After the old negress had -passed and repassed several times from the skin to the kiosk, and from -the kiosk to the skin, the young girl seated herself, cross-legged, on -the latter, leaning against the plantain tree, on a cushion of black -velvet, holding carelessly in her left hand an ornamented pipe, with a -tube of Persian cherry, and in her right, in a small stand of filagreed -gold, shaped like an egg-cup, a slight porcelain cup, which the old -slave replenished from time to time with the fragrant Mocha. - -Baïla was seventeen years old; her black and lustrous hair, parted over -her temples, resembled the raven’s wing; her eye-brows thin, and forming -a perfect arch, though of the same color as her hair, were, as well as -her long eye-lashes and the edge of the lids, covered with a preparation -of antimony, called _sourmah_. Still other colors had been employed to -heighten the lustre of her beauty; the carnation of her lips had -disappeared beneath a light touch of indigo; and, by way of contrary -effect, beneath her eyes, where the fine net work of her veins naturally -produced a light blue tint, the purple of the henna shone out. The -henna, a kind of vegetable carmine, much used in the east, also blushed -upon the nails of her hands and feet, and even upon her heels, which -peeped out, naked, from her small, beautiful sandals, embroidered with -gold and pearls. - -Though thus tattooed, in the Asiatic fashion, Baïla was none the less -beautiful. Her costume consisted simply of a velvet caftan, muslin -pantaloons, embroidered with silver, and a cashmere girdle; but all the -knicknackeries of Oriental luxuriousness were displayed in her toilet. -The double row of sequins which swung on her head, the large golden -bracelets which covered her arms and graced her ankles, the chains, the -precious stones which shone on her hands and her corsage, and which -shook on the extremities of her long flowing hair and glittered on her -very pipe stem, graced in a singular manner her youthful charms. - -The better to understand what kind of astonished admiration her -appearance might at this time produce, we should add that of the old -black slave, who, from her age as well as color, her short, thick -figure, her dull and heavy look, formed so striking a contrast with the -fresh beauty of Baïla, her fine and supple figure and her glance, still -lively and penetrating, notwithstanding the deep thought which then half -veiled it. - -The better to lighten up this picture we must suspend over the heads of -these two females, so dissimilar, the beautiful blue sky of Asia, and -describe some incidents of the land, some singularities of the local -vegetation which surrounded them. - -Some paces in advance of the plantain against which Baïla was reclining, -was a small circular basin of Cipolin marble, from which sprang a jet, -in the form of a sheaf, causing a delicious freshness to reign around. A -little farther on were two palm trees, which, springing up on either -hand and mingling their tops, presented the appearance of two columns, -forming an arcade of verdure. But before this entrance, judging from -appearances, the shadow even of a man should never appear. Baïla -belonged to a jealous master; her beauty, heightened by so much art and -coquetry, was to grow, blossom and flower for him alone. - -From the foot of the palm trees parted a double hedge of purple beeches, -of silvery willows, of nopals of strange forms with saffron tints, and -of various shrubs with their many colored flowers and fruits. The -dog-shades, with their stars of violet colored velvet, the night-shades, -with their scarlet clusters involved amidst the mimosas, out of which -sprang the golden features of the cassia. Mingling their branches with -the lower branches of the plantain, the mangroves hung like garlands -above the head of Baïla, their large leaves hollowed into cups, and so -strangely bordered with flowers and fruits of orange color mixed with -crimson. - -Farther back, behind the plantain, on a reddish, sandy spot, grew large -numbers of the ice plant, presenting to the deceived vision the -appearance of plants caught by the frost during the winter in our -northern climes, and the glass work covered the ground with crystalized -plates. - -The picture was soon to become animated. - -The magnificent eastern sun, sinking toward the horizon and throwing his -last flames beneath the verdant pediment of the palm trees, caused the -earth to sparkle as if covered with diamonds. His rays, broken by the -glittering sheaf in the basin, spread across those masses of flower and -foliage, rainbows, superb in golden and violet tints; they flashed from -the plantain to the variegated cups of the mangrove, and lighted up the -whole form of Baïla, from her brow, crowned with sequins, to her -spangled slippers; they even mingled with the smoke of her narghila, and -with the vapor of the Mocha, which arose like a perfume from the -porcelain cup, and glistening on the skin of the tiger on which she was -seated, appeared to roll about in small vague circles. - -When the night breeze, rising, gently agitated the flowers and the -herbage, mingling in soft harmony all those zones of light and shade, -was it not a subject of regret that a human eye could not gaze upon the -beautiful odalisk, in the midst of those magical illusions, shining in -the triple splendor of her jewels, her youth, and her beauty? - -And, yet, a man was to enjoy this bewitching scene, and that man not her -master. - -Mariam, the old negress, was asleep at the foot of the tree, holding in -her hands the small mortar in which she had bruised the coffee to supply -the demands of her mistress. Baïla, half dozing, was holding out, -mechanically, toward her the china cup, when a man suddenly appeared -between the two palm trees. - -At the sight of him the odalisk at first thought she was dreaming; then, -restrained by a feeling, perhaps of alarm, perhaps of curiosity, -remained quiet, immovable, without speaking—only the cup which she held -fell from her hands. - -The stranger, who was a young Frank, having first made a motion as of -flight, became emboldened and approached her, with a heightened color -and trembling lips, arising from a too lively emotion or from an excess -of prudence on account of the negress. He merely inquired from Baïla the -way to the city. - -He expressed himself very well in Turkish; she did not appear, however, -to understand him. What! a stranger, eluding the vigilance of guards, -had crossed the double circuit of the gardens which enclosed her—had -braved death—merely to ask his way! - -Restored to a feeling of her situation, she rose, with an offended air, -drew from her girdle a small dagger, ornamented with diamonds—a -plaything, rather than offensive or defensive arms—and made an -imperious sign to him to retire. - -The young man recoiled before the beautiful slave, with an appearance of -contriteness and embarrassment, but without ceasing to regard her -earnestly. He appeared to be unable to remove his eyes from the picture -which had riveted his attention; still, however, undecided and muttering -confused words, he was crossing the porch of the palm trees, when the -negress suddenly awoke. - -At the sight of the shadow of a man, which reached into the enclosure, -she sprang up, uttering a cry of alarm. - -“What are you doing?” said Baïla, placing herself before her, doubtless -from a feeling of pity toward the imprudent youth. - -“But that shadow—do you not see it? It is that of a man!” - -“Of a bostangy! Who else would have dared to enter here?” - -“But the bostangis should be more careful. Has not our master prohibited -them from entering the gardens when we are here—when you are here? A -man has entered, I tell you; I saw his shadow.” - -“Of what shadow are you speaking? Stop—look!” and Baïla stopped before -the negress. - -“I saw it,” repeated the negress. - -“The shadow of a tree—yes, that is possible.” - -“Trees do not run, and it appeared to run.” - -“You have been dreaming, my good Mariam,” and Baïla maintained so well -that no one had been there, that she had seen nothing, but in a dream, -that Mariam submissively feigned to believe her, and both prepared to -return to the house. - -They were half way there when, on turning an alley, the negress uttered -a new cry, pointing to an individual who was escaping at full speed. - -“Am I dreaming this time?” she said, and she was about to call for -assistance, when the odalisk, placing her hand on her mouth, ordered her -to keep silence. Mariam, who was devoted to her mistress, obeyed her. - -Having returned to her apartment, Baïla reflected on her adventure. -Adventures are rare in a harem life. She was intriguing there -desperately, and would have been disquieted had she not had other cares. -These, in their turn, occupied her thoughts. - -In thinking of them she became fretful, angry; she crushed the rich -stuffs which lay beside her. She even wept, but rather from passion than -grief. - -Since the preceding evening Baïla was doubtful of her beauty; since then -she cursed the existence to which she had been condemned, and regretted -the days of her early youth. To remove from her mind the incessant idea -which tormented her, she essayed to remount to the past. She found -there, if not consolation, at least distraction. - -The past of a young girl of seventeen is frequently but the paradise of -memory—a radiant Eden, peopled with remembrances of her family, and -sometimes of a first love. It was not so with Baïla; her family were -indifferent to her, and her first love had been imposed upon her. - -She was born in Mingrelia, of a drunken father and an avaricious mother. -They, finding her face handsome and her body well proportioned, had -destined her, almost from the cradle, for the pleasures of the Sultan. -Her education had been suitable for her destined state. She was taught -to dance and sing, and to accompany herself in recitative; nothing more -had ever been thought of. - -Although her parents professed externally one of the forms of the -Christian religion, had they sought to develop the slightest religious -instinct in her? What was the use of it? The morality of Christ could -but give her false ideas and be entirely useless to her in the brilliant -career which was to open before her. - -But if the beautiful child only awakened toward herself feelings of -speculation, if she was, in the eyes of her parents, but a piece of -precious merchandise, she, at least, profited in advance by the -privileges it conferred upon her. - -Whilst her brothers were unceasingly occupied with the culture of their -vineyard, with the gathering of grapes and honey—whilst her sister, as -beautiful as herself, but slightly lame, was condemned to assist her -mother in household cares, Baïla led a life of indolence. Could they -allow her white and delicate hands to come in contact with dirty -furnaces, or her well-turned nails to be bruised against the heavy -earthen ware, or her handsome feet to be deformed by the stones in the -roads? No—it would have been at the risk of injuring her, and of -deteriorating from her value. - -Thus, under the paternal roof, where all the rest were struggling and -laboring, she alone, extended in the shade, having no other occupation -than singing and dancing, passed her life in indolence, or in regarding -with artless admiration the increase and development of her beauty, the -wealth of her family. - -The common table was covered with coarse food for the rest; for her, and -her alone, are reserved the most delicate products of fishing and -hunting. Her brothers collected carefully for her those delicate bulbs, -which, reduced to flour, make that marvelous _salep_, at once an -internal cosmetic and a nutritive substance, which the women of the East -use to aid them in the development of their figures, and to give to -their skin a coloring of rosy white. - -If they were going to any place, Baïla traveled on the back of a mule, -in a dress of silk, whilst the rest of the family, clothed in coarse -wool or serge, escorted her on foot, watching over her with constant -solicitude. Truly, a stranger meeting them by the way, and witnessing -all these cares and demonstrations, would have taken her for an idolized -daughter, guarded against destiny by the most tender affections. - -If her father, however, approached her, it was to pinch her nose, the -nostrils of which were a little too wide; and her mother, as an habitual -caress, contented herself with pulling her eyebrows near the temples, so -as to give the almond form to her eyes. - -Sometimes the husband, seized suddenly with enthusiasm on seeing Baïla -exhibit her grace when dancing by starlight, would say in a low voice to -his wife— - -“By Saint Demetrius, I believe the child will some day bring us enough -to furnish a cellar with rack and tafita enough to last forever;” and a -laugh of happiness would light up his dull face. - -“If we should be so unfortunate as to lose her before her time, it will -be ten thousand good piastres of which the Good God will rob us,” -replied his worthy companion; and she shed a tear of alarm. - -Baïla was thirteen years old, when a barque ascending the Incour, -stopped at a short distance from the hut of the Mingrelian. A man -wearing a turban descended from it. He was a purveyor for the harem, -then on an expedition. - -“Do you sell honey?” he said to the master of the hut, whom he found at -the door. - -“I gather white and red.” - -“Can I taste it?” - -The honest Mingrelian brought him a sample of both kinds. - -“I would see another kind,” said the man with a turban, with a -significant glance. - -“Enter then,” replied the father of Baïla, and whilst the stranger was -passing the threshold, hastening to the room occupied by his wife, he -said to her— - -“Be quick; the nuptials of thy daughter are preparing; the merchant is -here; he is below; arrange her and come down with her.” - -At the sight of Baïla, the merchant could not restrain an exclamation of -admiration; then almost immediately, with a commercial manœuvre he threw -up her head, preparing to examine her with more attention. - -During this inspection the young girl blushed deeply; the father and -mother seeking to read the secret thoughts of the merchant in his eyes -and face, kept a profound silence, beseeching lowly their patron saint -for success in the matter. - -The man in the turban changing his course, and as if he had come merely -to lay in a supply of honey, took up one of the two samples deposited on -a table, and taking up some with his finger tasted it. - -“This honey is white and handsome enough, but it wants flavor. How much -is the big measure?” - -“Twelve thousand,” the mother hastened to reply. - -“Twelve thousand paras?” - -“Twelve thousand piastres.” - -The merchant shrugged his shoulders—“You will keep it for your own use -then, my good woman.” He then went toward the door. - -The woman made a sign to her husband not to stop him. In fact, as she -had foreseen, he stopped before reaching the door, and turning toward -the master of the house said— - -“Brother in God, I have rested beneath your roof. In return for your -hospitality, I give you some good advice. You have children?” - -“Two daughters.” - -“Well, have an eye to them, for the Lesghis have recently descended from -their mountains and carried off large numbers in Guriel and Georgia.” - -“Let them come,” replied the Mingrelian, “I have three sons and four -guns.” - -The merchant then made a movement of departure, but having cast a rapid -glance on Baïla, he raised his right hand with his five fingers -extended. - -Baïla, red with shame, cast on him a look of contempt and took the -attitude of an insulted queen. Thanks to that look and attitude, in -which he doubtless found some flavor, the merchant raised a finger of -his left hand. - -The Mingrelian showed his ten fingers, not however without an angry -glance from his wife, who muttered, “it is too soon.” - -“Honey is dear in your district,” said the man with the turban; “I -foresee I shall have to buy it from the Lesghis against my will. -Farewell, and may Allah keep you.” - -“Can we not on the one hand sell any thing, nor on the other buy any -thing without your turning your back so quickly on us on that account?” -replied the father. “Repose still, the oar has doubtless wearied your -hands.” - -“That is why they are so difficult to open,” growled the housewife. - -“Since you permit it,” said the merchant, “I will remain here until the -sun has lost a little of its power.” - -“I cannot offer you any thing but the shade. I know that the children of -the prophet avoid food beneath the roof of a Christian; but instead of -that you can indulge in a permitted pleasure; as my daughter is still -here, she can sing for you.” - -Baïla sang, accompanying herself with an instrument. The man with the -turban, seated on his heels, his arms crossed on his knees, his head -resting on his arms, listened with a profound and immovable attention, -and when she finished, in testimony of his satisfaction, he contented -himself with silently raising one finger more. - -Baïla, to the sound of ivory castanets and small silver bells, then -performed an expressive dance, imitating the voluptuous movements of the -bayaderes of India and the Eastern almas, but with more reserve however. - -Forced this time to look at her, the man with the turban was unable to -disguise the impression made upon him by so much grace, suppleness and -agility, and, in an irrestrainable outbreak of enthusiasm, he raised two -fingers at once. They were near to a conclusion. - -In this mysterious bargaining, this language of the fingers, these mutes -signs were used to enable the parties to swear, if necessary, before the -Russian authorities, by Christ or Mahommed, that there had been no -conversation between them except about honey, furs or beaver skins. - -After some more bargaining on both sides, the mother finally received -the ten thousand piastres in her apron, and disappeared immediately, to -conceal it in some hiding-place, careless whether she should see her -daughter again or not. - -Whilst she was gone the merchant glanced on the elder sister of Baïla, -who had assisted at the bargaining, whilst she was kneading bread in a -kneading trough. - -“And she,” said he; “shall I not carry her off also?” - -The elder sister, flattered in her vanity, made him a reverence. - -“She is lame,” said the father. - -“Oh, oh!” said the other, “let us see—it does not matter.” - -They bargained anew, and the Mingrelian, taking advantage of his wife’s -absence, ended by selling his oldest daughter for six English guns, a -large supply of powder and lead, some smoking materials and two tuns of -rack. Whilst he was in the humor, he would cheerfully have sold his -wife, still in fine preservation, if custom, agreeing this time with the -new Russian code, had permitted him to do so. - -The two men were touching hands in conclusion of this new bargain when -the mother returned. She uttered at first loud cries, thinking that all -the household cares were henceforth to devolve on herself alone. The -merchant was enabled to quiet her by a present of a necklace of false -stones, and some ornaments of gilded brass. - -On the following day the two Mingrelian sisters reached a small port on -the shores of the Black Sea, whence they soon embarked for Trebizond. A -month afterward, the man with the turban being suddenly seized with a -desire to have a wife for himself, after having furnished so many to -others, married the eldest sister, who had won his affections by her -skill in making cake. - -Such were the remembrances of her family which were awakened in the mind -of the young odalisk, when retired and alone in her apartment, pouting -and jealous. - -She then called up the images of that other portion of her life, in -which love was to play a part. She returned in imagination to Trebizond, -to the house of her purchaser, become her brother-in-law. There, like -the companions of her captivity, surrounded by attention and care, under -a superintendence minute but not severe, she passed a year, during which -she had acquired the Turkish language and skill in the toilette, at the -same time perfecting herself in singing and dancing. - -A year having passed, the brother-in-law of Baïla embarked with her and -several of her companions for Constantinople. One fine morning he had -dressed his graceful cargo in white, their hair had been anointed and -perfumed, and after having passed the walls of the old seraglio and -traversed some narrow and crooked streets, merchant and merchandise were -installed in a chamber of the slave bazaar. - -European ideas concerning the sales of females in the East are generally -erroneous. Our knowledge on this subject rests essentially on what we -have seen in the theatres and in pictures. But dramatic authors and -painters desirous of obtaining the picturesque above all else, do not -regard exactness very closely. - -The latter, in order not to divide their pictures into apartments, have -shown us a great common room, in which all, males and females, all -young, all handsome and half naked, divided into groups, pass under the -inspection of the first comers. The promenaders make the circuit of the -galleries; huge Turks, crushed beneath their turbans, and muffled in -their cashmere robes, their silk caftans and their furs, smoke -tranquilly, seated in the corner as in a coffee-house. Sometimes, in -these fantastic sketches, a slender greyhound, with his sharp muzzle, or -a beautiful spaniel, with a flowing tail, figures as an accessory, as in -the great compositions of Reubens or Vandyke; but in Turkey dogs are -prohibited from entering. - -The former, dramatic poets or authors, have boldly established their -markets on the public square, before a crowd of chorus singers, with -pasteboard camels to add to the local coloring. It is true, that, thanks -to the convenience of the scene, the costume of the beautiful slaves for -sale has been increased. The purchasers of women at the opera are forced -to be content with a very superficial examination. - -A bazaar of this kind is much less accessible than these gentlemen would -induce us to believe. Divided into private chambers, the women of every -color and all ages, especially those whose youth and beauty command a -high price, are lodged almost alone, under the custody of their sellers. -In order to penetrate the sanctuary one must be a Mussulman, and offer -guarantees, either from his position or his fortune; for the first -curious person who presents himself is not permitted to see and buy. - -Baïla and her companions entered, then, into a saloon of the grand -bazaar of Constantinople, to take up their positions in the upper port -of a chamber. Each desirous of reigning over the heart of one of the -grand dignitaries, sought the most favorable position to show off her -attractions to the greatest advantage, and was disposing herself so as -to arm herself with all her natural or acquired graces, when a small old -man, with a meager and mean turban, a caftan without embroidery or furs, -as old-fashioned as its master, entered the room almost furtively. It -was an Armenian renegade, who had made his fortune by superintending the -affairs of an old vizier, whose treasurer or _khashadar_ he was. - -Whilst he was in the service of the latter, he had carefully increased -his wealth, and his wife, espoused by him before his apostacy, had never -permitted him to give her a rival. By a double fate, his wife died about -the same time his vizier was sent into exile in disgrace. Become free on -both sides, the Armenian feared no longer to exhibit his gold and his -amorous propensities, both of which he had concealed so well for thirty -years. - -Although it was a little late, he determined to recommence his youth, to -live for pleasure, and to organize a harem. Thus, at this moment, -rubbing his hands, his figure inflamed, his small, red eyes glistening -like carbuncles, he glided round the chamber, like a hungry fox around a -poultry-yard. - -The beautiful young girls were enraged at the sight. In their dreams of -love, each of them had doubtless seen in her happy possessor, a handsome -young man, with a capacious brow, majestic carriage, and black and -glistening beard; and the ex-treasurer of the vizier did not appear to -have ever possessed any of these fortunate gifts of nature. - -Not being desirous of such a customer, instead of sweet smiles and their -premeditated graceful postures, they assumed frowning and cross looks, -when the old man stopped before Baïla, who at once trembled and was -seized with an immoderate desire to cry. She was, however, forced to -rise up, to walk about, and notwithstanding all the want of grace she -could assume, the khashadar found her charming; he approached her, -looked at her feet and hands, and examined her teeth, then taking the -merchant aside, said, “Thy price?” - -“Twenty thousand piastres.” - -The khashadar made a bound backward; his lips puckered up like those of -a baboon who has bitten a sharp citron; he recommenced walking around -the room, examined all those beautiful fruits of Georgia and Circassia -submitted to his inspection; he then stopped again before Baïla. She -feigning to think that he wished to examine her mouth again, put out her -tongue and made a face at him. - -This demonstration did not appear to cool his fire. He reapproached the -merchant, and when they had bargained for some time, seated -cross-legged, the latter rose, saying, - -“By the Angel Gabriel, I promised my wife, whose own sister she is, not -to part with her for less than twenty thousand, for the honor of the -family.” - -Baïla, who had drawn her veil around her figure, perceived that the -bargain was concluded; and, unable to restrain herself, burst into sobs. -The door of the room was at that moment opened roughly. A man of lofty -stature and imperious look, walked straight up to the desolate girl; he -raised her veil, that veil which, though it concealed her tears, could -not drown her sobs. - -“How much for this slave?” he asked. - -“She is mine,” said the khashadar. - -“How much?” he repeats. - -“But I am her purchaser, and not her seller,” said the little old man, -rising on his toes, so as to approximate his length toward that of the -interlocutor. - -The latter thrust him aside with a glance of contempt. “I came here,” he -said, “to make a purchase to the amount of nineteen thousand piastres.” - -“Twenty thousand is her price,” observed the seller. - -“I offer twenty-five thousand for her,” he replied, throwing the veil -over the figure of Baïla. - -The merchant bent himself; the khashadar, though pale with rage, -restrained himself, for he had recognized in his rival Ali-ben-Ali, -surnamed _Djezzar_, or the Butcher, the pacha of Shivas. - -Thus the young girl having been once sold by her father, was again sold -by her brother-in-law. - -Djezzar Pacha, whom a slight difficulty with the divan had called for a -short time to the capital of the empire, took his beautiful slave back -with him to his usual residence, and she at once occupied the first -place in his heart. The joy which she felt at seeing herself elevated -above all her rivals, was not confined to a feeling of pride; she -thought she loved Djezzar. - -Although he was no longer in his first youth, and the severity of his -glance sometimes inspired Baïla with a feeling of terror rather than of -love, yet the first look she had cast on him in the bazaar of -Constantinople, the comparison she had then made between him and the old -khashadar, had been so much to his advantage, that she thought him young -and handsome. He had since shown himself to be so generous, so much in -love, had complied with her caprices and fancies with such tender -indulgence, that closing her ears to the stories in circulation about -him, she thought him good and patient. - -If, however, she is first in the love of the pacha, she is not alone; -Djezzar does not pique himself on an unalterable fidelity. At this very -time a daughter of Amasia has entered the harem; and the women of Amasia -are regarded as the most beautiful in Turkey. Who knows whether the -scepter of beauty is not about to change hands? May not another inspire -in Djezzar a love still stronger than that he has shown for Baïla? - -Such were the ideas that so sadly preoccupied the young Odalisk, when -walking in the garden, she cast by stealth those jealous looks toward -the building with gilded lattices which contained her new rival. - -Now her courage is strengthened, her mind lit up by sweeter lights. Did -not the picture of her whole life, which passed before her, show her -that her beauty must be incomparable, since after having dwelt at her -ease in her father’s house, she had been an object of speculation for -her brother-in-law surpassing his extremest hopes? In the bazaar of the -women two purchasers had alone appeared, and they, notwithstanding the -choice offered them, had disputed for her possession. But that which -above all appeared to prove her power, was the boldness of the young -Frank, who at the risk of his life had passed the dreaded entrance of -the palace of Djezzar; who at the sight of her was so overcome as to -lose his presence of mind; who, after having seen her, had again wished -to behold her, and had anew placed himself in her way. - -Did he not fear death as the price of his temerity? He did not fear -because he loves—and it is thus the Franks love. Had they not seen the -most celebrated of them, Napoleon, then Sultan, conquer Egypt with an -army, in order to seek there for a beautiful female, whose beauty and -whose country had been revealed to him in a dream sent by God.[1] Is it -not also in a dream that this young Frank has received a revelation of -the charms of Baïla? Perhaps he had seen her during her residence at -Trebizond, or on her voyage to Constantinople? What matters it; she owes -it to him that she now feels confident and reassured. Let Djezzar bestow -his affections for one night on the daughter of Amasia; to-morrow he -will return to the Mingrelian. And Baïla went to sleep thinking of the -young Frank. - -Did she feel already for him one of those inexplicable affections that -sometimes spring up in the hearts of recluses? By no means; his scanty -costume and beardless chin did not render him very seductive in her -eyes, and he had not been enabled to charm her by his eloquence. But she -thought she owed him gratitude; besides, she perhaps wished to try to -avenge herself on Djezzar, even during her sleep. - ------ - -[1] The Arabians, Egyptians, and Turks still believe this. - - - CHAPTER II. - -On the following morning, Baïla, followed by Mariam, again traversed the -garden, under the pretext of erasing the tracks of the unknown, should -he have left any. The wind and the night had caused them to disappear -from the walks which were covered with fine sand. Returning, however, -from the neighborhood of the river, she found the recent mark of a boot -impressed on a flower border. The foot-mark was small, straight, and -graceful. - -Baïla hesitated to efface it. Why? Was the stranger speaking decidedly -to her heart? No; it was a woman’s caprice, and among women the odalisks -are perhaps the most enigmatical. After having undertaken this -expedition for the very purpose of effacing all traces of the Frank, she -was now tempted to retain the only one that remained. - -This print, which the bostangis, with their large sandals with wooden -soles could not have left, and which the foot of the pacha would have -over-lapped with a large margin, and which consequently might reveal the -adventure of the evening, she was desirous of preserving. Why? Perhaps -her imagination, over-excited by her ideas of gratitude, had, at the -sight of this elegant impress, given the lie to her eyes, by clothing -the stranger with a charm, which, in his first movement of alarm she was -unable to recognize. Perhaps, blinded by passion, Baïla was desirous -that Djezzar might see this denunciatory mark, so that his jealousy -might be alarmed, and he might suffer in his pride and his love as she -had done. - -The old negress pointed out to her, that in case the unknown should be -rash enough to return again, the pacha, his suspicions once excited, -would certainly have him seized, and thus both might be compromised. - -The Mingrelian then yielded; but she was unwilling, from a new caprice, -that Mariam should remove the earth from this place. She contented -herself with placing her own delicate foot upon it several times, and -with trampling with her imprint in that of the stranger, and this double -mark remained for a long time, protected as it was from inspection by -the superabundant foliage of a Pontic Azalea. - -This shrub grew in great abundance on the slopes of the Caucasus, and -Baïla, when a child, had seen them flower in her native country. She -conceived an affection for this spot, which spoke to her of her country, -and of her second and mysterious lover. Her country she had left without -regret; this young Frank, this giaour, he had been to her at first but a -surprise, an apparition, a dream, and now, her wounded heart demands an -aliment for this double recollection. During a whole month she took her -walks in this direction; thither she came to dream of her country and -the stranger, especially of the latter. - -Did she then at length love him? Who can tell? Who would dare to give -the name of love to those deceitful illuminations produced in the brain -of a young girl, by a fermentation of ideas, like wills-of-the-wisp on -earth; to those phantoms of a moment, with which solitudes are peopled -by those who abandon themselves to a life of contemplation. - -In Europe, _the religious_, though living under a very different rule, -refer all the passionate tenderness of their soul to God; each of them -finds, however, some mode of husbanding a part of it for some holy image -of her choice, some concealed relic, which belongs to her alone; she -addresses secret prayers to it, she perfumes it with incense which she -carries away from the high altar; it is her aside worship. In the East, -those other inhabitants of cloisters, the odalisks, have no worship but -love, and in the endearments of that love they can prostrate themselves -but before one alone; but there, as everywhere else, the idol is -concealed in the shadow of the temple; they have their fetishes, their -dreams, their fraudulent loves, their loves of the head, if we may so -designate them. It is perhaps necessary for human nature thus to give -the most decided counterpoise to its thoughts, in order to preserve the -equilibrium of the soul, to protest in a low tone against that which we -loudly adore, to oppose a shadow to a reality. - -It is true that where lovers are concerned, the shadow sometimes assumes -a form and the reality evaporates. - -Be this as it may, Djezzar had returned to Baïla, and the latter, more -assured than ever of her power, made him expiate his late infidelity by -her caprices and her extravagances. They wondered in the Harem to see -the Pacha of Shivas, before whom every thing trembled, bow before this -handsome slave, so frail, so white, so delicate, whom he might have -broken by a gesture or a word. The rumor of it spread even to the city, -where it was whispered that Djezzar would turn Jew if Baïla wished it. - -This Ali-ben-Ali, surnamed Djezzar, or the Butcher, was, however, a -terrible man. Originally a page in the palace of the Sultan, and brought -up by Mahmoud, he had not participated at all in the civilizing -ameliorations the latter had endeavored to introduce into his empire. -The decree of Gulhana had found him the opponent of all reform. Assured -of a protection in the divan, which he knew how to preserve, he -sustained himself as the type of the old pachas, of whom his -predecessors, Ali of Janina and Djezzar of Acre, were the paragons. He -especially redoubled his barbarism when a philosophical breeze from -Europe endeavored to breathe tolerance over his country. - -Adjudging to himself the double part of judge and executioner, thanks to -his expeditious justice, decrees emanating from his tribunal were -executed as soon as rendered; sometimes the punishment preceded the -judgment. A thousand examples were cited, tending to prove clearly that -in Turkey, Djezzar was a relique of the old regime. An aga had -prevaricated. The pacha unable to inflict punishment upon the culprit in -person, as the friend of prompt and good justice, had ordered a young -effendi, his secretary, to go at once to the residence of the -prevaricator and deprive him of an eye. The young man hesitating and -excusing himself on the plea of his inexperience, “Come nearer,” said -Djezzar to him; and when the poor effendi approached him, the pacha, -with marvelous dexterity, plunging quickly one of his fingers into the -corner of an eye, drew out the globe from its socket, then with a quick -twist and the assistance of his nail, the operation was performed. - -“Slave, thou knowest now how to do it; obey at once,” he said to him; -and the poor victim, with his wound undressed and bleeding, was -constrained, on peril of his life, to inflict on the aga the punishment -he had just undergone. - -No one excelled as he did in cutting off a head at a blow of the -yataghan. It is true, no one else had so much practice. There was a -story told at Shivas, of a feat of this kind which did him the highest -credit. - -Two Arabian peasants, feulahs, were brought before him, on a charge of -murder, and each of them accusing the other of the crime. Djezzar was -perplexed for a moment. It was possible that one of them was innocent. -Wanting proof of this, and not being in the humor to wait for it, he -thought of an ingenious and prompt means of referring the judgment to -God. By his orders the accused were fastened back to back by their -bodies and shoulders; he draws his sabre—the head which falls is to be -that of the guilty man. - -Seeing death so near, the two wretched men struggle to avoid falling -beneath the hand of the executioner; they turn—they shift—each -endeavoring to place his companion on the side where the blow is to -fall. Djezzar regarded this manœuvering for some time with pleasure; at -length, after having pronounced the name of Allah three times, he made -his Damascene blade describe a large circle, and both heads fell off at -a blow. - -Notwithstanding his habitual gravity, the pacha could not avoid laughing -at this unexpected result; he laughed immoderately, which he had -probably never before done in his life, and his noisy bursts mingled -with the hoarse roars and panting of a lion, which, confined in a -neighboring apartment, inhaled the odor of the blood. - -This lion was his master’s favorite. Custom had for a long time -prescribed to the pachas of Shivas, as to other pachas of the East, that -they should be accompanied by a lion on all solemn occasions. Galib, the -predecessor of Djezzar, and a great partisan of reform, had a monstrous -one which he fed particularly with Janizaries; the story ran, that the -fanatical Djezzar appeased the appetite of his occasionally with -Christian flesh. - -And yet this ferocious man, who made a profession of the trade of an -executioner, who laughed only when heads were cut off, who, according to -public rumor, tossed human flesh to his lion, Haïder, felt the power of -love, doubtless not gallant and perfumed love—the love of the boudoir; -but, endowed with an energetic and voluptuous temperament, he passed in -the midst of his harem the time spared from business; and in the East, -whatever may be the complexity of affairs, the administration, -especially under such a mastery, is reduced to such simplicity, that -leisure is never wanting. - -Djezzar could say with Orasmanus, - - I will give an hour to the cares of my empire, - The rest of the day shall be devoted to Zaïre. - -Zaïre, that is, Baïla, awaited him on his quitting the Council. -Especially in his summer palace of Kizil-Ermak did he spend the greater -part of the day, extended on cushions at the feet of his beautiful -slave, smoking the roses of Taif or Adrianople, mingled with the tobacco -of Malatia or Latakia, sometimes chewing a leaf of haschich, or a grain -of opium, or even of arsenic to exalt his imagination. - -Baïla sometimes smoked the hooka; and as they reclined there together, -plunged into a dreamy state, full of reveries, caused by the juice of -the yucca or the poppy of Aboutig, the one opening for himself in -advance a sojourn among the celestial houris, the other thinking, -perchance, of the audacious stranger, Haïder, the lion, drawing in his -claws, would stretch, himself familiarly beside them. - -Baïla would then lean carelessly on her elbow against this terrible -creature, whilst the pacha would listlessly permit his head to recline -on the lap of the odalisk. It was a sight to behold this beautiful young -female, robed in light draperies, reposing thus quietly between these -two ferocious beasts. She feared neither of them; the lion was tamed as -well as the man; both obeyed her voice, her look. - -At first, notwithstanding the violent passion of Djezzar, Baïla had -doubts as to the duration of her power, especially when she thought of -the favorite who had preceded her. - -This favorite, after a reign of three years, having dared to persist in -soliciting pardon for a bostangi, who was condemned to lose his hand for -having fished fraudulently, during the night, in the fish-ponds of the -pacha, the latter, in a moment of rage, had cut off the nose of his -beautiful Aysche, and then not desiring to keep her in that state, he -had completed the punishment of the trustless bostangi and the -refractory slave by uniting them in marriage. A piece of ground, -situated on the confines of the city, had been given them as a dowry. -Aysche now sold vegetables in the market, where she was known by the -name of _Bournouses_ (the noseless.) - -This example of the instability of the power of favorites had ceased to -disturb Baïla, since the Christian had revealed to her the secret of her -power. Besides, at the time of the events Aysche was no longer young, -which might give rise to the thought, that her decreasing beauty, rather -than any other cause, had excited the wrath of her master. - -Baïla was seventeen years old, with a Georgian head on a Circassian -body, the voice of a syren, and the tread of a nymph—what had she to -fear? Her will had become that of the pacha. Entirely cemented by habit -to her love, he appeared never to think of his other odalisks, except -when the Mingrelian, from caprice or petulance, revolted openly against -his desires. Then, in the presence of the rebellious beauty, Djezzar -would order a slave to carry to an odalisk, whom he designated, a piece -of goods, which, according to the Oriental custom, announced the -approach of the master, and which in accordance with our method of -translating Turkish manners, we have naturalized among us by the phrase -of “_throwing the handkerchief_.” - -Formerly, at the idea of the infidelity which was to be practiced toward -her, Baïla fretted and pouted in a corner with a bereaved air. Her small -mouth drawn down at the corners, muttered unintelligible complaints and -threats; her beautiful black eyes, with their long, vibrating lashes, -were half closed, and with her head bent, and the pupils drawn back to -the angle of the eyelids, she cast upon the slave, the master, and the -brilliant piece of goods, a look full of anger and jealousy. There her -audacity ceased. - -But now, when Djezzar, to avenge himself on her, takes a fancy to be -inconstant, she falls upon the stuff and the slave, tears the one and -cuffs the other; and if the omnipotent pacha carries out his plan of -vengeance, it frequently happens on the next day that as the price of -submission, the slave is, on some pretext, bastinadoed, and the favorite -of a day driven away in disgrace, too happy to escape, without, like -Aysche, leaving her nose within the palace, is sent to the bazaar to -become the property of the highest bidder. - -Such had lately been the fate of the beautiful daughter of Amasia. - -Proud in the empire she exercised over her master, Baïla became -intoxicated in the triumph of her vanity. In the midst of its smoke, the -remembrance of the stranger, the giaour, no longer reached her but at -distant intervals. - -She had remained shut up for a whole week without descending into the -gardens, when one day that Djezzar had gone to raise some taxes, -resuming her old promenades, she found herself unconsciously near the -Azalea of Pontus. - -What had become of that young Frank? Was he still in the pachalick of -Shivas? Did he still entertain the plan of a second attempt, as Mariam -had thought he would? He had doubtless gone, returned to his country, -that singular country called France, where they say the women rule the -men; she should see him no more. So much the better for both him and -her. - -Whilst she was in this train of reflection a roar of Haïder was heard -without; it announced the return of the pacha. The latter had taken him -with him, for the pleasure of letting him loose at some jackall by the -way. She was preparing to return to her apartments to await there the -arrival of Djezzar, when a report of fire-arms, followed by a low noise, -was heard by the side of Red River. - -Baïla trembled without being able to explain the cause of her emotion. - -“Have you been successful in hunting?” she said to Djezzar, when they -were alone. - -“So, so,” he replied; “my falcon struck three pheasants, and I killed a -_dog_.” - -Baïla dared not interrogate him as to the doubtful sense which this word -might have in the mouth of so orthodox a Mussulman as Ali-ben-Ali. - -That evening, when Mariam came to her mistress, after hesitating as to -the information she was about to give her, and after ten preparatory -exclamations, she informed her of the event of the day. - -As the pacha was returning to his palace, and his hunting train was -straggling along by the woods of Kizil-Ermak, near the place where they -entered the second enclosure, Haïder, whom a slave held by a leash, -stopped obstinately before a copse, growling in low tones, which -attracted the attention of Djezzar. The copse having been beaten by the -train, a man sprung out from it, flying rapidly toward the river, across -which he endeavored to swim, but before he could reach the opposite -bank, the pacha, snatching a gun from the hand of one of his delhis, had -drawn on the flyer with such certainty of eye and hand, that, struck in -the head, he had disappeared immediately, carried down by the current. -This man was a Christian, but an Asiatic Christian, as his head-dress of -blue muslin proved. Besides, the pacha said that the roar of Haïder of -itself showed what his religion was. - -“Be his country or religion what they may,” said Mariam, finishing her -story, “he is dead, dead without any one being enabled to divine what -motive could have induced him to secrete himself on this side of the -river by the very verge of the palace.” - -“At the verge of the gardens,” then interrupted Baïla, who had listened -to the recital of her old negress without interrupting her for a moment, -or even without appearing to be greatly moved by it. “It was into the -gardens that he wished to penetrate, as he had done before.” - -Mariam looked at her with surprise. - -“Yes,” pursued the Mingrelian, “the man whom they have killed is the -young Frank, who had doubtless changed his dress, so as not to attract -too much attention to himself by his European costume.” - -Mariam remained silent. - -“Do you not think so also?” - -After some inarticulate words the negress said, “Who can tell?” - -“Thyself,” replied Baïla, “thou knowest more than thou hast told me.” - -“I avow,” added Mariam, after a little hesitation, “that one of the -delhis, who witnessed the affair, said in my presence, that the fugitive -appeared to have a very white complexion for an Asiatic.” - -“Thou seest it all well, Mariam,” said Baïla, carelessly, still playing -with the fan she held in her hand. - -“If it is so,” replied the negress, “I am sorry for the fate of the poor -young Christian; but we at least are out of the reach of danger in -consequence of it, and I can now sleep, for, since his double apparition -in the garden, I have but half closed my eyes. I feared constantly some -imprudence on your part or his.” - -“Faint-hearted;” and Mariam assisted Baïla in arranging her toilet for -the night. - -Soon after daylight the Mingrelian left her solitary couch, for Djezzar -fatigued by the chase had also slept alone, woke her old negress, and -both descended into the gardens. Baïla gave as a pretext for her walk, -her desire to breathe the fresh air of the gardens. - -She went first to the kiosk, then to the plateau, on which she had -formerly seated herself; she cast a glance around her on the masses of -flowers and shrubs, upon the small marble basin, and fixed for some time -an attentive look upon the two palm-trees, as if some one was about to -appear between their columns, under their green canopy. She went then to -the spot where the Azalea covered with its shade and its flowers the -last trace of the stranger; she broke off one of the branches, stripped -it of its foliage, broke it into two, fastened together the pieces in -the form of a cross, by means of a cord taken from a pelisse which she -wore; she then set up this cross upon the foot-print, which was almost -effaced. All this was done without any affectation of sentiment, and -with a calm and almost listless air. - -At the sight of the cross, Mariam, who was born a Christian in -Abyssinia, signed herself, after having first cast a cautious glance -around her. Baïla contented herself with breathing a sigh, the sigh of a -child who sees a game on which it has been for some time engaged, -finished. She then returned to the isolated pavilion, in which her suite -of apartments was situated, with her head bent down and pensive, but -thinking, perhaps, of any thing else than the stranger. - -From that moment, however, cross and fantastic with Djezzar, she had no -longer for him those soft caresses, nor those melodious songs, nor those -intoxicating dances which accompanied the clicking noise of her -castinets, and appeared to open the gates of the seventh heaven. She -finished by irritating him so much by her redoubled whims, caprices, and -refusals, that he left her in a fury, and remained for three whole days -without wishing to speak to her. On the third day, the attendants came -to him to inform him that a terrible noise was heard in the apartments -of the favorite, the cries of a woman mingled with the roarings of the -lion. - -Djezzar sent thither, but was unwilling to go himself. When they -hastened to the assistance of the Mingrelian, they found her shut up -alone with Haïder. The rich carpet of Khorassan, which adorned the floor -of her chamber, was in places rent to pieces, and all strewed over with -bits of switches of the cherry. These shreds and fragments pointed out -the places where the strife had taken place between the lion and the -odalisk. - -After having drawn him into her pavilion, Baïla had shut him off from -all retreat, and careless of the result to herself, armed with a light -bunch of rods, she had struck him redoubled blows, resolutely renewing -every stick which was broken on the body of her terrible antagonist. The -latter, accustomed to obey the voice that scolded him, and the arm that -struck him, without thinking of defending himself, bounded from one side -of the chamber to the other, tearing up a strip of carpet with his -curled talons at each bound; but finally his patience and long endurance -exhausted, irritated by grief, groaning and palpitating, lying half on -his croupe and his back, raising up one of his monstrous paws, he -extended his glittering talons, and became in his turn threatening, when -suddenly the bostangis and footmen of the pacha entered, armed with -boar-spears. The door being opened, the lion fled through it in -disgrace, not before the new comers, but from the Mingrelian, who still -pursued him with her last cherry-stick. - -On the evening of the day in which Baïla had excited the royal anger of -the lion against herself, that terrible animal, broken and degraded by -his domestic habits, came, like a well-trained dog, confused and -repentant, to couch at the feet of his mistress, imploring pardon. - -On the following day Djezzar did the same. The favorite saw him approach -her, humble, and laden with presents. The contest of Baïla with Haïder, -of which a full account had been given to him, filled him with a -singular admiration for the former. Baïla received the two conquered -with a cold dignity, which might pass for some remains of rigor. - -This double victory found her indifferent; she had exhausted all the -emotions she could experience; she had so far distanced her rivals, that -triumph over them no longer excited her vanity; the slaves around her -were so submissive that she no longer took pleasure in commanding them. -The pacha was tamed, tamed even to weakness, to cowardice; every one, -even the lion, submitted to the power of the favorite, and with such -unanimous accord, that in this harem, where every thing prostrates -itself before her, and every thing is done in accordance with her will -or her caprice, she has but a single enemy whom she cannot conquer; it -is ennui. That threatened to increase daily, and to strengthen itself by -the weakness of the others. - -The pacha went on the same day to the city; Baïla consented to accompany -him; and after having remained a short time at Shivas, they had scarcely -returned to Kizil-Ermak, when she appeared entirely different from what -she had been at her departure. Gayety and vivacity had returned to her; -the smile to her lips, joy to her eyes; she had refound her sweetest -songs, her most graceful dances. She was charming in the eyes of Djezzar -and even of Haïder. It was said she had been spontaneously metamorphosed -by the way. - -The good humor of the favorite communicating itself to the pacha, and -spreading from him far and near, all was joy in the palace that night. - -Baïla alone possessed the secret of this general joy. - - - CHAPTER III. - -Shut up in her palanquin, in the suite of the master, as she was passing -with the escort through one of suburbs of Shivas, on their return to the -Red River, and was amusing herself with looking at the inhabitants, -Turks and Christians, fly, pell-mell, in disorder, so as to hide or -prostrate themselves at the sight of the pacha, she remarked one, who, -remaining erect and motionless, did not appear to participate in the -emotions of the crowd. - -Baïla was at first astonished that the guards, the _cawas_, did not -force him to assume a more humble posture; she examines him with more -attention and starts. He wears the dress of a Frank, and as far as she -can judge through her double veil, and the muslin curtains of the -palanquin, which were spangled with gold, his features are those of the -unknown. - -By a movement quicker than thought, veil, curtains, all are at once -thrown aside. It is he—their looks meet. The stranger is troubled. He -is doubtless again overcome by the resplendent lustre of so much beauty; -then, with an expression full of love, he raises his eyes to heaven, and -places one hand upon his heart; he moves quickly in this hand a small -brilliant, gilded object which Baïla could not distinguish, for the -curtains had already fallen. - -This imprudent, daring scene, which occurred in the midst of a crowd, -had no witnesses, all were flying or were prostrate on the ground. - -During the remainder of the route Baïla believed she had dreamed. What, -this stranger, then, was not dead; he had not been denounced by Haïder, -and slain by Djezzar. Had she then been unjust and cruel toward these? -She owed them a reparation. Perhaps the Frank had been only wounded. -This was very light, then, for it had not prevented him from -encountering her. Why light? Was not he who feared not to brave every -thing to reach her, capable of enduring pain, in order to see her? But -what object had he held before her, with his hand on his heart, and his -eyes turned toward heaven? Doubtless a present which he wished to make -her, which he desired to throw into her palanquin as a souvenir. She had -let her spangled curtains fall too quickly. Or rather, is it not some -jewel of her own, something which had fallen from her dress, and been -found by him at the foot of the plantain, or in the alleys of the -garden? Yes, he preserves it as a precious relic, as his guardian amulet -which he wears above his heart; for it was from thence he drew it—it -was there she saw him replace it in his transport of love. - -She then asked, what could this young man be among the Franks, who had -remained erect and standing with so bold a look during the passage of -the pacha, and whom the _cawas_ had, notwithstanding, appeared to -respect? Yes, there were secrets connected with him yet to be -discovered. No matter! Whatever the rank or power of this mysterious -unknown might be, she is to him an object of frenzied love. Could she -doubt it? Her vanity is gratified by it, and in her revery, remembering -Egypt and Napoleon a second time, she came to the conclusion that should -the unknown ever command an army in the country of the Franks, they -might on some fine day invade the pachalick of Shivas. - -Until now, in order to rid herself of the narcotic influence of the -monotonous life of the harem, Baïla had had recourse to fantasies of all -kinds, to her thousand and one caprices, her strifes, her poutings, her -revolts, her tyrannies over her master, his lion, and the slaves; now, -however, her character appeared to change; she resumed the indolent and -equal humor of early days with Djezzar; she tormented her good Mariam -and her other serving women less; her taste for dress appeared to be -modified; instead of four toilets a-day, she now only made three; she -became grave; she reflected; she thought; she thought of the giaour; she -reflected on the singular chain of circumstance, which, in despite of -her, had mixed up this young man with all her pre-occupations, and all -the events of her recluse life. - -Without recurring to the dangerous practice of a leaf of haschich -bruised in her hookah, or a grain of arsenic dissolved in treacle, her -imagination could now create a new and charming world for her. She -foolishly pursued her vain reveries about the conquest of Shivas. She -saw herself transported to another country—to Paris—where every one -could freely admire her beauty, now the property of one only, where she -could receive the homage of all, conquering a thousand hearts at once, -whilst still reserving her own for the beloved object. Is not that the -greatest joy and happiness known on earth to woman? - -But could not this revery be realized without the intervention of any -army? Baïla waited for some time for some realization of her chimera; -then, when she had ceased to think of it, ennui, terrible ennui again -took possession of her. Sickly languor succeeded. She sought a cause for -her suffering, and that cause she found in the walls of the harem, which -oppressed and stifled her. - -The Sultan Mahmoud, during the latter part of his life, had permitted -his women to leave the seraglio, well escorted and supervised. The -younger dignitaries of the Sublime Porte, the avowed partisans of the -new order of things, following his example, had in their turn essayed -this usage. Baïla knew it, and she determined to conquer this pleasant -liberty for herself. - -At the very mention of it to the pacha, he regarded her with fierce and -flashing eyes, and swore by Mahomet and the four caliphs, it was his -dreaded oath, that if any other of his women had made such a proposal to -him, her head would have already leaped off at a blow from his yatagan. - -Baïla desisted, but the refusal increased the intensity of the desire -which she felt. She also swore, not by the four caliphs, but by her -woman’s will, to attain her end, whatever road she must travel, or -whatever peril she must brave. The mere idea of this new struggle in -which she was engaged, cured her of half her languor. - -What was this end? She must first examine herself in order to define it. - -From the summit of the terraces of the winter palace she had already -seen a part of the monuments of the city; she had visited the citadel, -the caravansery, the mosque in the train of the pacha. It was not, -therefore, for this that she aspired to this phantom of freedom. - -The bazaars remained; but had not the pacha caused to be conveyed to the -harem whatever they contained precious and rare in brocades, velvets, -precious stones, and sculptured gold, that she might see and choose from -them? The privation could not then be felt on this account. - -Magicians, jugglers, the musicians of Persia and Kurdistan, every pigmy -deformity, every curious object which traversed the pachalick, was, at a -word from her, admitted into the palace. She arrived at this logical -conclusion, that if she desired to visit and traverse Shivas, it was in -the hope of finding there again the unknown, of finding the key of the -mysteries which surrounded her; and this unknown was certainly the only -one of the curiosities of the city, to which Djezzar would refuse -permission to enter his harem for the diversion of the favorite. - -But could not another make the discovery for Baïla? She thought at once -of Mariam. - -The latter, who was a partial purchaser of provisions for the harem; -freed by her employment, her age, and her color, from the ordinary -ceremonial, she traversed the streets and market-places at pleasure. -Baïla knew her devotion to her person, and should she refuse to serve -her in her researches, she knew that the old negress would not betray -her. She spoke to her then about it. - -The Abyssinian seized with a sudden trembling, exclaimed, - -“By the Holy Christ! do not repeat those words, my dear mistress; resist -the temptation, stifle it in your heart; it is an inspiration of the -Evil Spirit, or, perhaps, a purpose of Providence, perhaps an -inspiration from on high,” she murmured in a low voice, as if -apostrophizing herself. - -“You will have nothing to fear, Mariam; of what crime will you be -guilty, for endeavoring to make some inquiries about this stranger? It -is well known that old women are curious.” - -“Young ones are no less so,” she replied, casting a reproachful glance -at her, “and their curiosity draws more perils after it. Our holy -mother, Eve, was young when—” - -“Then you refuse to serve me?” - -“This time I do; do not exact it, do not insist upon it. I have already -had so much to struggle against on the other side.” - -“How?” - -“This young Frank. He is born to be your destruction and mine. But no; -if you knew—” - -“You know him then? Are you dreaming?” - -“Have I spoken of that? By the black angel I hope it is nothing.” - -“Thou wert about to betray thyself; hast thou seen him?” - -“Ah! my dear mistress do not destroy me,” exclaimed the old slave, -trembling with fright. “Yes, I have seen him to my misfortune.” - -“Well, who is he? What keeps him at Shivas? What does he want? What does -he hope for? What are his plans?” - -“Is it for me to inform you? In the name of the God of the Christians, -who has been yours and is still mine, cease to question me. If our -master should only discover that this young man has penetrated here into -the gardens, I know that I should be put to death. I should be cut to -pieces and thrown to feed the fish in the ponds.” - -“But he shall not know it. Thou hast nothing to fear, I tell thee; am -not I here to protect thee?” - -“But thee? Who will protect thee?” - -“What matters it? Then you know this stranger? Thou hast met him, and -hast told me nothing of it?” - -“Doubtless it has so happened, though he would have preferred meeting -another.” - -“And who is that other?” - -“Thyself.” - -“Me!” exclaimed Baïla, with her face suffused with blushes, as if she -did not expect this reply, which she had skillfully extracted in order -to force Mariam into her confidence. “And what does he want with me?” - -“What does he want?” replied the old negress, again a prey to her first -emotion. “What does he want? God keep me from saying?! He alone can tell -you. But it will be death perhaps for us three.” - -Baïla was silent for a moment. “He has hoped to see me again?” she then -asked. - -“If one may believe him, he would give his life a thousand times to -realize this hope; and moreover—” - -“What else does he wish?” - -“It is his secret, not mine, I have already said too much.” - -They were interrupted; Mariam retired abruptly and Baïla remained alone -with the serpent of curiosity which was gnawing into her heart. - -Shortly afterward, during the night, whilst the pacha was at the city of -Tocata, where the cares of government detained him, a man was brought -furtively into the gardens of the Red River. A bostangi had found means -to introduce him in a flower vase. This bostangi, gained by rich -presents, conducted him by then deserted paths to the pavilion of the -favorite. - -Baïla was in the bath, when the Abyssinian negress appeared and made her -a signal. The beautiful odalisk, under a pretext of a desire to repose, -then dismissed her serving-women, after they had bound up her hair and -carefully perfumed her person. - -Her slaves dismissed, she dressed herself with the assistance of Mariam, -but in such haste that her cashmere girdle, tied negligently, kept her -robe scarcely half closed, and her long veil thrown around her, alone -concealed the richness of her shoulders and bust. - -She stopped on her way to the saloon in which the mysterious visiter -awaited her. Her respiration failed, a nervous tremor agitated her -beautiful limbs, and made her skin, still moist with rose-water and the -essence of sandal-wood, to shiver—placing her hand on her heart to -restrain, as it were, its tumultuous beatings, she murmured, “I am -afraid!” - -“What do you fear now?” said Mariam, sustaining her by her arms, and -whose courage, like a game of see-saw, appeared to be exalted and -strengthened in proportion as that of her mistress failed. “The pacha is -far off—every thing around us sleeps; this Frank, whom you desired to -see and whom you are about to see, has crossed the portals of the palace -without awakening suspicion. He awaits you; he has not trembled in -coming to you; time is precious, he counts it impatiently, let us join -him.” - -“I am afraid,” said Baïla, resisting the impulse which the old slave -wished to give her, and trembling all over, with her body bent, her eyes -half closed, she appeared to drink in with delight the alarm she -experienced; as the sick, saturated with tasteless and sugared -beverages, rejoice in the bitter draughts of abscynthe. It was an -emotion, and every emotion is precious to a recluse of the harem. - -She entered finally the saloon in which the unknown awaited her, but not -without casting another glance on the _abandon_ of her toilet. By the -feeble light of two candles placed in a bracket, she saw the stranger -standing in a meditative posture. - -At the rustling of her robe, at the light sound of her step, he raised -his head, crossed his hands with a kind of ecstatic transport, and his -eyes, raised to the gilded ceiling, sparkled so brightly, that it -appeared to the Mingrelian as if the light about her was doubled. - -When Mariam had disappeared, the better to watch over them, when Baïla -found herself alone with her unknown, with the lover of her day dreams, -casting her veil suddenly aside, she revealed herself to him in all the -glory of her Georgian beauty. - -She enjoyed his pleasure, his surprise, for a moment, then seating -herself on a corner of the sofa, motioned him to a seat by her side. But -the stranger remained immovable; his only motion was to cover his eyes -as if the light had suddenly blinded him. After having sweetly gratified -her pride by the stupefying effect produced by her resplendent beauty, -she repeated her gesture. - -The Frank, still embarrassed and hesitating, went now toward the sofa, -and bending with downcast eyes almost to the earth before her, took hold -of the end of her long veil and re-covered her entirely, turning away -his head. This movement surprised Baïla strangely; but she said to -herself, “perhaps it is one of the preliminaries of love among the -Franks.” - -“Listen to me,” said the young man, then, with a voice full of emotion, -and seating himself beside her; “listen to me with attention; the -present moment may become for you as well as for myself the commencement -of a new era of glory and safety.” - -She did not understand him, she drew nearer to him. - -“You are born a Christian,” he continued, “Mingrelia is your country.” - -Baïla thought for an instant that he had himself come from the ancient -Colchis; that he had seen her family; and in the rapid flight of her -fancy she saw the love of this young man remount not only to a recent -period, but also to that time in which she was still the property of her -father. The recollections of her natal country beaming pleasanter to her -by uniting themselves with the idea of a love from childhood, she came -yet nearer to him and looked at him carefully, hoping to find in his -face features impressed of old upon her memory. - -“You are then a friend of my brothers?” she said to him. At this moment -of expansion the Mingrelian placed her hand on that of the stranger. The -latter trembled, rose at once and making the sign of the cross, said -with a voice full of unction and solemnity— - -“Yes, I am the friend of your brothers, your brothers the Christians, -now trampled under foot by a cruel despot, but one whom you can soften. -The terrible Daker, the master of a part of Syria and Palestine, after -he took for his minister a Christian, Ibrahim Sabbar, became the -protector of the disciples of Jesus Christ. Do you not exercise over -your master a power greater than Ibrahim did over his? A power that they -say the very lions do not resist. God made use of Esther to touch the -heart of Ahasuerus; he has marked you like her with his seal, to concur -in the deliverance of his people. Faith has revealed it to me. Thanks to -you, Ali-ben-Ali, the Pacha of Shivas, the butcher, the executioner, -shall no longer turn his rage but against the enemies of the church. The -divine light descending from the cross of Calvary shall penetrate the -most hardened hearts—” - -“Wretch!” exclaimed Baïla, awakening at last from the stupor into which -this unexpected discourse had thrown her, “what has brought you here?” - -“To teach you to mourn over your past life, to assist you in washing -yourself from your sins, to save you, and with you, and by you, our -brethren the Christians of Shivas.” - -“Go then, apostle of the demon—retire, insolent,” repeats the beautiful -odalisk, enveloping herself in her veil, the better to conceal herself -from the looks of the profane; “go then, and be accursed.” - -“No, you shall not drive me away thus,” replied the young enthusiast; -“you shall hear me. God, who inspired me with the idea of this holy -mission which I am now discharging, is about to change your heart; he -can, he will.” - -“Thy God is not mine, impious; depart.” - -“Ah! do not blaspheme the God of your fathers; do not deny the holy -belief which even without your knowledge has perhaps remained in your -heart. Was it not you who, in a retired part of your garden, reared the -humblest of crosses, doubtless to go thither to pray in private?” - -This word, this remembrance of the branch of the azalea, brought -suddenly to the memory of the young odalisk all the chimeras of her -fantastic loves, all the hopes, all the illusions which were grouped by -her around a single idea; the disgust at finding all her reveries -effaced; the frightful thought of the peril she had sought, had braved, -and which still threatens her at that very moment, and all to arrive at -such a deception—to find an apostle when she expected a lover—so -troubled her mind, that her voice, gradually rising, appeared to reach -beyond the pavilion, and reach the sleeping slaves. To endeavor to calm -her, the stranger, with a suppliant gesture, advanced a step. - -“Do not approach me,” she exclaimed, and rising with a groan, she called -Mariam. She was about to leave the room, still uttering imprecations, -when the door was thrown quickly open and the pacha appeared suddenly, -surrounded by soldiers, and carrying a complete arsenal of arms of all -kinds at his girdle. - -Whether the wrath of the Mingrelian had reached its height, or whether -the sentiment of self preservation awakened imperiously in her, rendered -her pitiless, she exclaimed— - -“Kill him—kill him!” and with her finger designated the unfortunate -Frank to the vengeance of the pacha. - -The young man cast a momentary sad and pitying look upon her, which made -her start; he then held out his head, a soldier raised his sabre, but -Djezzar turned the blow aside. - -“No,” said he, “he must not die so quickly;” and casting a suspicious -glance by turns upon the two, he murmured in a low voice this -frightfully poetic phrase, “his blood should not leap suddenly like -water from the fountain, but flow gently like that of the spring which -falls drop by drop from the rock.” - -In the East, poetry is found every where. - -He then said something in the ear of a Mangrebian slave near him, and -the Christian was led away. - - - CHAPTER IV. - -Djezzar, left alone with Baïla, gave vent at first to all his jealous -passions; but with him the favorite had nothing to dread but an -explanation, commencing with a blow from his dagger. As soon as she -found him confine himself simply to threats and reproaches, she ceased -to fear for her life. Assuming an attitude of surprise, a look of -disgust, whilst still endeavoring to appear as handsome as possible, she -sought to make use of all her advantages and to employ in her favor with -the Turk that toilette of carelessness prepared coquettishly for the -Christian. - -Djezzar, who had on that day returned from Tocata to Shivas, had been -informed in the latter city of the intention of the Frank to penetrate -into the interior of his harem; but he had no proof of the complicity of -his beautiful slave. Baïla perceived it. He who could have given those -proofs was, doubtless, expiring at that very moment. Were there not also -to assist her, her imprecations against the giaour and her movement of -terror and flight, of which the pacha himself was a witness. Thus, the -latter was soon convinced and the tables turned; it was now the master -who, humble and suppliant, lowly implored her pardon. - -He was, however, preparing a terrible proof for the influence of the -Mingrelian. Baïla, irritated at having been suspected, was already -raising her voice higher. - -“Listen,” said the pacha, imposing silence by a gesture, and appearing -himself to hearken to a certain movement which was manifested without. -She listened, but heard nothing but a low, confused, monotonous and -regular sound, like that of threshing. - -“What is it?” she asked. - -“Nothing—nothing at all,” he replied. - -Both remained thus, for a time, attentive; the noise was repeated, but -did not increase. Djezzar became impatient, and, yielding to the -feeling, struck his hands. - -“Have not my orders been executed?” he demanded of the Mangrebian slave -who appeared. - -“They have, son of Ali; but in vain have we used on this Christian cords -armed with lead and thongs of the skin of the hippopotamus; in vain have -we moistened and sprinkled his gaping wounds with pimento and lemon -juice; he has not uttered a cry or a groan.” - -“What does he, then?” asked the Pasha. - -“He prays,” replied the slave. - -“Has he revealed nothing!” - -“Nothing, son of Ali.” - -“If my chastisements cannot loose his tongue, my clemency may,” said -Djezzar, with a sinister smile. “Let him be brought before me, and let -Haïder come also. By Allah, I will myself teach him to speak.” - -When the Mangrebian had departed, Djezzar, alone with Baïla, became at -once the man of the harem—the effeminate, the voluptuous pacha; he -caused her to resume her seat on the divan, and he himself stretched at -her feet, smoking his hooka, engaged, apparently alone, in watching the -smoke from his Persian pipe escape on one side in massive clouds to -remount from the other, purifying itself in a crystal flask full of -perfumed water. He awaited, in this indolent posture, the arrival of his -captive. - -This captive was named Ferdinand Laperre. Born at Paris, of a good -family of the middle classes, of a character addicted to exaltation and -revery, an orphan from his cradle, he had been unable to give a natural -course to his sensibilities. Notwithstanding his university education, -the religious sentiment had germinated and developed itself in him. In -the want of those tender affections of which he was ignorant, holy and -ardent belief had filled the void in his soul. He held a small -employment in the office of the minister of foreign affairs, when one -day at the close of a sermon, by the Abbé La Ardaire, he determined to -become a priest. - -His only remaining relative, an uncle, recently appointed to a consulate -in one of the important cities of Asia Minor, thought it best to take -him with him in the capacity of a cadet. He hoped to divert him from his -pious abstractions, to induce him to renounce his plans, and to lead him -even to doubting, by the sight of those numerous sects of schismatic -Christians who inhabit the east. The uncle was a philosopher. - -But faith was more brightly kindled in the heart of the neophyte as he -approached those holy places in which evangelical truths had borne their -first branches and produced their most savory fruits. The summits of -Taurus were for him illuminated by the lightnings of Tabor and Sinai. -More than ever strengthened in his first calling, he wore hair-cloth -beneath his diplomatic dress, and promised himself, should the occasion -offer, to accomplish, in despite of his relative, a novitiate signalized -by apostolic labors. - -After having perfected himself in the Turkish and common Arabian -languages, he went to Shivas and its environs, on a visit to the -followers of the different dissenting churches—Armenians, Greeks, -Maronites, Nestorians, Eutycheans and even Latin Catholics, separated -from Rome only by the marriage of their priests. He went among them to -effect conversions; he was more alarmed at their misery than their -ignorance, and, like a true apostle, he returned among them less to -preach to them than to succor them. - -He was passing down the Red River one day, on a small skiff, which he -had learned to manage in the eastern style, dreaming of the desert and -of an hermitage in some Thebais, and was creating in the future an -ascetic happiness, tempered with clear water, when the oar broke. His -barque stranding, cast him upon a small spot, a delta, located as an -island, between Kizil-Ermak and a regular ditch. Ferdinand was not a -skillful swimmer, but, notwithstanding the usual sedateness of his -thoughts, he was a good jumper. He measured with his eye the river and -the ditch by turns, and the question being decided in favor of the -latter, he crossed it at a bound. The ditch passed, he perceived a low -wall, which had been hidden from his view by a thick copse of nopals and -wild apricot trees. Had he jumped back, to regain his delta, it would -have been at the risk of his neck, for he had now no room to take a -start; and should he succeed, he would still have an impassable river -before him. - -Whilst in this position, very much embarrassed what to do, and not -doubting that he was in the neighborhood of the summer gardens of the -pacha, he perceived a low door in the wall; he tried it, and to his -great joy it opened. - -There are about Shivas, and especially on the banks of the river, -enclosures in which the cultivators, chiefly Christians, from the great -abundance of water, raise vegetables for the market, and enormous -citrons, savory water-melons, dates, and pistachios which rival those of -Aleppo and Damascus. Ferdinand thought he had reached one of those -Christian enclosures; the carelessness evinced in closing the gate -strengthened the idea. He entered. Then, for the first time, he found -himself face to face with Baïla, who was seated carelessly beneath the -plantain tree. More surprised than charmed at the sight of the graceful -odalisk, bedaubed with red and black, he could only stammer forth a few -words, expressive of his eager desire to escape, safe and sound, from -this perilous adventure, which he had not sought. Entrapped in the -windings of the garden, he had again found himself in the presence of -Baïla and the negress. Regaining at last, with difficulty, the little -gate, which was still open, he was again alarmed at the double obstacle -of the ditch and the river, when, in the midst of the shades of the -evening, he saw a man advance, mysteriously, toward the delta, -traversing the Kizil-Ermak by a ford, of which Ferdinand was quite -ignorant. - -This man, one of the bostangis of the pacha, stole his master’s fruit to -sell in the city. It was he who had left open the little gate, which was -only used when the ditch was repairing. After having, on that day, -pointed out to Ferdinand a mode of escaping from his embarrassment, it -was he afterward, who, held by Baïla between the fear of denunciation -and the hopes of reward, had introduced the Frank into the gardens, and -even into the pavilion of the favorite. - -Having reached the delta, the bostangi drew from beneath a mass of -overhanging rock, a long plank, which he used to cross the ditch; he -then deposited it beneath the mass of nopals and wild apricots, in which -Ferdinand was concealed. - -He saw a miracle from heaven in this concourse of unhoped for -circumstances, co-operating in his deliverance. This plank became an ark -of safety for him; he used it in his turn, and, thanks to the ford which -the bostangi had revealed to him, after having wandered for some time in -its unknown paths, after having struggled anew with the Kizil-Ermak, -which, like a serpent in pursuit of its prey, he found everywhere on his -path, and which appeared to wish to envelop him in its twistings and -windings, he escaped finally all the dangers of his eventful walk. - -Having returned to the consulate in Shivas he had double cause to -congratulate himself on having arrived there safe and sound, when he -learned that the gardens into which he had so foolishly adventured were -none other than those of Djezzar. - -But this woman whom he had seen—who could she be? When he thought of -his meeting with her, he thought he had dreamed or had seen a vision. - -She reappeared before him in a multitude of forms; he saw her resembling -a Bacchante, her cup in her hand, reclining indolently on a tiger’s -skin; then, like a Peri or an Undine, when appearing to him through the -gilded reflection of the sun and the rainbows of the small marble basin; -and, finally, in her third transformation, erect, severe, irritated, -ordering him to fly and threatening him with a dagger. - -His calm and chaste imagination lent, however, no charm to this -triplicity of forms. He asked himself, on the contrary, if this vision -did not present to him an emblem of all the vices united—intoxication, -licentiousness, idleness, anger? He found means to complete the seven -cardinal sins. In those accursed gardens, which were inhabited by the -persecutor of the Christians, was it not the demon himself that had -appeared to him? - -Thus, whilst Baïla was making of him a being apart—a marvelous -being—whose traces she was honoring, an idol to which she was rendering -the homage of love, he was piously entertaining a holy horror of her -remembrance. - -This demon, however—this frightful assemblage of the seven cardinal -sins, was essaying every means to approach him. - -Ferdinand, whilst sojourning with his uncle in this province of -Anti-Taurus, was but little concerned about what was taking place in the -harem of Djezzar. His thoughts were elsewhere. But after his involuntary -visit to the gardens, he lent a more attentive ear to what was said -about the pacha. He learned that the latter, abandoned entirely to -voluptuousness, submitted to the control of a favorite Mingrelian. Soon, -without knowing his own share in increasing the sway of the beautiful -slave, he heard it repeated every where around him that, did she will it -firmly, Baïla could make a Jew of her master, Ali-ben-Ali. - -“Why not a Christian?” he said to himself. - -All his thoughts were, from that day, concentrated on this single -one—“She is a Christian, and can do any thing with Djezzar.” - -Oh, how did his divine mission aggrandize in his eyes that toy, which -was a small golden cross, which his mother had worn and which never left -him. - -We know the result of the execution of this holy and bold enterprise, -the first terrible consequences of which Ferdinand was now undergoing, -and the conclusion of which he foresaw, when, after his preparatory -punishment, he was led before the pacha, with his hands bound tightly -behind his back. The latter was still extended upon his cushion; his -head and the arm which held his pipe reposed on the knees of the -Mingrelian and his lion Haïder, crouched upon his paws, with his muzzle -to the floor and his eyes half closed, was by his side. - -The slaves retired at a gesture from their master; the scene which was -to follow needed no witnesses. The pacha, the Mingrelian, the Christian -and the lion alone remained. - - - CHAPTER V. - -Baïla felt her confidence vanish; a single revelation from the prisoner -would be a decree of death to her, and concealing her paleness beneath -the redoubled folds of her veil, she awaited the examination with a -palpitating heart, fixing her curious gaze upon the prisoner. - -“Why did I risk my life to listen to a sermon from this mournful -preacher?” she said to herself. “Why did they not kill him when I -commanded? Why did he not fall beneath the blow of the guard?” - -Seeing him, however, with his body furrowed by bluish stripes, his flesh -swollen and bloody, standing in that saloon as if he had never left it -to be handed over to executioners, as he did before the arrival of the -pacha, with the same air, the same timid look, which he dared not raise -toward her, she felt an emotion of pity. - -“Christian,” said the pacha, “what motive brought thee hither?” - -“Her salvation,” replied the captive, turning his eyes for a moment to -the sofa on which the odalisk was seated, and then letting them fall on -Djezzar, he added, “and thine, perhaps.” - -“What, dog, and son of a dog, as thou art, didst thou think to make a -vile Nazarene of me, and to convert me to the sect of the accursed, by -taking advantage of my absence?” - -“I have said the truth,” replied the young man, “as true as that Jesus -Christ is the redeemer of the world.” - -“Thou liest,” replied the pacha, “as true that there is no God but God, -and that Mahomet is his prophet.” - -After this outbreak he appeared to endeavor to restrain his anger. He -replaced himself more at his ease upon the knees of his favorite, passed -his hand, as a motion of caress, through the mane of his lion, and when -he had taken two or three whiffs of his batakie, resumed. - -“See that thou art sincere, and do not aggravate thy crime. Thou knowest -well that a Mussulman cannot become a Christian, as a Christian cannot -become a Jew. The law of Moses paved the way for that of Jesus; that of -Jesus was but the precursor to that of Mahomet. On this ladder men never -descend—they mount upward.” - -“I had hoped, at least,” said the captive, “to render thee more -favorable to my brethren.” - -“Are, then, all those bands of rascals who gnaw each other—all those -races of infidels, who are forgetful of their own law, thy brethren? Of -what do they complain? Of some I have made good Christians by martyrdom; -of others, good Musselmen by persuasion. Besides, art thou one of their -priests? No, far from that. Thou art but one of those frivolous -Europeans, who seek to propagate their impious usages among us. Lay -aside trick and falsehood. Thou hast heard of the beauty of this slave, -(turning his head toward Baïla,) and thou hast desired to satiate thy -eyes at the price of thy life. Is it not so?” - -The young man made a sign of negation; the pacha heeded it not, and -proceeded. - -“Well, art thou satisfied? Thou shouldst be, for thou hast seen her. Are -your women of Europe so to be disdained, that you must come among us to -carry off ours? Until now you have coveted our horses only. How didst -thou find means to correspond with her? Who was thy guide? How did she -first see thee?” - -Like a tiger, which with eye and ear watches for the least cry, the -least motion of the prey it is about to seize, Djezzar watched for a -word of avowal—a denunciatory sign on the part of him whom he -interrogated. He obtained none from him, but he felt the knees of Baïla -tremble. - -“Christian,” he resumed, “I repeat to thee, be sincere. Tell me what -hope thou hast conceived; tell me who introduced thee into this place; -name thy accomplice, and whatever may be thy fault I will place in the -other scale thy youth and thy consular title, although thy presence in -the midst of my harem at night gives me a right to forget it. But I will -consider what thou hast already endured, and, like Allah, I will be -merciful. Speak; I listen.” - -He inhaled again the odorous smoke of his pipe, and appeared to await a -reply; but the captive remained silent and motionless. - -“Speak, Christian, speak! There is yet time. At this price alone canst -thou purchase thy life—by abjuring thy idolatry, of course.” - -At this last sentence the young man raised his head—a noble blush -mounted to his face. - -“To denounce and apostatize,” said he; “is such thy clemency, pacha? -Have thy executioners forgotten to tell thee who I am? Art thou, who -hast thyself honored me with the title of Christian, ignorant of the -duties which this title enjoins? Dost thou think that the disciples of -Christ care so much for this mortal life, as to plunge their souls twice -into ineffaceable pollution?” and his eye sparkled, and his whole -countenance assumed an expression of sublime beauty. - -“It is said,” said Djezzar, forming, from his apparent imperturbability, -a fine contrast with the exaltation of the young Frank. “Thou wishest to -die, and thou shalt die. But dost thou know for what an end I reserve -thee?” - -“Be it what it may, I am ready,” replied the captive. - -“Then thou regrettest nothing of this mortal life?” and the pacha -followed his look attentively, which he thought he would fix on Baïla. - -“Nothing,” said the young man, with his eyes cast down, “but the not -being assisted at my last moments by a priest of my religion.” - -Djezzar appeared to reflect; a slight smile then contracted his lips. - -“If thy wishes go no farther,” he said, “they shall be gratified.” - -The Mangrebian reappeared at his call. A few moments afterward an old -man, with a bald head, a long white beard, and a severe countenance, -entered. He trembled violently at the sight of the pacha, as if he -thought his last hour was come. - -He was a poor Maronite monk, sent recently by the patriarch of Mount -Libanus to replace the superior of the convent of Perkinik, who was -dead. The pacha had, whilst passing on that day through this Catholic -village, in the environs of Shivas, wished to make an exaction on this -miserable convent, in which a few monks, covered with rags, lived by the -labor of their hands, in the midst of a population as miserable as -themselves. Djezzar, unable to extort the money which they had not, had -carried off their superior with him, to detain him as a hostage until -the sum demanded was paid. - -“_Kaffer_,” he said to him, “thou hast refused to pay the taxes of -_Miri_ and _Karadj_.” - -“The Christians of Libanus are exempt from them since the capitulation -of the holy King Louis,” replied the unfortunate man, whose voice -betrayed a violent emotion. “The Vice Roy Mehemet Ali regarded us as -exempt.” - -“To hell with the old rascal!” - -“But the sultans themselves have recognized this law, your highness.” - -“There is no law here but my will,” replied the pacha. - -“What can I do to disarm thy severity,” blubbered out the old man, -fixing his terrified look upon the lion crouched beside Djezzar, and of -which he already considered himself the prey. “I have nothing in the -world which thou canst take from me, but my life.” - -“Which I will do if thou dost not obey me at once.” - -“But, to acquit this impost—” - -“By the koran, who is now speaking to thee of imposts? Of _Karadj_ and -_Miri_ I hold thee acquitted, thou and thine, forever, and thou art -free, and shalt leave here carrying with thee more piastres than I -demanded of thee; but before we separate thou must call down the curses -of thy God on that dog there.” Then, turning to his other captive, he -continued: “Yes, thou art about to die, and die accursed by a priest of -thy religion. Inch Allah, wilt thou speak now?” - -With an heroic resignation Ferdinand, as his only reply, kneels and bows -his head, devoted at once to the sabre and anathema, when he hears the -old Cenobite of Libanus, raising his trembling hands above his head, say -to him, in a soft voice, - -“If thou art a Christian, I bless thee, my son.” - -These holy words were scarcely pronounced when the old man fell, shot -dead. Baïla fell backward with a movement of horror, and the pacha, with -unbounded impassibility, replaced his pistol in his belt. He interrupted -this movement suddenly to restrain his lion by the mane, which, animated -by the sight of blood, was about to spring with a roar on the body of -the Maronite. - -“Carry off that corpse,” said Djezzar to the Mangrebian, “and leave us.” - -The dead body carried off, the Mangrebian gone, turning to the lion, -which, with open mouth and thirsty and trembling lips, was uttering low -growls and darting his brilliant glance toward the prey which was -carried from him, Djezzar, restraining him by voice and gesture, said: - -“Be patient, Haïder; thy part shalt soon come—thou shalt not lose by -the exchange.” - -He then resumed his first position, and whilst the lion, restrained by -him, continued its low roaring, with its eyes fixed on a large spot of -blood on the carpet, and addressing Baïla, without appearing to notice -the emotions of terror by which she was agitated, said: - -“Yes, the giaour is for us three—for each a part. For me, his head; for -the lion, his body; and for thee, my beautiful rose of Incour—my -faithful, for thee, his heart. Has he not given thee that heart? Well, -go take it.” - -Baïla, undecided, troubled with horror, knew not what meaning to attach -to his words. - -“Go, take it,” repeated Djezzar. “look, behold! powerless to defend -himself, does he not appear himself to offer it to thee? Go, my soul, -and if thy dagger is not enough for the work, use mine.” - -The odalisk bent toward him—“Thou art sporting with me, Ali—is it not -so?” she murmured in his ear. - -“Dost thou not hear me, or art thou unwilling to understand me?” he -replied, in a formidable tone. “This man dies—dies at once, by thy -hand, or I shall believe thee to be his accomplice, and thy head shall -fall before his. I swear it, by Mahomet and the four caliphs.” - -Baïla, having to choose between inflicting or receiving death, felt an -icy coldness in her veins; her forehead became lividly pale. - -“Thou hesitatest!” said the pacha. - -She carried a trembling hand to her dagger. - -“Take mine,” he said. - -The hand of Baïla fell on the shoulder of Djezzar, and remained there as -if paralyzed; her troubled eyes were raised furtively toward the young -Frank, even on that very evening the object of her reveries of love; -toward that young martyr, who by a word could destroy her, and who was -about to die—to die for her, for being unwilling to pronounce that -word. - -“Wilt thou obey?” said the executioner, with a gesture of impatient -rage. - -The hand of Baïla descended from the shoulder of Djezzar and played -inquisitively among the arms which formed an arsenal at his belt. - -“Thou tremblest—thou art unwilling to do it? Thou lovest him then!” he -exclaimed at last. - -“Yes, I love him,” replied the Mingrelian, and bounding suddenly forward -she sheathed the blade of the yataghan full in the breast of the pacha. -Though mortally wounded he still made an effort to seize his other -pistol, but, at a gesture from Baïla, the lion Haïder, excited anew by -the sight of the flowing blood, springing on his master did his part. - -Whilst Ferdinand, alarmed at what was passing, was closing his eyes, -stretching out in terror his bound arms, the Mingrelian, endowed with -wonderful presence of mind, gathered quickly into one corner of the -saloon the light furniture and stuffs which were in it; she set them on -fire, and seizing the young Frank, who was more dead than alive, by his -bonds, led him toward a secret outlet, which conducted them to the -sleeping chamber of the Abyssinian negress. - -The palace of Kizil-Ermak, which was of Turkish construction—that is, -built of wood—was almost entirely consumed. - -On the next day the news mongers of Shivas endeavored to define the -causes of this great event. Some said that the pacha had been strangled -by his lion, and that, in the struggle between these two fierce beasts a -torch was upset, which was the cause of the fire. Others, reasoning from -the usage of the ancient Ottoman regime, and claiming to be better -informed, said that a man, wearing the dress of a Frank, after having -sojourned in the city long enough to avert suspicion as to the object of -his secret mission, had introduced himself into the presence of the -pacha in the very interior of his harem; when the latter had ordered his -slaves to behead him, the pretended Frank, who was no other than the -_capidgé-bechi_ of the sultan, had shown his _katcherif_, and that the -head of Djezzar had alone fallen. The fire had broken out in the midst -of the disorder, and the _capidgé-bechi_, taking advantage of the great -crowd attracted thereby, had escaped, in a new disguise. - -Twenty other versions were in circulation, almost all of which were -repeated by the journals of Europe. - -Whilst in Shivas, Rocata, and other cities of the pachalick, they were -thus indulging in explanations more or less truthful, Baïla and -Ferdinand, who had been enabled to escape in disguise from the palace, -thanks to the confusion and the crowd, concealed themselves at first in -the mountains to the south of Shivas, where some Kurdish brigands took -them under their protection, exacting a very moderate ransom; they then -found an asylum in a convent, then twenty others in the caverns or -depths of the woods of Avanes, always, however, continuing their path -steadily up the Red River. Having finally entered the dominions of the -Shah of Persia, they returned to France in the train of the last -embassy. - -In these wanderings Ferdinand lost some of his ardor for proselytising. -He had traveled across mountains and valleys by day and by night, -carrying temptation with him; Baïla had really become to him the demon -which he had fancied her. - -With the beautiful Mingrelian, his liberator, and the companion of his -flight, walking at the same pace, in the same pathway, sleeping under -the same shelter, cared for and watched over by her, it had been -difficult for him to prevent his heart from beating under other -inspirations than those of divine love. Ferdinand was twenty-five years -old, and gratitude has great sway over a generous soul. - -Still in the first days of their common flight he had converted his -schismatic companion, who, from her indifference to matters of religion, -was easy to persuade; but it was said that in her turn she had soon -converted him. What is positively known about it is, that the young man -did not return to France alone, but that when his passport was exhibited -at Marseilles, it provided for M. Ferdinand Laperre, consular cadet, -traveling _with his sister_. - -My friend, the illustrious traveler, had already furnished me with all -the details of the history I have recounted; but my curiosity was not -yet fully satisfied. I wished to know the fate of the lovers after their -arrival in France. I pressed him with questions on this point, and at -first uselessly. We were breakfasting in the open air, on the lawn at -the Butard, and my botanist, in an exultation difficult to describe, was -fully occupied with a godsend he had found beneath the table we had -used. It was a small plant with shaggy and lanceolate leaves, with -flowers of pale yellow, marked with a violet spot at the base of their -five petals. - -“_Cistus guttatus! Helianthemum guttatum!_” he exclaimed, with cries and -gestures impossible to describe to any one who has not the heart of a -botanist. “I thought it only existed in the mountains of Anti-Taurus, -from whence I brought away so carefully an unique specimen. It was my -finest vegetable conquest, and lo I find it here at the Butard at -Luciennes, a suburb of Paris, beneath the table of a tavern. How can -this be? Taurus and the Butard rivals in their productions? I am -nonplussed! Do you believe in Asia Minor?” - -“But of Asia Minor?” said I, interrupting him with tenacity, with -obstinacy; “you have related to me a story, the parties to which -interest me strongly—I beseech you tell me more of them!” - -“They are perfectly well, I thank you,” he replied. - -“I do not inquire after their health, but their fate.” - -“Ah! what has become of them? Yes, I comprehend;” then looking at me -with an air of mockery, and laughing loudly, he continued, “as they -have, like us, a habit of chatting much when eating, they breakfast near -by.” - -“How! What!” I exclaimed, “those people at the fountain of the priest?” - -“Truly. You now discover that you are no diviner. The alledged -confectioner, the lemonade seller, is no other than my friend, Ferdinand -Laperre, our Christian martyr; and his companion, by you so lightly -qualified as a chambermaid, or a countess without prejudices, is Baïla, -the ex-favorite of Djezzar, the pacha of Shivas; Baïla, the Mingrelian, -the rose of Incour, the dove in the talons of the hawk.” - -After having inflicted this mockery upon me, which was doubtless well -merited, my friend determined finally to finish the story. - -“Having arrived in Paris, events of a more vulgar nature than those -which had signalized their sojourn in Shivas, proved the young Frenchman -and the Mingrelian. Their money gave out. The ornaments, presents from -Djezzar, which the odalisk had carried off in her flight, were, most of -them, false. Pachas even are no longer to be trusted. Ferdinand must, -above every thing, seek for a lucrative employment. He entered the royal -printing office as a proof-reader of Oriental works. This resource being -insufficient for the wants of the household, Baïla sought also to be -useful. Having never handled a needle, she could not become a seamstress -or an embroideress, or a dressing-maid, or a female companion. She has a -charming voice, and might, at a pinch, challenge all the Italian, -French, and other singers, in warbling and trilling; but understanding -none of the European languages, she could only sing Arabian _mouals_ or -Turkish _gazels_. Fortunately she dances also; and dancing is a language -spoken and understood in all countries. She now figures in the ballet -corps of the opera, where she is remarkable for her lightness, her -mildness, and her modesty.” - -As my illustrious friend finished his recital, we saw Ferdinand Laperre -and his handsome companion walking arm-in-arm toward the Butard. Now, -better informed, I admired the rare beauty of the Mingrelian, and the -wonderful and graceful suppleness of her figure. My eyes were directed -curiously toward the lower extremities of the ex-consular cadet, to -examine the form and dimensions of his feet, so as to verify one of the -details of this history. I found them much as usual. He had doubtless -confided to Baïla the connection of friendship existing between him and -my companion, for when we again met, she made him a slight wave of the -hand, saying, “_Bojour mocha_.” - -“_Salem-Alai-k_,” replied my illustrious traveler. - -I saluted her profoundly. - - * * * * * - - - - - A NIGHT AT THE BLACK SIGN. - - - BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. - - - Ye, who follow to the measure - Where the trump of Fortune leads, - And at inns a-glow with pleasure - Rein your golden-harnessed steeds, - In your hours of lordly leisure - Have ye heard a voice of wo - On the starless wind of midnight - Come and go? - - Pilgrim brothers, whose existence - Rides the higher roads of Time, - Hark, how from the troubled distance, - Voices made by wo sublime, - In their sorrow, claim assistance, - Though it come from friend or foe— - Shall they ask and find no answer? - Rise and go. - - One there was, who in his sadness - Laid his staff and mantle down, - Where the demons laughed to madness - What the night-winds could not drown— - Never came a voice of gladness - Though the cups should foam and flow, - And the pilgrim thus proclaiming - Rose to go. - - “All the night I hear the speaking - Of low voices round my bed, - And the dreary floor a-creaking - Under feet of stealthy tread:— - Like a very demon shrieking - Swings the black sign to and fro, - Come, arise, thou cheerless keeper, - For I go. - - “On the hearth the brands are lying - In a black, unseemly show; - Through the roof the winds are sighing - And they will not cease to blow; - Through the house sad hearts replying - Send their answer deep and low— - Come, arise, thou cheerless keeper, - For I go. - - “Tell me not of fires relighted - And of chambers glowing warm, - Or of travelers benighted, - Overtaken by the storm. - Urge me not; your hand is blighted - As your heart is—even so! - Come, arise, thou cheerless keeper— - For I go. - - “Tell me not of goblets teeming - With the antidote of pain, - For its taste and pleasant seeming - Only hide the deadly bane; - Hear your sleepers tortured dreaming, - How they curse thee in their wo! - Come, arise, thou cheerless keeper, - For I go. - - “I will leave your dreary tavern - Ere I drink its mandragore: - Like a black and hated cavern - There are reptiles on the floor; - They have overrun your tavern, - They are at your wine below! - Come, arise, thou fearful keeper, - For I go. - - “There’s an hostler in your stable - Tends a steed no man may own, - And against your windy gable - How the night-birds scream and moan! - Even the bread upon your table - Is the ashy food of wo; - Come, arise, thou fearful keeper, - For I go. - - “Here I will not seek for slumber, - And I will not taste your wine: - All your house the fiends encumber, - And they are no mates of mine; - Nevermore I join your number - Though the tempests rain or snow— - Here’s my staff and here’s my mantle, - And I go.” - - Suffering brothers—doubly brothers— - (Pain hath made us more akin) - Trust not to the strength of others, - Trust the arm of strength within; - One good hour of courage smothers - All the ills an age can know; - Take your staff and take your mantle, - Rise and go. - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNETS: - - - SUGGESTED BY PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. - - - BY MISS A. D. WOODBRIDGE. - - - I.—THE ERA OF DISCOVERY. - - The darkest storm-cloud oft upon its breast - Weareth the bow of promise. In the hour - Of deepest anguish, words of healing power - Are whispered to the spirit—“Peace!” and “Rest!” - Praise to our God! if e’en Death’s shadow lower, - Hope lightens all the gloom, with radiant crest— - Oh! Joy is, oft, in garb of sorrow drest, - And direst grief brings rapture as its dower. - Thus, on the night of ages, flashed a light - Of wondrous power and splendor, Learning came - Forth from the cloisters. Welcome to the sight, - A breath from Heaven relit religion’s flame. - ’Twas then, his sail the great Discover furled, - ’Twas then, was born, as ’twere, this western world. - - - II.—THE EARLY LIFE OF COLUMBUS. - - Amid a glorious city, woke to light - He who threw back a double radiance pure; - And that blue sea! ’Twas as an angel bright, - Beck’ning the child to fame and fortune sure. - How lovingly its waters kissed his feet! - How graceful yielded, as to lure away - The young enthusiast! Should he fail to meet - The ceaseless chime, forbidding him to stay. - The _man_, the _hour_ were found, and from that time - His soul was girded for its task sublime: - To struggle on, through error’s endless maze; - To bear contempt, and poverty, and pain; - To wait for royal favor’s fickle rays;— - To find a world beyond the western main! - - - III.—COLUMBUS AT THE UNIVERSITY OF PAVIA. - - Here was the manna for his hungry soul; - And here the fount for which he’d thirsted long. - Though yet his years were few, none might control - His mighty yearnings, or his purpose strong. - Ah! it is joy to watch the spark divine, - To feel it struck, as thought encounters thought! - What deep, exulting happiness was thine, - When to thine aid long-hidden lore was brought, - And thou, Columbus! didst believe the skies - Stooped down to nerve thee for thy high emprise! - ’Twas well thou hadst the witness in thine heart, - Or thou hadst fainted in thy weary way; - Though hope “deferred,” though anguish were thy part, - Faith shed a halo round thee day by day. - - - IV.—COLUMBUS ARRIVES IN SPAIN. - - What veiléd glory, and what strange disguise, - We meet in by-ways of this wondrous earth! - How oft the “angel” to our scaléd eyes - Seems but a “stranger” guest of mortal birth! - Met with cold words, or, haply, careless mirth, - Known only when he’s passed into the skies. - Columbus asks for bread![2] None see the ties - Which link him to the future home and hearth - Of unborn millions. Thus, the glorious day - Oft dawns in clouds, while the cold, ceaseless rain - Fills up each pause in the wind’s moaning strain, - And forms of evil seem to haunt our way. - The sky seems brightest when the clouds depart! - Earth-woes make heaven still dearer to the heart. - ------ - -[2] On his first arrival in Spain, Columbus asked for bread and water -for his child, at the convent of La Rabida. - - - V.—COLUMBUS BEFORE THE COUNCIL.[3] - - A silver lining to on ebon cloud;[4] - A diamond flashing in Cimmerian cave; - A Lazarus, up-rising from the grave, - Bursting the cerements of the straitened shroud; - To all true men Columbus calls aloud. - He scans the past, with all its priestly lore, - But, Janus-like, beholds the future’s shore. - What glorious scenes, what teeming wonders crowd! - What though the church behold him with a frown! - What though the crosier point toward the rack, - When heresy is near, as to the track - Of precious gold the magic hazel leans? - He heedeth not the mitre, cowl, or gown; - A new creation on his spirit beams. - ------ - -[3] Irving speaks of the ignorance of this body on all _scientific_ -subjects, causing the opinions of Columbus to be regarded as heretical. - -[4] - - Was I deceived, or did an ebon cloud - Turn forth its silver lining on the night? MILTON. - - - VI.—COLUMBUS AT COURT. - - The crescent wanes within Granada’s walls; - The Moorish standard bows into the dust; - The hour hath come when proud Boabdil must - Yield to Castilian prowess. In the halls - Of the Alhambra hymns of praise and trust - Ascend to Heaven. On the glad ear there falls - A mighty shout of triumph. Each one calls - “Rejoice! the Cross hath conquered—ever just!” - Who cometh ’mid the throng? One who hath learned - To hope, when hope hath died within the breast; - Fainting, to hold right on, though scoffed and spurned— - Amid that jubilation he is blest. - Man’s eyes are holden, but proud Woman’s name - From that good hour shares the Discoverer’s fame. - - - VII.—THE EMBARKATION. - - Oh! sweet as is the voice of one most dear, - And balmy as the welcome breath of heaven - To the sick soul, long “cabined, cribbed, confined,” - Is the blesséd wind, that on his high career - Now wafts the man to whose high trust is given - A world unknown, save to his mighty mind. - The last deep prayer is said—the mystic rite - Hath brought new strength unto his awe-struck heart, - He who long struggled with the diver’s might, - Who oft the waves of error did dispart, - And gasped for breath amid those shades of night, - Now with the aim unerring of a dart - Strikes for the pearl, bright gleaming to his eyes— - What mortal man e’er brought up such a prize! - - - VIII.—THE DISCOVERY. - - The morning dawns, and to th’ enraptured eye - Appears a land, glorious beyond compare, - Save that the dreamer saw in vision fair, - When to the Holy City he drew nigh. - The long-drawn veil e’en now is rent in twain! - Well may he enter in, with grateful prayer, - And bathe, as ’twere in a diviner air. - Well may the tears flow down—a blesséd rain! - And Spain’s broad banner proudly rise on high. - What scenes unknown—what beings from the sky, - May wait his coming, or his glory share, - And sing his praise in a celestial strain? - Methinks his soul might now depart in peace! - Well had it been had he then found release! - - - IX.—THE RETURN TO SPAIN. - - Joy! for the Victor cometh! He hath won - A prouder triumph than the great of eld; - The tempest-tossed, within whose bosom swelled - Bright hopes, that changed to fears, now sees the sun - Shine on the fair and fertile land of Spain, - Which hails his name with proud enraptured strain. - All press to gaze on th’ anointed one, - Whom the Most High within his hand has held— - While peals again the long and loud refrain; - And for “Castile and Leon’s” chosen son, - A full-orbed glory shineth in the West. - Oh! if Life’s sands e’en then had ceased to run, - Bright visions of those “islands of the blest” - Had soothed him to his last and dreamless rest. - - - X.—COLUMBUS IN CHAINS. - - In chains! in chains! homeward once more he came! - Life’s sky is veiled in midnight drear and dark;— - And this is his reward! They leave no mark - Those shameless fetters on his own fair fame. - The shaft may pierce his soul, but yet no shame - Bows that proud head; he is the victor still; - He triumphs in a stern, unconquered will. - His ’scutcheon fair was dimmed by breath of blame; - The stain is washed away by woman’s tears; - His patron-queen forbids his anxious fears— - Her gracious sweetness brings him to the dust. - The pledge of royal favor now he hears.— - But, oh! too long it waited—_to be just_; - While care and grief led on the lingering years. - - - XI.—COLUMBUS PROPOSES A NEW CRUSADE. - - The evening sky is bright with blended hues; - A soft, mild radiance, borrowed from on high, - Seems, to our view, to bring e’en heaven nigh, - And its pure essence in our souls infuse. - Thus, to that noble heart, as from the sky, - There came a presence, in life’s slow decline; - He viewed it as a holy seal and sign— - The Cross must crown the city of the Jews! - Like the pure incense-flame he soars from earth; - In fancy sees the prophet’s page unroll, - And reads therein the presage of his birth, - The mighty mission of his single soul! - Life’s pathway bears for him a healing balm, - Which cheers his heart and nerves his fainting arm. - - - XII.—THE DEATH OF COLUMBUS. - - He cometh to the shore of that vast sea,[5] - Whereon he never yet hath spread his sail; - His last, last voyage. Now every chart must fail, - Save that, our Father! he received of Thee! - With an unwavering trust he meets the wave, - Which bears him onward to the dread unknown; - From man’s injustice to that mighty Throne, - Supreme in power, Omnipotent to save. - Ah! ne’er from that far land shall he return! - His dust shall mingle with his mother-earth - In that fair isle to which his skill gave birth.[6] - That mighty soul! where doth it “breathe and burn?” - What worlds hath it discerned beyond the tomb, - Which to our eyes are all enwrapped in gloom? - ------ - -[5] - - “The shore - Of that vast ocean we must sail so soon.” - -[6] The remains of Columbus were deposited in the convent of St. -Francisco, but repeatedly removed, and, finally, on the 15th January, -1796, transferred, with almost regal pomp, to the island of Cuba. - - * * * * * - - - - - TO A FRIEND—WITH A BUNCH OF ROSES. - - - BY MISS L. VIRGINIA SMITH. - - - Go forth in beauty blushing to the one I love so well— - Let this dewy fragrance gushing to his spirit softly tell - How a secret, sweet revealing from a gentle kindred heart, - Far through his bosom stealing, comes to seek its nobler part. - - Oh! there’s not a spell so glowing in this lovely world of ours, - As when Feeling’s tones are flowing through the voices of the flowers, - When Affection’s thoughts are wreathing in a murmured melody - Round their dewy petals breathing forth a music-mystery. - - There are angel voices given in their delicate perfume, - Which will lead us up to Heaven where the fadeless roses bloom, - They have come unto us glowing with a beauty from the skies, - They are gifts of God’s bestowing, from a blessed Paradise. - - Let a bright and lovely vision from our sunny Southern bowers, - A dream of joy elysian be awakened by these flowers, - For a wealth of bliss is filling all the loveliness they wear, - And their tiny leaves are thrilling with the messages they bear. - - Where the velvet bud uncloses to the morning’s golden beam - Be thy life like summer roses floating o’er a summer stream, - And amid its sunny bowers may a gentle heart be thine, - To bring thee back the flowers which thou hast thrown o’er mine. - - Yes—a gentle heart to bring them—leaves from out the distant past, - O’er thy path in life to fling them—all unfading to the last, - In itself the sweetest blossom which a “God of love” has given, - To be worn within thy bosom—and to bloom for aye in Heaven. - - * * * * * - - - - - MUSIC. - - - BY HENRY GILES. - - -The mere capacity in man of perceiving sound, renders the musical -element a necessity in nature and in life. Discord, as a permanent -state, is as inconceivable as a permanent state of chaos. The -combinations of sounds, therefore, in the audible creation, if not all -in detail musical, are pervaded by the musical element: No ear is -insensible to the music of the air in the branches of a tree; to the -groaning of it in the hollow cave—to its whistle in the grass, or to -its spirit-voices in a stormy night around the dwelling. No ear is -insensible to the trickling melody of the stream, to the deep song of -the river—to the solemn anthem of the torrent, to the eternal harmonies -of the ocean. Birds are peculiarly the musicians of the animal world. -But how skillful and how rich their music is, we must learn, not from -the printed page, but in the sunny grove. Though other creatures have -not, as birds, the gift of song, yet are they not unmusical, and have -their parts in the mighty orchestra of living nature. Musical sounds are -grateful to the sense—and all beings that hear listen to them, enjoy -them, and need them. In music man has a common medium of sympathy with -his fellow animals. The charger prances to the sounds that swell the -heart of his master—for he, too, has a heart which they can enter and -dilate. A melody can soothe the lion’s rage. The elephant treads -delighted to the measure of the band. The dog bays gladness to the -shepherd’s flute. The cow stands in placid rapture while the milk-maid -sings. Man is scarcely ever so rude as to be beyond the reach of music. -It was a myth, containing as much truth as beauty, that feigned Apollo -with his lyre as the early tamer of wild men. If music is the first -influence which the race feels, it is also the first which the -individual feels. The infant opens its intelligence and love to the -mother’s song as much as to the mother’s face. The voice, even more than -the look, is the primitive awakener of the intellect and heart. Every -mother ought to sing. A song will outlive all sermons in the memory. Let -memories that begin life have songs that last for life. - -As a mere sensation, music has power. A little maid I have known, who -would sit on her cricket by her father’s knee until he had read the -whole of Christobel—of which she did not know the meaning of a line. It -was melodious to her ear, and merely in its music there was fascination -to her infant spirit. The songs which primitive people sing—in which -they have their best social interchange, are frequently poor in diction -and bald in sentiment. It is the music that gives the words a life; and -this life can transfuse energetic inspiration into the meanest words. -Early melodies are, of necessity, most simple. They are the instincts -seeking to put themselves into measured sound—yet with little to fill -the ear, and less to reach the mind. Nevertheless, they are good for the -mind and pleasant to the ear. A rude musical sensation is of value; of -how much more value is a refined musical sensation. But a musical -sensation is of its very nature a refined one. It is among the purest of -sensations. It may, indeed, be associated with coarse and base emotions. -This, however, is not in itself. It is in the imagination or the -word-music simply, as music presents nothing to the sense that is either -coarse or base. The conception is from the mind to music, not from music -to the mind. Speaking of music as a sensation, I speak relatively—for -to man there is no music without soul. In music soul and sense both -mingle—and become _one_ in its inspired sound. - -Yet the least part of music is the mere sensation. It is not on the ear -but on the heart that its finest spirit dwells. _There_ are the living -chords which it puts in motion, and in whose vibration it has the echoes -of its tones. The heart, after all, is the instrument with which the -true musician has to deal. He must understand that from its lowest note -to the top of its compass. The true test of music is the amount of -feeling it contains. The true criterion of a love for music is the -capacity to appreciate feeling in music. Music properly is the language -of emotion. It is the language of the heart. Its grammar, its rhetoric, -its eloquence, its oratory, is of the heart. The evidence of its power -is in the calm or the quivering pulsation. Feeling in music is a memory, -a sympathy, or an impulse. Nothing can recall with such vividness as -music can a past emotion—a departed state of mind. Words are but the -history of a by-gone thought—music is its presence. All our profoundest -feelings are in their nature lyrical. Whatever most deeply affects us, -we do, in some way, link to tune, or they are by tune awakened. The -feelings sing of themselves, and make an orchestra of the brain. Persons -utterly incapable of putting the simplest combination of sounds -musically together, will make melody in their hearts of the -reminiscences that strongly move them. And these will commonly be sad, -as all is that is connected with the Past—sad, however, with various -degrees of intensity—some, but calm regrets—others, dirges and -requiems. Therefore it is that the most affecting melodies belong to the -Past—to the past in the life of a man—to the past in the life of a -nation. Such melodies come not from prosperity or power. They come from -those who have missed a history, or whose history is over. Such melodies -are voices of sadness—the yearnings over what might have been but was -not—the regret for what has been but will never be again. And thus, -too, it is with the most affecting eloquence. That which agitates the -breast with force resistless is the word which is fraught with the -passions of its sorrow. Life in power is Action—Life in memory is elegy -or eloquence. A nation, like a man, dreams its life again—and until -life is gone or changed it soliloquizes or sings its dreams. The music -of memory lives in every man’s experience; and the excellence of it is, -that it binds itself only to our better feelings. It is the excellence -of our nature, also, that only such feelings have spontaneous memories. -The worst man does not willingly recall his bad feelings: and if he did, -he could not wed them to a melody. Hatred, malice—vengeance, envy, -have, to be sure, their proper expressions in the lyric drama, but of -themselves they are not musical, and by themselves they could not be -endured. It is not so with the kind emotions. They are in themselves a -music—and memory delights in the sweetness of their intonations. Love, -affection, friendship, patriotism, pity, grief, courage—whatever -generously swells the heart or tenderly subdues it—or purely elevates -it—are, of themselves, of their own attuning and accordant -graciousness, of a musical inspiration. With what enchantment will a -simple strain pierce the silence of the breast, and in every note break -the slumber of a thousand thoughts. It is a positive enchantment. Faces -long in the clay bloom as they did in youth. An inward ear is opened -through the outward—and voices of other times are speaking—and words -which you had heard before come to your soul, and they are pleasant in -this illusive echo. Your spirit is lost in the flight of days, and -insensible to the interval of distance; it is back in other hours, and -dwells in other scenes. Such are the mysterious linkings by which music -interlaces itself with our feelings—and so becomes an inseparable -portion of our sympathy. But sympathy exists only when music answers to -the spirit. Give not a merry carol to a heavy heart; although you may -give a grave strain to a light one. Music, as rightly used, is, as some -one calls it, “the medicine of an afflicted mind.” Joy is heightened by -exultant strains, but grief is eased only by low ones. “A sweet, sad -measure” is the balm of a wounded spirit. Music lightens toil. The -sailor pulls more cheerily for his song: and even the slave feels in -singing that he is a man. But, in other forms of labor, we miss in our -country the lyric feeling. Most of our work is done in silence. We hear -none of those songs at the milking hour, which renders that hour in -Europe so rich in pastoral and poetical associations. We hear no -ploughman’s whistle ringing over the field with a buoyant hilarity. We -have no chorusses of reapers, and no merry harvest-feasts. But if such -things can not be naturally, it is vain to wish for them—and it may be -even useless to mention them. Better things, perhaps, are in their -place—grave meditation and manly thought—and I merely allude to them -as elements that accord pleasingly with certain modes of life in -countries to whose habits and history they are native. Music in social -intercourse is a fine awakener of sympathies, and a fine uniter of them. -A violin or a piano is often not less needed to soothe the ruffled -spirit of a company, than the harp of David was to calm down the fiend -in the turbulent breast of Saul. Music, as we see in the customs of all -nations, is used as an antidote to the sense of danger, as well as a -stimulus to the passion of combat. And as embattled hosts move with -measured tramp to the field of death, music is the magic that is trusted -to charm away fear or to call up courage. - -Largely are men indebted even to the music of ballads and of songs. -Difficult it would be to measure the good which such music has done to -mankind. To multitudes in days of yore songs were the only literature, -and by the bards they had all their learning. Songs were their history; -their romance; their tragedy; their comedy; their fire-side eloquence, -giving utterance and perpetuity to sacred affections, and to noble -thoughts—and keeping alive a spirit of humanity in both the vassal and -the lord. Men have not yet ceased to need such influences, nor have such -influences lost their power. They still add purer brightness to the joys -of the young—and are a solace to the memory of age. They are still -bonds of a generous communion. They banish strangeness from the rich -man’s hall: they add refinement to the rich man’s banquet: they are joy -in the poor man’s holyday, they express lovingness in the poor man’s -feast. What so aids beneficent nature as such music does, to remove -barbarism and to inspire kindness? How dear amidst all the toils of -earth are the songs which were music to our infant ears—the songs of -our hearth and of our home—the songs which were our childhood’s spells, -a blessedness upon our mother’s lips, a rapture and delight! What -solaces the exile, while it saddens him? What is it that from the ends -of ocean turns him with wistful imagination to the star which overhangs -his father-land? What is it that brings the tear to his eye, and the -memory of other days, and the vision in the far-off west; that -annihilates years and distance, and gives him back his country, and -gives him back his youth? Song—inspired song—domestic song—national -song—song that carries ideal enthusiasm into rudest places—with many a -tale of marvel and magnanimity—of heroism in the soldier, and sanctity -in the saint—of constancy in love, and of bravery in war. - -Man is a social being. Unselfish society is the harmony of humanity: -loving interchange is the music of life; the music which lifts the -attuned soul above discordant passions and petty cares—and song is the -voice in which that music breathes. These are the strains that have -memories in them of all that true souls deem worthy of life or -death—the purities of their homes, the sacredness of their altars, the -hopes of their posterity—all for which martyrs suffer—all for which -patriots bleed—all that give millions a single wish and a single -will—all that make the cry of liberty as the trump of judgment, and the -swords of freemen as the bolts of heaven. Glorious names, and glorious -deeds, and honorable feelings, are always allied to the lyric spirit. -The independence of a country may seem to be utterly lost: the ruin of a -nation may appear decided: indeed, its external destiny may be -accomplished; but the character of a people is never absolutely degraded -until the lyric fire is dead upon the altar, and the lyric voice is -heard no longer in the temple. - -Music is not exhausted in expressing feeling, though some persons are so -constituted as not beyond this to understand or to enjoy it. But music -of more profound combination is not, on this account, without meaning -and without value. The higher forms of music, like the higher forms of -poetry, must, of course, if tested by mere instinct, seem remote and -complicated. Music, too, is susceptible of more multiplied combinations -than poetry; and, without the restraints of arbitrary signs and definite -ideas, can expatiate in the region of pure imagination. In the true -sense of the word, it is infinite. Not bound to form, not bound to -color, not bound to speech, it is as unlimited as the capacity of the -soul to exist in undefinable states of emotional being. And into these -it can throw the soul with inconceivable rapidity of change. The great -master of even a single instrument appears, indeed, a wizard. He seems, -in truth, to be the only artist to whom the designation of wizard can -with any correctness be applied. Men of other genius may be creators, -but the musician is the wizard. His instrument is a talisman. It is full -of conjurations—out from it he draws his witchery; he puts his spell -upon all around him; he chains them in the slavery of delight; and he is -the only despot that rules over willing captives. No other power on the -imagination is so complete—so uncontrollable. The fiction or the poem -you can lay aside; the picture or statue moves you but calmly; the actor -is at the mercy of an accident; the orator may fail, by reason of your -opposition to his sentiments or opposition to his person; but the -musician draws you from every thing which can counteract his charm, and -once within his circle you have no escape from his power. Emotional -conceptions—solemn, gay, pathetic, impassioned—are as souls in all his -sounds. But in the case of an executive musician, the art seems -incarnate in the artist. We associate the personality of the artist with -the effects of his art. We are not yet within the limitless domain of -imaginative music. The great instrumentalist is, indeed, a wizard—a -cunning necromancer; but he is before us while he works his spells, and -though we cannot resist the enchanter we _behold_ him. In a great -composer there is a higher potency, and it is one that is not seen. The -action of his spirit on our spirits, though exercised by means of -intermediate agents, is yet that of an invisible incantation. The great -composer is an imperial magician—the sovereign of genii and the master -of wizards. He is a Prospero, and _Music_ is his _Enchanted Island_. The -creative musician, and the region in which he dwells, can have no -analogy more correct than that presented to us in Shakspeare’s -extraordinary play of “The Tempest.” There we have the loud-resounding -sea; at one moment the sun bright in the clear sky, at another hidden by -the mist or breaking through the blood-red cloud; now the heavens are -full of stars, and in an instant they are thick with gloom; the elements -gather into masses, they clash together, and the thunder and the waves -fill up the chorus. Then the day dawns softly, and the morning breaks -into summer songs. Caves are there and pleasant dells; solitudes are -there, dark and lonely; spots beautiful as well as terrible; barren and -blasted heaths, where goblins hold their revels; and labyrinthian walks, -where sweet-hearts, not unwilling, lose themselves and linger. The -earth, the atmosphere, shore, stream, grove, are filled with -preternatural movements, with sweet voices and strange sounds. There are -Ariel-melodies, there are Caliban groanings; there are the murmurings of -manly passions, and the whisperings of maiden-love; there are -Bacchanalian jovialities, high and mysterious monologues, fanciful and -fairy-ditties, the full swellings of excited hearts, and the choral -transports of all nature, made living and made lyrical. But the Prospero -who rules in this island, dwells in a lonely cell, and yet commands all -the voices of the universe to do his bidding. Have I not, by this -analogy, described a grand imaginative composer? Without intending it, I -have described Beethoven. I speak, I admit, only as one of the -appreciating vulgar—as one of the impressible ignorant; I am able only -to express a sensation, not to pronounce a judgment. In listening to -Beethoven’s music there is a delight, for which, no doubt, the learned -artist can give a reason. I know nothing of art, and with me the -listening is an untutored, a wild, an almost savage joy or sorrow, or a -mixture of emotions that cannot be defined. The music of Beethoven, if I -can judge from the little that I have heard of it, is _unearthly_; but -the unearthliness of this music is of a compound nature. Like Spenser’s, -Beethoven’s imagination is unearthly; and, like Spenser’s, it is -unearthly in the supernaturally grand and beautiful. Like Milton’s -imagination, also, Beethoven’s is unearthly; but here it is unearthly in -the mysterious and the solemn. The union of these elements in the -wholeness of Beethoven’s genius, have given to us that singular, that -most original music, which seems to belong to the ideal region, which -eastern fancy has peopled with genii and fairies. What a wonderful thing -is a symphony of Beethoven’s! But who can describe it, in either its -construction or its effects? You might as well attempt to describe, by -set phrases, the raptures of St. Paul or the visions of the Apocalypse. -It always seems the utterance of a mighty trance, of a mysterious dream, -of a solemn ecstacy. The theme, even the most simple—so simple that a -child, as it might appear, could have fashioned it, is one, however, -that genius of a marvelous peculiarity only could have discovered—a -genius that worked and lived amidst the most ideal analogies by which -sounds are related to emotions. And this unearthly theme is thrown at -once into an ocean of orchestral harmony, and this orchestral harmony is -as unearthly as the theme. Thrown upon the orchestra it seems to break, -to divide itself, to scatter itself upon the waves of an enchanted sea, -in a multitude of melodies. It seems as a tune played by a -spirit-minstrel, on a summer night, in the glade of a lonely wood, to -which all the genii of music answer, in chorusses of holy, sad, -enchanting modulation. - -And of Mozart! What shall we say of him—of Mozart, less only than -Beethoven in those strains which linger amidst remote associations, but -versatile beyond most composers in the romance and reality of the comic -and the tragic in actual life. If ever a genius lived with which all its -work was play, that genius was the genius of Mozart. Constantly he made -the merest play of genius. At ten years old he could astonish the most -critical of musical audiences in Paris, and before their rapture had -approached within many degrees of moderation, he would be romping in the -crowd of his companions. Nor was it different in his maturity. He could -compose a piece, in which he was himself to take a part. He would -distribute the score, perfectly arranged for the several performers. As -they played, he would turn page after page over along with them, always -in the spirit of the music and its harmony; but the emperor, looking -over his shoulder, could see that not a note had he written down. Mozart -seemed to combine in his genius all the sweetness of Italy with all the -depth of Germany. But on these themes I have no authority to speak. All -I can say is, that what I have heard of his compositions, and most of -what I have learned of his life, have led me to think of him with -admiration as a musician, and with affection as a man. - -Music, it is sometimes said, is not an intellectual art. _What does this -mean?_ Does it mean that music employs no intellect in the artist, and -excites none in the hearer? The assertion in both cases is untrue. -Music, as a study, must, I think, be profoundly intellectual. In the -oldest universities it has always had a place among the abstract -sciences. But, considered as an enjoyment—considered in relation to the -hearer—we should first need to settle what we understand by an -intellectual enjoyment. To work a problem in algebra, or to examine a -question of theology, may be each an intellectual pleasure; but the -pleasure, it is manifest, is, in each case very different. These both, -it is true, agree in taxing the _reasoning_ faculty; but is nothing -intellectual but that which formally taxes this faculty? Is nothing -intellectual but that which involves syllogism—but that which implies -demonstration or induction? Prayer is not intellectual, if we identify -intellectuality with logic; and if we do this, it is _not_ intellectual -to feel the merits of a picture, but peculiarly so to understand the -proportions of its frame. According to such a theory, it is intellectual -to analyze with Aristotle, but it is not so to burn and to soar with -Plato. To speculate with Jeremy Bentham is intellectual, but it is not -so to be enraptured by the divine song of Milton. Assertions which lead -to such conclusions must be radically false. Whatever puts man’s -spiritual powers into action, is intellectual. The _kind_ of action -engaged will, of course, be ever according to the subject and the -object. The intellectuality of a statesman is not that of a bard; the -intellectuality which concocts an act of parliament, is not that which -composes a “Song of the Bell.” Music is neither inductive nor -raciotionative. It is an art; that is, it is an inward law realised in -outward fact. Such is all art. In this music agrees with all arts, for -all arts are but the outward realities of inward laws. But some of these -are for utility, others for delight. Music is of those arts which spring -from the desire for enjoyment and gratify it. It bears the soul away -into the region of the infinite, and moves it with conceptions of -exhaustless possibilities of beauty. If ideas, feelings, imaginations, -are intellectual, then is music; if that which can excite, combine, -modify, elevate—memories, feelings, imagination—is intellectual, then -music is intellectual. - -An art which, like music, is the offspring of passion and emotion, could -not but take a dramatic form. The lyrical drama, secular and sacred, -civilized humanity could not but produce. Nothing is more natural than -that the gayety and grief of the heart should seek the intense and -emphatic expression which music can afford. It would, indeed, be -extraordinary if a creature like man—so covetous of excitement, so -desirous of varying his sensations—did not press into his service, -wherever it could be used, an art which has no other equal to it for -excitement and variety. The opera, both comic and tragic, is a genuine -production of this desire. The burlesque, the odd, the merry, the -absurd, and, still more, pity, love, jealousy, vengeance, despair, have -their music in the rudest states of society; it is only in the order of -things that they should in cultivated states of society have a -cultivated music. Such music, as a matter of course, would connect -itself with a story, a plot, with incident, character, scenery, costume, -and catastrophe. It would thus become dramatic. Thus it has become; and -as such, it has a range as ample as that of human life, as deep as human -passions, as versatile as the human fancy and the human will. Hence we -have the opera. The opera is that form which the drama assumed among a -people musically organized—among a people whose love of music was, -therefore, intense, constitutional and expansive. But no art remains -within the limits of its native space, and the opera is now as extensive -as civilization; as extensive, certainly, as modern civilization. The -ballad is the first comedy or tragedy. There are germs in the words of -the ballet for the genius of Shakspeare—there are germs in the air of -it for the genius of Rossini. Many object to the opera. First, they say, -it is expensive. All our amusements are expensive—expensive as they -ought not to be—expensive as they would not be with a higher and a -purer social culture. Artistic amusements are expensive, especially, by -the want of taste, which hinders the many from sharing in them—by the -want of taste, which makes _expense_ itself distinction. True taste -coincides with true feeling; true feeling delights in beauty, as it -delights in goodness, for its own sake; and true feeling being wide as -nature and humanity, the more widely its delight is shared the greater -its own enjoyment. Were there among the people a diffusive taste for -elevated music, we cannot but feel that music could be cheap as well as -noble. But, secondly, many say that the opera is unnatural. It is -absurd, they quizzically aver, that persons should sing their love-talk, -their madness, their despair, etc., and grieve or laugh, and die or be -married, in sharps or flats, in major or minor. And yet, this is exactly -what nature does. Nature sings all its stronger emotions. The moment -expression becomes excited it has rhythm—it has cadence; and the tune -of Rossini is nearer to instinct than the blank verse of Shakspeare. Who -will say that genuine passion is not in this wonderful blank verse? But -who is it that could impromptu speak it? So in the tones and harmonies -of music. In both nature is carried into the region of art, out from the -region of the actual; and within the region of art the musical utterance -of nature is no more strange than the poetical utterance of nature. The -moral view of the opera I do not here pretend to deal with. My purpose -is to speak on music as an element of social culture; and it is not -beyond the range of possibility that beautiful truths can be united -dramatically to beautiful tones. If they cannot, then society has an -immense loss; and if a noble story cannot be told by music—cannot be -told to a moral purpose, then music ceases to be an art, as it has -always been considered as associated with the divinest impulses of our -nature. The abuses of which the opera is susceptible, are the abuses of -which every form of art is susceptible. The artist stands—he has ever -stood—upon a point between the human and divine. He may carry his art -into gross sensualities of the human, or into lofty spiritualities of -the divine. With the purification of society we shall have the -purification of art and of the artist; and, therefore, I can see no -reason why the opera might not be made effective in the best culture of -social humanity. The lyrical expression of humanity is not less human -than it is religious. - -The sacred lyrical drama, or oratorio, seems to be a remnant of the old -mysteries. In those old mysteries a scriptural subject was exhibited to -the people in a theatrical manner. The scriptural subject is all that -remains of the old mystery in the modern oratorio. Stage, scenery, -costume, have departed, and music takes their place. Music, therefore, -in the oratorio, must, by its own power, indicate character, sentiment, -passion; it must unite grandeur and diversity with unity of spirit; it -must unite them with unity of expression. Yet even the oratorio has not -escaped objection. But, if it has been wrongly attacked, it has been as -unwisely defended. What, it is triumphantly asked, can inspire deeper -devotion, more fervent piety, than the sacred composition of Handel? The -mistake of the artiste on this side of the question, has its only -measure in the mistake of the ascetic on the other. The strains, even of -Handel, may be in unison with the highest and purest aspirations of the -mind; but, in his divinest dramas, they are not of themselves—devotion. -But, if high music confers a pleasure that harmonizes with the mind’s -best faculties; if it prepares the mind’s best faculties for their best -exercise; if by lifting the mind up into the sphere of great emotions -from that of mean ones; if by withdrawing it from attention to selfish -desires, it carries it into lofty thought, music exercises for the mind, -even in the temple, a sacred power, though its power should yet only be -artistic. No mind, for instance, can be in a low or degraded condition, -while it is in sympathy with the pure and delectable genius of Haydn. No -mind can have communed with him through his oratorio of the “Creation,” -can have drunk in its liquid melodies—its gladdening hymns of -praise—its soft and heart-soothing airs—its songs, which seem to -sparkle with the light which they celebrate—with the dew that bathed -first the flowers of Paradise—with its anthems of holy exultation, such -as the sons of God might have shouted—with the whole breathing in every -part as it does—with the young soul of goodness and beauty—no mind, I -say, can be in such communion, and for the time be otherwise than -transported beyond all that can belittle or defile. But Handel excites a -profounder sentiment. He is not so cheerful as Haydn. He could not be; -for this he is too massive and austere. He does not, like Haydn, lead -the mind out to nature, he turns it in upon itself. Not loveliness, but -mysteries make the spirit of his music. We find in Haydn the -picturesqueness and the buoyancy of the Catholic worship; in Handel, the -sombre, the inquiring, the meditative thoughtfulness of the Protestant -faith. By Haydn’s “Creation” we are charmed and elated; by Handel’s -“Messiah” we are moved with an overcoming sense of awe and power. Though -nothing can surpass the sweetness of Handel’s melodies, yet interspersed -amidst such masses of harmony, they seem like hymns amidst the billows -of the ocean, or songs among the valleys of the Alps. Handel’s genius -was made for a subject that placed him in the presence of eternity and -the universe. His moods and movements are too vast for the moods and -movements of common interests or the common heart. They require the -spaces of the worlds. They require interests coincident with man’s -destiny, and with man’s duration. Though Handel’s airs in the “Messiah” -are of sweetest and gentlest melody, they have majesty in their -sweetness and their gentleness. We can associate them with no event -lower than that with which they are connected. In such tones we can -conceive the Saviour’s birth celebrated in the song of angels; in such -tones we can fancy the Redeemer welcomed in hosannas by those who -ignorantly dragged him afterward to Calvary. And then the plaintiveness -of Handel in the “Messiah,” has its true horizon only in that which -girds the immortal. It is not simply plaintive, it is mysteriously -awful. It is not a grief for earthly man, it is a grief for him who bore -the griefs of all men—for Him who carried our sorrows—who was wounded -for our transgressions—who was bruised for our iniquities, who was -oppressed and afflicted, and who bore the chastisement of our peace. It -is not a grief in which any common spirit dare complain. It is fit only -for Him who had sorrows to which no man’s sorrows were like. It does not -cause us to pity, but to tremble. It does not move us to weeping, -because there lie beneath it, thoughts which are too deep for tears. And -then, in unison with this dread and solemn pathos, is the subdued but -mighty anguish of the general harmony. When the victory is -proclaimed—the victory over the grave—the victory over death—the -victory in which mortality is swallowed up of life—we are lost in the -glory of a superhuman chorus; our imagination breaks all local bounds; -we fancy all the elements of creation, all glorified and risen men, all -the hosts of Heaven’s angels united in this exultant anthem. Handel -truly is the Milton of music. - -The grandest office of music, however, is that in which, no doubt, it -originated—that in which, early, it had its first culture; in which, -latest, it has its best—I mean its office in religion. In the sanctuary -it was born, and in the service of God it arose with a sublimity with -which it could never have been inspired in the service of pleasure. More -assimilated than any other art to the spiritual nature of man, it -affords a medium of expression the most congenial to that nature. -Compared with tones that breathe out from a profound, a spiritually -musical soul, how poor is any allegory which painting can present, or -that symbol can indicate. The soul is invisible; its emotions admit no -more than itself of shape or limitation. The religious emotions cannot -always have even verbal utterance. They often seek an utterance yet -nearer to the infinite; and such they find in music. You cannot -delineate a feeling—at most you can but suggest it by delineation. But -in music you can by intonation directly give the feeling. Thus related -to the unseen soul, music is a voice for faith, which is itself the -realization of things not seen. And waiting as the soul is amidst -troubles and toils, looking upward from the earth, and onward out of -time, for a better world or a purer life, in its believing and glad -expectancy, music is the voice of its hope. In the depression and -despondency of conviction; in the struggles of repentance; in the -consolations and rejoicing of forgiveness; in the wordless calm of -internal peace, music answers to the mood, and soothingly breaks the -dumbness of the heart. For every charity that can sanctify and bless -humanity, music has its sacred measures; and well does goodness merit -the richest harmony of sound, that is itself the richest harmony of -heaven. Sorrow, also, has its consecrated melody. The wounded spirit and -the broken heart are attempered and assuaged by the murmurings of divine -song. A plaintive hymn soothes the departing soul. It mingles with -weeping in the house of death. It befits the solemn ritual of the grave. -The last supper was closed with a hymn, and many a martyr for Him who -went from that supper to his agony, made their torture jubilant in songs -of praise. - -An essay equal to the subject on the vicissitudes and varieties of -sacred music, would be one of the most interesting passages in the -history of art. In their long wanderings to the land of promise, sacred -music was among the hosts of Israel; and in that great temple of nature, -floored by the desert, and roofed by the sky, they chanted the song of -Miriam and of Moses. It was in their Sabbath meetings—it resounded with -the rejoicings of their feasts, and with the gladness of their jubilees. -When Solomon built a house to the Lord, it was consecrated with cymbals, -and psalteries, and harps, with the sounds of trumpets, and the swell of -voices. As long as the temple stood, music hallowed its services; and -that music must have been supremely grand which suited the divine poetry -of the inspired and kingly lyrist. Israel was scattered—the temple was -no more. Silence and desolation dwelt in the place of the sanctuary. -Zion heard no longer the anthems of her Levites. A new word that was -spoken first in Jerusalem had gone forth among the nations; and that too -had its music. At first it was a whisper among the lowly in the -dwellings of the poor. Stealthily it afterward was murmured in the -palace of the Cæsars. In the dead night, in the depths of the catacombs, -it trembled in subdued melodies filled with the love of Jesus. At length -the grand cathedral arose, and the stately spire; courts and arches -echoed, and pillars shook with the thunder of the majestic organ, and -choirs, sweetly attuned, joined their voices in all the moods and -measures of the religious heart, in its most exalted, most profound, -most intense experience put into lyrical expression. I know that piety -may reject, may repel this form of expression, still these sublime -ritual harmonies cannot but give the spirit that sympathizes with them, -the sense of a mightier being. But sacred music has power without a -ritual. In the rugged hymn, which connects itself, not alone with -immortality, but also with the memory of brave saints, there is power. -There is power in the hymn in which our father’s joined. Grand were -those rude psalms which once arose amidst the solitudes of the Alps. -Grand were those religious songs, sung in brave devotion by the -persecuted Scotch, in the depths of their moors and their glens. The -hundredth psalm, rising in the fullness of three thousand voices up into -the clear sky, broken among rocks, prolonged and modulated through -valleys, softened over the surface of mountain-guarded lakes, had a -grandeur and a majesty, contrasted with which mere art is poverty and -meanness. And while thus reflecting on sacred music, we think with -wonder on the Christian Church—on its power and on its compass. Less -than nineteen centuries ago, its first hymn was sung in an upper chamber -of Jerusalem; and those who sung it were quickly scattered. And now the -Christian hymn is one that never ceases—one that is heard in every -tongue; and the whisper of that upper chamber is now a chorus that fills -the world. - -Music is an essential element in social life and social culture, and our -times have few better movements than the increasing introduction of -vocal music into popular education. The higher kinds of music might be -included in all the higher kinds of education for men as well as for -women. Milton so teaches in his great tractate; and so the Greeks -practiced, in whose training no faculty was wasted or overlooked. The -music which is now most wanted, however, is music for the common heart. -If education will give us the taste for such music, and give us the -music, it will confer upon us a benefit, a blessing. It is not desired -that music in the home, or in the friendly circle, should never wander -out of the sphere of the home or the friendly circle, only let not these -spheres of feeling be without any strains peculiarly suitable to -themselves. Let the theatre have its music; let the camp have its music; -let the dance-room have its music; let the church have its music; but -let the home and the friendly gathering also have their music. - -We have for the cultivated, music of rare powers and in great abundance; -but we need a music for the people—and no music can be music for the -people, but that which answers to simple and direct emotion. It is a -most important need. The music of the opera, granting it were ever so -pure, and had no resistance to encounter, can be had only in cities, and -can never reach the scattered masses of the population. The music of the -oratorio must have a limitation even still more restricted. Popular -music must be domestic, social music. We have it not; therefore we are a -silent people, and our writings have no lyrical inspirations. The finer -and deeper elements of popular life have no true medium of exposition. -These subtle, delicate, wordless idealities of the soul, which the -rudest have, are without music; that alone, which can take them from the -confining bosom, and give them to the vital air. Our rural life is -gladdened by no song—is the subject of no song; and our social life is -almost as silent as the rural. National music we have none: and our -political songs are, generally, a shame to doggerel, and a libel upon -tune. Complaining on the want of social and domestic music, will not, I -am aware, supply it; and yet it is no less a want. We want it on the -summer’s evening, when our work is done, to rest the spirit as we rest -the body; and while the eye is filled with visible beauty, to bring the -soul into harmony with invisible goodness. We want it in the winter’s -night, by the winter fire, to cheer us while the hours pass, and to -humanize in amusing us. We want it in our friendly re-unions, not for -delight alone, but also for charity and peace, to exclude the demon of -idle or evil speaking, and to silence the turbulence of polemical or -political discussion. We want it in our churches. Christianity is the -home-feeling and the social-feeling made perfect. The music of it should -be the home-feeling and the social-feeling consecrated. As it is, our -Protestant churches at least have either a drawling psalmody with the -monotony of a lullaby, or they have patches of selections that want -unity, appropriateness, or meaning. A music is wanted in our Protestant -churches such as Christianity ought to have; a music, simple yet -grand—varied but not capricious—gladsome with holy joy, not with -irreverent levity, not sentimental, yet tender, solemn but not -depressing—not intolerant to the beauties of art, and yet not scornful -of popular feeling. If a true and natural taste for music should spring -up and be cultivated through the country, not in cities only, but in -every village and district, it would be an auspicious phenomenon. It -would be a most vital and a most humanizing element in social life. It -would break the dullness of our homes; it would brighten the hour of our -meetings; would enliven our hospitality, and it would sublime our -worship. “Let who that will make the laws of a people,” some one said, -“but let me make their songs;” to which a great and patriotic composer -might add, Let who that will supply the words of a people’s songs, if I -shall be allowed to give these words to music. - - * * * * * - - - - - SPRING LILIES. - - - ’Neath their green and cool cathedrals, - In the garden lilies bloom, - Casting on the fresh spring zephyr - Peal on peal of sweet perfume; - Often have I, pausing near them - When the sunset flushed the sky, - Seen the coral bells vibrating - With their fragrant harmony. - - But within my quiet dwelling - I have now a lily fair, - Whose young spirit’s sweet spring budding - Watch I with unfailing care. - God, in placing her beside me, - Made my being most complete, - And my heart keeps time forever - With the music of her feet. - - I remember not whilst gazing - In her earnest eyes of blue, - That the earth holds aught of sorrow, - Aught less innocent and true. - And the restlessness and longing - Wakened by the cares of day, - With the burden and the tumult, - In her presence fall away. - - Shield my Lily, Holy Father! - Shield her from the whirlwind’s might, - But protracted sunshine temper - With a soft and starry night; - ’Neath the burning sun of summer - Scorched and shrunk the spring flower lies, - Human hearts contract when strangers - Long to clouds and tearful eyes. - - Give her purpose strong and holy, - Faith and self-devotion high; - These Life’s common by-ways brighten, - Every hope intensify. - Teach her all the brave endurance - That the sons of earth require; - May she with a patient labor - To the great and good aspire. - - Should some mighty grief oppress her - Heavier than she can bear, - Oh! sustain her by Thy presence, - Hear and answer Thou her prayer. - And whene’er the storms of winter - Round my precious Lily reign, - To a fairer clime transplant her - There to live and bloom again. - M. G. H. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE EARTH. - - - BY R. H. STODDARD. - - - As one who walks with eyes upon the ground, - Arrested slow beside a dusty mound, - Where swarms of ants are bustling in the sand, - As if they had a Universe on hand, - Surveys their nothings with a quiet smile, - And stops to muse and meditate a while— - Even so the sage with philosophic mind - Looks down upon the earth and all mankind! - And yet withal this little orb is grand, - With its circumference of sea and land: - The Ocean girds it with a belt immense, - Heaving in billowy magnificence - Round Continents with all their subject lands, - A thousand sceptres in their giant hands!— - And mountains loom majestical on high, - And lift their foreheads in the blank of sky, - Bathed in its brightness, while their robes of snow - Trail o’er the tallest pines, and far below, - Poured from their urns, the streams divide the plain - And bear their tributes to the sounding main. - And the round hills and verdant solitudes - That slumber in the heart of trackless woods; - The broad champain, the hollow vale and mead, - And the green pastures where the cattle feed - Deep in the daisies; and the silver brooks, - And the long winding lanes, and grassy nooks, - All, all, are clothed in loveliness and light, - The various beauty of the day and night, - While the great Earth, as when its flight begun, - Wheels like a mighty eagle round the Sun! - Yes! Earth is beautiful in every phase, - Covered with glory and perpetual bays;— - What pomps and pageants fill the glowing east, - Hung like a palace on a bridal feast, - When clouds of purple standards are unrolled, - And morning lifts its diadem of gold! - What streams of radiance flood the azure field, - When the Noon marches with his shining shield - And scales the eternal steep of Heaven alone, - And looks o’er Nature from his burning throne! - What dreamy softness in the melting west - When Evening sinks in holiness to rest, - And the young crescent moon, an argent barque, - Drifts up the starry ocean of the dark! - And how sublime the black tempestuous cloud, - Where thunders shout their prophecies aloud - With tongues of fire, that flash from sphere to sphere, - While congregated nations quake in fear! - How glorious all! how changeless and serene - Where generations vanish from the scene. - Yet what is Earth in Nature’s wondrous whole, - Which mirrors dimly its Creative Soul? - Less than ant-hill, even the smallest one, - Whose gates thrown back exclude the summer sun. - A single grain of sand from out the sea, - The deep of Chaos and Eternity, - Whose bubbles are The Ages dim and vast, - Melting into the dark abysmal Past! - A mote in the cerulean space of air, - One of the innumerous myriads floating there, - Wafted of old from God’s eternal seat, - Where stars and suns lie thick as dust around his feet! - - * * * * * - - - - - ALONE—ALONE! - - - BY MRS. I. W. MERCUR. - - - “Her friends had one after one departed, and in her mind - continually rang the monotonous words, alone, alone!” - - I am alone, oh God! alone—alone! - Yet thousands round me crowd life’s busy mart, - Whose ceaseless hum is as a deathless moan - Forever falling on my weary heart— - I am alone! - - I am alone—around me press the gay, - The light of heart, they who have never known - The blight of sorrow, or the sure decay - Of every joy the spirit here has known— - I am alone! - - I am alone—yet memory oft doth bring - Back the sweet visions of life’s sunny day, - Of friends unchanged, who in my early spring - With smiles of love illumed my joyous way— - I am alone! - - I am alone—alas! stern death has won - Hearts that I cherished, and fond eyes of light; - Kind tones are hushed, and brows I gazed upon - In life’s full glory greet no more my sight— - I am alone! - - Alone—alone!—for unto me no more - The living turn with thought or feeling’s flow. - And joy for me I feel on earth is o’er— - I never more shall love or friendship know— - I am alone! - - Alone and weary, yet I strive to wear - Ever a look of calm, serene repose, - And smiling seek to hide each galling care - And burning sorrow which my spirit knows— - I am alone! - - I am alone—and far, oh! far away - From where my home of happy childhood lies, - From scenes beloved where fountains murmuring play - And smile beneath my own, my native skies— - I am alone! - - Alone—alone!—and my crushed heart doth bear - Cold and neglect from those for whom I pour - My full soul forth—whose images I wear - Forever shrined in memory’s sacred store— - I am alone! - - I am alone, but in my fevered dreams - Friends throng around me—voices loved I hear. - Light once again upon my pathway beams, - But I awake!—no forms beloved are near— - I am alone! - - Alone—alone!—no more the star I see - Of Hope which once illumed my cloudless sky. - And naught is left on this wide earth to me, - Save but to look on Nature’s face and die— - I am alone! - - * * * * * - - - - - PEDRO DE PADILH. - - - BY J. M. LEGARE. - - - (_Continued from page 148._) - - SPAIN, AND TERCERA. } - AD. 1583. } - -Meanwhile, the Marquis of Santa-Cruz with a hundred sail was steering -from Lisbon to Tercera, bent upon reaching that island before the French -fleet, and moreover settling it in his own mind to hang the Viceroy de -Torrevedros, (who was at that moment taking wine with De Chaste to their -mutual longevity,) for sticking to the landless and luckless King -Anthony of Portugal, in preference to his own master Philip the Second, -sometimes called the Prudent, but by the Protestants, whom he roasted -and otherwise ill-treated, the Demon of the South. - -Señor Inique’s vessel was the Doblon, and our acquaintance Don Pedro’s -the Pez-de-mar, but on the day designated, the two maîtres-de-camp dined -together in the Doblon, besides whom were at table some half dozen -cavaliers of more or less note. At the close of the meal, Sir Pedro -said— - -“Gentlemen all, this is a day I never let pass without thought of the -brave man whose head fell ten years ago this noon, at Brussels. I ask a -_pater_ of the company here present for the rest of his soul.” - -“If you mean Count Egmont,” answered one, “there never was truer knight. -I was near him at the time of his death, and believe him to have been as -loyal as you or I.” - -“A doubtful comparison,” cried another, laughing, “since you question -the king’s justice.” - -“By no means,” returned the Constable of Castile. “The king acknowledged -as much himself. I was present when the news arrived, and he said with -his usual smile, ‘These two salmon heads are better off than three-score -heads of frogs!’” - -“Yes, and the French ambassador wrote to court, ‘I have seen a head fall -which has twice made France quake.’” - -“Well,” said the constable, “I was but a stripling at the time, but I -well remember how the count led his lances at St. Quentin. There was not -a—hush! what’s that?” he stopped suddenly and asked. - -“What?” demanded most of his audience, who had heard nothing but the -breaking of Don Pedro’s glass upset by his elbow. Perhaps Don Pedro, -sitting next, was the only other who heard the smothered cry from a -partition behind their host, for Don Inique’s face was as usual -inflexible as a mask, and Padilh, turning to the constable, said— - -“I interrupted you. You were saying?” - -“Count Egmont rode so gallantly, there was not a man in the army had -seen the like before; it was a ballad of the campeador acted to the -life. Even the king, when he came down from the Escurial, praised his -bravery, and afterward presented him a sword, upon which was engraved -‘St. Quentin.’” - -The constable may have repeated the last word to satisfy a doubt in his -mind, but if so he was disappointed in his purpose, for no response came -from the partition, although a momentary silence followed the close of -the sentence. I mention this little incident because it was the prelude -to a singular conversation between the two camp-masters, the next -morning, on board the Pez-de-mar. - -“I cannot be mistaken, Padilh,” said the other, in his starched way. -“You heard the exclamation yesterday at table, and endeavored to drown -it. You saved me, sir, a pang—for which I am grateful,” he added, with -the air of a man compelled to acknowledge a service. - -“I did my best and quickest to forestall curiosity,” answered Sir Pedro -kindly. “The Constable of Castile is the only gentleman in the fleet who -suspects the presence of your—your—son. And that only since yesterday; -he told me as much last evening. For your precautions in Portugal have -been effectual in keeping a knowledge of the matter even from most of -our comrades at St. Quentin.” - -“A curse fall on the name,” muttered Inique bitterly. “It is the only -touchstone his memory has, and at its utterance nothing but force can -stay his screams. God pity me: I act it all over in mind whenever the -boy cries out as he did on the field.” - -Padilh knew his associate well enough to disguise what commiseration he -felt, and without noticing the interruption continued— - -“Thus, señor, your secret is safe still; for as you may readily believe, -the constable got as little information from my tongue as by his own at -table.” - -“Do you think he pronounced the name with design?” cried the -maître-de-camp, his brows contracting. “If I—” - -“No,” returned honest Don Pedro decidedly, “the constable is a man of -worth, and would pry into no one’s affairs systematically. But his chief -defect is a tendency to say or do whatever comes into his head, and that -he falls into difficulty less often is perhaps owing more to luck than -consideration on his part. Don’t you remember hearing the answer he made -his Holiness, while a mere lad?” - -“No,” absently. - -“Why,” persisted the knight, regardless of the doubtful attention of his -auditor, and moved by a good-natured wish to lead away from the painful -topic, “the brusquerie of the whole affair made it the talk at court; -where were you that you failed to hear it? The constable was sent to -congratulate his Holiness on his accession to St. Peter’s chair, but the -Pope taking umbrage at the youth of the ambassador, exclaimed -aloud—‘What! has the King of Spain no men in his dominions, that he -sends us a face without a beard?’ Whereupon the fiery boy, stretching -himself up and stroking with forefinger and thumb his upper lip, where a -mustache should have been but was not, said with a frown—‘Sir, had my -royal master known your Holiness measured wisdom by a beard, he would -doubtless have sent a he-goat to honor you!’” - -After a pause Inique said—(the capernian episode was evidently lost -upon him)— - -“I have no need of any mortal’s sympathy, Padilh, and the man that -pities me openly must answer to my sword for it. You have done neither -to my knowledge, yet you were not far off when I struck the boy,” (he -dropped his voice here, as a weight on the conscience will make people -do.) “If you choose to listen, the secret motives of a man who for -fifteen years has had no thought for his second child, until moved to -avenge her, because the first, an idiot, intervened, may startle your -ears, Pedro Padilh.” - -“The recital may ease your breast,” said our knight in some surprise. - -“There is no likelihood of what you say,” answered Don Augustino, a -shade of scorn crossing his moody face, “and I wish it otherwise. Why I -choose you, a companion in arms, for confessor, you will learn in time; -perhaps your long friendship and yesterday’s prompt action have their -influence. These things you witnessed or know; the mad blows, their -result, the measures I have taken to be constantly within reach of his -voice? Why? have you, has any one, hesitated to give some cloak, some -color, to so singular a course?” - -Each of these interrogatories, rapidly put, Sir Pedro answered in turn -by a slight token of assent; he was about to reply more fully to the -last, when the other stopped him with a gesture. - -“Never mind. I know what is said. That I hide away the living reminder -of my crime from the world; that I am remorseful, or doing penance, or -else crazed. Let them prate. Sir Pedro, by all the saints, the boy I -struck is not my son!” - -“Poor fellow!” thought the knight, compassionately; “his last plea is -the right one.” - -“Don Pedro Padilh, there was a man of good birth and great wealth, but -little or no character, or care for character, whom I saved once from -being hanged. He was grateful, after his headlong fashion, for the -service, and in the end proposed to unite our infant children; he had -one son, and I a son and daughter; and consolidate our joint estates. At -first my soul revolted at the suggestion; an union between my own -offspring and that of a redeemed felon, appeared to me monstrous. But -while I debated the matter, difficulties softened. I knew better than -any one the smallness of my fortune, which extravagance had reduced to -the tatters of its former amplitude; but of this I said nothing, and the -papers were signed in due form. That day was the last I could touch my -breast proudly, and say, ‘Here is the abode of honor.’” - -“And this is the soldier whose honor is held up to the world as a -pattern!” Padilh mused. - -“Still the degradation of such connection preyed upon my mind. I wanted -the money to perpetuate the wealth of my house; but how be rid of the -bad blood? And about this time my friend went abroad, leaving his boy in -my charge. I confronted the temptation only to be overcome in the end; -sent away my servants, and removing to the mountains chose others; and -when these were assembled, I, myself, took occasion to call the names of -the infants before them, that there might be no mistake—_no mistake_, -you understand—as names may from what they have been. My own boy I -called—” - -“Speak, Sir Augustino!” ejaculated Padilh, sharply. - -“Hilo de Ladron; the other—” - -“Man, man!” cried the knight, rising and standing over against the -speaker, “You have made an idiot of and imprison my own kin—the son of -my half-brother. What reparation can you make?” - -“Reparation! Look here, at these premature seams and wrinkles, grizzled -hair and beard. Has that unsteady hand nothing to show of an iron temper -shattered by sorrow?” - -“Sir, your selfish sorrow blinds you. These are signs of retribution on -you, not of reparation to the party injured. Don Augustino, I joined -this expedition with the sole purpose of saving from ruin, if I might, a -lad whom I despise for his vices; and do you think I will leave longer -at your mercy the real Hilo, whom, in place of condemning, I can only -pity.” - -“That rests with me,” returned the maître-de-camp, with a slight sneer. -“But listen to me, Don Pedro; you judge my case before it is stated.” - -“Finish, sir,” answered Padilh, moodily, resuming his seat; “and heaven -grant your conscience proves clearer than it seems to me likely to do.” - -Inique, without comment, took up the word where the interruption -occurred. - -“My reasoning took this shape. My daughter is a puny thing—there is no -probability of her surviving to even girlhood. What does it matter if -the baby is betrothed to her brother? As for De Ladron, if he ever -returns from the new world, how is he to recognize his boy, grown out of -remembrance, if the child does not die—he seems pining away -rapidly—before that time. Hernan Ladron I never saw again; but his -infant grew strong and healthy in our change of climate, and this vexed -me hourly. I had felt sure the weakly thing could not live, or the -exchange would not have been made; and now, he was growing up a quiet, -mild boy—pah! it made me sick to think he believed himself my son, as -did all the world beside. The sense of this contrast pushed from my -brain all other concern. I cursed the grasping folly which had tempted -me to barter a gallant fellow, like my own boy, for an estate and this -whey-faced child. However, he should go to war with me, and be cured of -his girlishness. But when, at St. Quentin, he fled before the first -charge of the French, cowering at my stirrup, I was frantic with rage -and shame. I had no love for the boy; his very existence was a daily -threat of exposure, and I beat him, as you all saw, with my sword hilt, -to drive him a second time into the fight. What followed, too, you all -knew. But, until this day, no mortal has learnt the yearning pity that -mastered my passions and filled my breast with remorse. I believe my -first resolution was to confess my infamy and restore the heir his -wealth and name; but I waited until he should recover, and when I saw he -was likely to remain an idiot, I changed my mind.” - -“Don Augustino, you would have been less dishonored by confessing your -dishonor,” cried our knight, here. “You proved yourself, in the sight of -Heaven, a greater coward than your reputed son.” - -“Sir,” replied the other, hotly, flushing red, “you forget I am your -equal in point of rank, if not virtue, and wear a sword. You tax my -forbearance heavily.” - -“A horse in meadow neighs louder than a horse under saddle,” answered -Padilh. “Overlook the reproach, Don Augustino, and pass on.” - -“I set some value on your friendship, and will not consent to lose it -for a hard word honestly spoken,” Inique said, not very contentedly. - -“I altered my mind, but not altogether. I resolved not a fraction of his -income should be used in the service of me or mine, and reduced the -expenses of my household accordingly. Hilo, my real son, left to his own -guidance at home, had become a ruinous spendthrift, and openly revolted -at any curtailment of what he considered his rights. But against his -wickedness I had, as a set off, the patience and affection of the -supposititious son; the very qualities I had before despised now touched -me most—his mildness of face and speech, and trustfulness in my -protection—for the whole past seemed wiped out of his remembrance, and -but a single word was capable of recalling any portion of it—the word -the Constable of Castile spoke yesterday at table. Perhaps the cries and -sounds of battle might recall my shame and his sorrow, but my care has -hitherto proved successful in keeping such from his ears.” - -“Yet there seems to me in all this, Don Augustino, no good reason for -your becoming the boy’s jailor,” said Sir Pedro. - -“Stay. If it was hard to resolve on publishing my infamy with my own -mouth, was it easy to bear the thought that some day it must be realised -in the growing likeness of my prisoner to his true father, Ladron? I -watched this fast maturing resemblance with the anguish of one seeing -his death warrant signed, understanding to the full how the crime which -my voluntary confession might have softened in the eyes of the world, -would grow in odium as time elapsed. I fancied it was only needful for -you, or any one familiar with the father’s face, to catch a glimpse of -the son’s to detect my secret; and I kept the sole evidence near my -person, not because it was the safest, but the least harassing course it -was possible to pursue.” - -“The least harassing, Don Augustino,” the knight said, “would have been -to acknowledge your criminality at first, and have made restitution -openly as you did in private. Better do so now than never.” - -“What! when the son of a felon in yonder ship must be disowned only to -substitute a felon himself! No, sir; the most I can do is what I now -purpose—to find this reckless youth and turn him from his vicious life -by every means but that you propose. Only in the last extremity will I -show him to be as penniless in the future as now, and that the girl he -has exhausted his vileness to dishonor is his sister, and I the wretched -father of both.” - -“And only in such extremity will your words have weight with Hilo de -Ladron, as I suppose, for your sake, he must yet be called, although I -grudge him the name. But it seems to me, Don Augustino Inique, you prate -more of dishonor than a man should who has committed felony to his own -conscience and in God’s sight; and that the honor you esteem so highly -is nothing better than the declamation of those who surround you.” - -“A truce to your sarcasms,” cried Inique, pale with anger. “I am not -here, Padilh, to listen to a sermon or be ordered a penance. If you will -help me in this affair by your intervention, you will not find me -ungrateful; and I know enough of my own nature, as you might, to feel -assured that, left to my own resources, I may do that in the heat of -passion which cannot be undone. What! am I so fallen in your eyes that -you cannot afford me the time and occasion I need for amendment, or -distrust my best designs?” - -“No, by St. Jago,” cried our generous don, “that I will not, Inique. I -have done you some wrong in thought, perhaps, but I will make amends by -assisting you where I may with proper regard to my own views and -affections. But, you understand, I annex a condition—the true Hilo must -pass from your care into mine as soon as we effect a landing. As his -nearest relative, I have a higher right to the charge of his person than -the—than yourself, Don Augustino.” - -“Don Pedro,” answered Inique, slowly, after a pause, “you have justice -on your side, and I will not oppose the transfer if you insist. But I -beg you earnestly to consider that I, from hating, have come to love the -youth better—yes, better than my own children; and until the present -adjustment succeeds or fails, you may do worse than leave him in my -keeping, as before—only that the doors of his prison, as you seemed but -now to consider it, are open to you from this hour. I pledge you my -word, at all hazard or pain, to restore him to you at the close of this -expedition.” - -“Well, let it be so,” replied Don Pedro, surprised and pleased at the -other’s words. - -And the maître-de-camp, with a breast somewhat less burdened, betook -himself to his ship again. - -A couple of days later the peaked and thickly-wooded shores of Tercera -were first visible, and the armada coasting along, to the mortal terror -of the Portuguese, who were parceled out in companies to defend the -accessible points, and miserably ignorant where the Spaniards would make -their descent, came to anchor off St. Catherine, where about fifty -French and twice as many Portuguese were drawn up to oppose the landing. - -“It would be a pity to cross the humor of the French gentlemen, yonder,” -Santa-Cruz said, with a grim smile. “But their allies will only -embarrass their manœuvres, and had better be routed before hand. Don’t -you think we can frighten them, Pòlvora?” - -“Frighten them!” cried that cavalier; “I can see, at this distance, the -finery of some glittering in the sunshine, as if the wearers were -shaking all over. Let us try if they are not too frightened to run.” - -So the signal was given, and a general discharge of cannon followed from -the fleet, doing no special harm. I believe the widow Jean’s son was -decapitated, and that young fool, Allain, who must needs leave his -pretty sweetheart Annette in Floillé to pick up a little glory, that his -marriage might come off with more eclat than any in his village, lost a -leg or arm; but these were trifles nobody minds in a skirmish. - -However, it was before the balls came bumping along the sands—indeed, -while they were disporting, like great whales, in the outer surf, and -casting up jets of water at each _ricochet_, that the brave rear-guard -took to their heels—a piece of prudence for which I beg the indulgence -of those military young men who are suffered by their employers to sport -moustachios in their shops and counting-houses, and whose chief motive -for advocating, in strong language, a dissolution of the Union, is -supposed to lie in the admirable opportunity to be afforded of winning -undying laurels in civil warfare; for I would intimate, however -reprehensible cowardice may be on any occasion, and on this in -particular, that watching the lively skipping from wave to wave of such -iron globes as a 42-pounder debouches, while chatting with the officer -of artillery, who has just sighted the piece at a hogshead anchored in -the bay, is quite a different thing from doing the same when serving as -the hogshead yourself. - -“Yonder go a brave enemy!” cried Padilh, with a laugh, to his colleague -in the next barge, the two maîtres-de-camp heading the flotilla with the -landing party. “If any fall in your way hereafter, don’t forget they’re -women; spare their lives, as you wear spurs, señor mine.” - -To this Inique answered, standing erect in the stern and shading his -eyes with his palm, quite another personage in voice and carriage from -the penitent of two days back: - -“But the line of the French has not a gap in it—yes, one, which they -have just filled with a fresh man. There’ll be sharp work there, Padilh, -although we are strong enough to surround and capture the whole -detachment. Lay to your oars, men! Make prisoners of as many of the -gallant fellows as you can.” - -“What’s come over the master?” grumbled a sergeant to a crony. “Last -time he marched against the French it was nothing but ‘keep your pikes -level, my lads; the man that fails to spit his man, deserves to be cut -over the head in return.’ And now it’s, ‘don’t hurt them, these fine -fellows.’ You see, I like a man to be one thing.” - -“Why, they say Señor Inique has a cousin, or a son-in-law, or something -of the sort, who is no better than he should be, and at this moment in -the French camp. Who knows if the señor hasn’t an idea of turning coat -some day himself? It looks like it, don’t it, sergeant?” - -“No; hang it, man, he wouldn’t do such a dirty thing. Why, don’t you -know, you unbelieving Thomas, there ain’t a gentleman in all Spain with -such a name for honor!” - -“Well, may be; but I like to be sure of a thing of the sort. Honesty and -uprightness is my motto.” - -“Hey! what’s that Mig’s saying?” said a sailor who pulled the bow oar, -with a grin, to his neighbor. “I lived near La Mécha myself, egad! and I -know there wa’n’t a lamb sure of being raised so long as _he_ was about. -May be he’s forgot my phiz, with the tip of my nose sliced off by that -turbaned chap’s cim’tar.” - -So the gossip was kept up until a volley of twenty or so arquebuses, as -the fleet grounded in tolerable line, turned their thoughts too busily -in another channel to leave time for such tattling; and the old -campaigners of the later Moorish wars were out and formed in “battle” -before Capt. Bourgignon poured in his reserve fire, and fell upon the -invaders with the audacity of a hawk half as large as your hand pouncing -upon a turkey a fourth as big as your body; only that the enemy was not -in any respect like a turkey—more like a condor, I should say, in point -of ferocity and collected action. He marched up from the submerged beach -to the sands above high-water, with no more concern for the struggling -handful in front than you or I would for the whiff of sleet blown in our -faces on a windy day in the streets. To be sure, the smooth tablet left -by the last tide, was written over with a heavy stylus, and dabbled with -such ink as conquerors and others who leave their mark on the times in -which they lived, employ; moreover, there were numerous unsightly -blotches dropped about, which retained enough vitality sometimes to -scream in a manner calculated to shock our fire-eating civilians into a -wholesome distaste to civil collision and slaying. Of course, such -things are necessities, like lightning and volcanic eruptions, despite -the efforts of Mr. Burritt to show the contrary. The exception appears -strongest when one of us loses a brother or a husband, with a bullet in -the heart or head, as Amelia did George at Brussels, or more than one -acquaintance of mine, now wearing premature widow’s-weeds, in the late -Mexican war. - -On the whole, there is something vastly fascinating in military display -and glory; and I confess, when I call to mind the bray of trumpets, -glint of steel harness, and gallant show of surcoats, paraded that July -morning along the St. Catherine beach, I am tempted to drag my obliging -reader into the thick of the fight, and recapitulate, with cannibal -appetite, the shouts, groans, and extorted cries of agony, by which you -could have told with shut eyes how the work advanced, and where this or -that poor devil was left sprawling on the driftweed, with a saucer full -of blood in a sea-shell, perhaps, just under his left side; to say -nothing of those who enacted the parts, as near as their heavy armor and -different locomotive organization allowed, of fowls recently beheaded—a -sight full of interest to even those darlings of mamma who are brought -up to feed sparrows with crumbs, but slay mice and centipedes without -restriction. All I intend relating of this skirmish is, that Capt. -Bourgignon was killed, as were most of his officers, and as to the -fifteen men remaining out of the fifty, not one was without a wound. -They could not have acquitted themselves better had De Chaste himself -been present, which he was not, but on the opposite side of a high -promontory lying next La Praya, making what haste he might to come up -with the combatants, whose whereabouts he knew by the cannonading. - -Three days before this the viceroy had sent word to the commander that -the Spanish fleet could plainly be seen from the Peak; and riding along -the coast, De Chaste heard the sentinels posted on the mountains ringing -bells and firing their arquebuses, in token of the approach of the -enemy, who were not long in arriving within gun-shot of the shore, and -keeping the islanders in constant alarm, as before hinted, by cannon -shots and the hovering of a cluster of galleys about every available -landing. The French general had his hands full in following these last, -encouraging his little garrisons, and endeavoring to find bread for his -troops, whose dinners the Count de Torrevedros never troubled himself -about. Indeed, that viceregal nobleman had enough to do to consider how -best to ingratiate himself with the Marquis of Santa-Cruz, and for the -present keep out of harm’s way. It was not only the count, however, who -cared little for the landing of the Spaniards and ruin of the French, -provided their persons and property remained secure—a tolerably -universal wish being that their allies had gone to the bottom before -reaching Tercera and dragging them into a siege, when all they wanted -was safety and submission. - -“Senhor Commandante,” said the Portuguese captain at La Praya, while the -pair rode out, as usual, with a company or two at their heels, “you can -now see for yourself, yonder, how little the number of the enemy has -been magnified.” - -“So much the better,” answered the commander, like the Wolf in Little -Red Ridinghood; “we will have more to make prisoners.” - -“O—h!” cried the Portuguese, the idea being new to him. - -“Confound the man’s bragging,” he muttered to himself; “he talks as if -they were children or savages he has to do with.” - -Whereupon De Chaste added, with something like a smile on his hard face: - -“You see at least, senhor captain, they are not afraid of us, if we are -of them, for they pull within reach of our batteries; and here comes a -ball to measure the distance between us.” - -“St. Hubert! Are we to stand here to be shot without chance of drawing -sword?” cried Captain Gaza, brushing the sand thrown over him from his -holyday doublet. “It is madness, sir commander, madness; and I cannot -expose my brave men to such needless danger.” - -“As you like best; you will find a half mile up the beach out of cannon -range,” indifferently rejoined the French knight, and spurred closer to -the water’s edge, followed by his countrymen, many of whom, in passing, -saluted the Portuguese ironically, while others, out of earshot of the -conversation, wondered at the blanched visage of the captain, and his -taking himself and company to the skirt of the wood a mile or more back. - -“Duvict,” said De Chaste, presently, to that cavalier, whom he had -called to his side, “you will ride over to-night to Angra, and tell the -viceroy we all count it strange, that, with the enemy threatening the -coast, he is no where to be seen; perhaps, if he is bent on shutting up -himself, he will take this captain off our hands; the fewer such cowards -in our ranks, the better chance will we have of successful defense. At -all events, I insist on the withdrawal of this Gaza, even if his troop -goes with him. Moreover, I demand in the queen’s name, an immediate -supply of rations for our men here and elsewhere. Lose no time on your -journey.” - -“I am so well pleased with the errand, that I will set out this instant, -monseigneur, if you consent. Why wait until our return to Porta Praya?” -cried Duvict, cheerfully. - -“Go, then,” answered the commander, nodding approval; “and if he is not -to be met with at Angra, search the country till you find him.” - -The viceroy was not at Angra, that city being too exposed to bombardment -to suit his present fancy; but the Frenchman found him at his -country-house among the hills, keeping a sharp look-out over the roads -leading coastward. - -“Tell the honorable commander,” replied Torrevedros, dissembling his -annoyance at the ambassador’s blunt message, “I will surely join him as -soon as I make certain levies, calculated to do him more service than -five troop of horse. But I take it ill, he shows so little faith in my -concern for his safety at the present extremity.” - -“As for his safety,” answered Duvict, who was not much of a courtier, -“our commandant can very well take care of that and ours. It is for your -own honor, and the putting your people in good heart, which, by the -three kings, they want mightily! Monseigneur troubles himself with your -absence, M. le Viceroi. Meanwhile, it would not be amiss to give our -soldiers something withal to fill their mouths, especially as we may be -obliged to do most of the fighting before the new levies arrive.” - -“You will soon have abundance for all,” the count made answer, smoothly. -“Hasten down, and inform your commandant I will delay here not an hour -beyond what is necessary, on the honor of a knight. You said truly, sir, -we must have no cowards in our ranks, either French or Portuguese.” - -“M. le Viceroi, your acquaintance with your own countrymen is -indisputable,” Duvict here said superciliously, “but we French are -taught in a different school.” - -“Let it pass,” rejoined Torrevedros, biting his lip. “If I designed to -wound your self-love, it would not be in my own house. I will show my -willingness at least to oblige M. de Chaste, by cashiering my captain at -Porta Praya in favor of one more reliable.” - -It was this new captain, John de Castros, who carried De Chaste a letter -from the viceroy a day later, which that loyal nobleman had received -from Santa Cruz by a Portuguese, caught off the coast, and forced to -swim ashore with the dispatch tied about his neck—the French not -suffering any boat to approach within hail. - -The commandant tore the paper to fragments as soon as he saw the -contents. “This Count of Torrevedros,” he said, with a short laugh, to -his maître-de-camp, who was present, “is either a fool, or doubts our -honor. The Marquis of Santa Cruz offers him here his life, and abundant -rewards, besides the freedom of his wife and children, now in Madrid, -provided he surrenders the island, which he might well enough do as far -as himself is concerned, but he wishes to be rid of us at the same time, -and therefore risks being reckoned a traitor in hope of inducing us to -accept the marquis’s conditions.” - -“A traitor he is!” cried the lieutenant, indignantly. “And since he -proves himself so in so many ways, why not return to France as we are, -without further intermeddling between him and his lackland master.” - -“You forget,” returned De Chaste, “all who have entered on this -enterprise, are bound in honor to see it through with what success their -energy may obtain. Still you, and other cavaliers who have joined of -your free will, and not by the queen’s direct command, may do as you see -proper, and leave us who remain to share the greater glory which must -attend a defense against greater odds.” - -“Sir commandant,” the lieutenant responded, simply hearing him through -with some little mortification in his frank face, “you pain me by such -permission, for neither I, nor any other French gentleman here, would -leave you an instant without being compelled by your commands; and that -I am sure you know.” - -“I know it so well,” cried the commandant at this, “that I am not sure I -spoke the truth in even hinting my distrust just now.” - -And truly the lieutenant was as good as his word; for when the French -crossed the neck of the promontory I have mentioned, and coming too late -to reinforce Bourgignon, fell upon a strong party of the Spaniards, -detailed to take possession of a spring near by, with a determination -which brought about a general and very bloody battle; there was not one -in the tremendous uproar of voices and of arms, smoke of arquebuses, -blood spattered and welling, screams, shrieks, groans, and -huzzas!—huzzas! ensuing—who did such execution with the sword, as that -same lieutenant; it was he that killed the father of poor little -Margueretta, who, for want of bread, the next year became what even -famine must not excuse. And, perhaps, as he did his share of irreparable -mischief with an easy conscience, and certainly to the best of his -ability, when his corpse lay stark as the mail encasing it, that same -afternoon, by the eminence to the left, where Hilo was seen aiming an -arquebuse at one time of the fight, his spirit may have been regaling in -Paradise with other performers of that much abused sentiment, duty. - - [_To be continued._ - - * * * * * - - - - - THE NAME OF WIFE. - - - BY MRS. A. M. F. ANNAN. - - - O name most blesséd, or most sorrowful, thou, - As from the Urim of Experience fall - The lights or shadows on thee; seeming now - Radiant as bliss upon an angel’s brow, - Then ghastly dim as Hope’s funereal pall! - Up to my vision thou dost ever call - Twin pictures—women—one with calm, meek eyes, - And soft form gently bent, and folded hands, - Brooding in dove-like peace o’er her sweet ties - Requited truthfully; the other stands - With sunken cheek by tears unheeded glazed, - Her wan feet bleeding, and her thin arms raised, - Knowing no help but from above the skies. - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNET.—THE OLIVE. - - - BY WM. ALEXANDER. - - - What sacred reminiscences dost thou - Awake within the breast, O olive-tree! - First did the silver-pinioned dove from thee - Pluck the sweet “Peace-branch”—it an olive-bough. - Fair evergreen! thoughts pure, devout, sublime, - Thou callest up, reminding us of Him, - The Man of Sorrows—Lord of Cherubim— - Who, erewhile, did, in distant Orient clime, - ’Neath thy dark, solemn shade, once weep and pray - In woful agony; though now, above, - Seated on sapphire throne—the God of Love— - While round his head the covenant sign alway - Unfolds its rich and ever-living green, - Memento of Gethsemane’s affecting scene. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: THE WAY TO CHURCH. - -Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine by T. McGoffin] - - * * * * * - - - - - SIN NO MORE. - - - BY R. T. CONRAD. - - - “Sin no more, lest a worse thing come upon thee.” - - - Art thou young, yet hast not given - Dewy bud and bloom to Heaven? - Tarryest till life’s morn be o’er! - Pause, or ere the bolt be driven! - Sin no more! - - Art thou aged? Seek’st thou power? - Rank or gold—of dust the dower! - Fame to wreathe thy wrinkles hoar? - Dotard! death hangs o’er thy hour! - Sin no more! - - Art thou blest? False joys caress thee: - And the world’s embraces press thee - To its hot heart’s cankered core: - Waken! Heaven alone can bless thee. - Sin no more! - - Art thou wretched? Hath each morrow - Sown its sin to reap its sorrow! - Turn to Heaven—repent—adore: - Hope new light from Faith can borrow; - Sin no more! - - May a meek and rapt devotion - Fill thy heart, as waves the ocean, - Glassing Heaven from shore to shore! - Then wilt thou—calmed each emotion— - Sin no more. - - * * * * * - - - - - WORDSWORTH. - - - BY JAMES T. FIELDS. - - - The grass hung wet on Rydal banks, - The golden day with pearls adorning, - When side by side with him we walked - To meet midway the summer morning. - - The west wind took a softer breath, - The sun himself seemed brighter shining, - As through the porch the minstrel slept— - His eye sweet Nature’s look enshrining. - - He passed along the dewy sward, - The blue-bird sang aloft “good-morrow!” - He plucked a bud, the flower awoke - And smiled without one pang of sorrow. - - He spoke of all that graced the scene - In tones that fell like music round us, - We felt the charm descend, nor strove - To break the rapturous spell that bound us. - - We listened with mysterious awe, - Strange feelings mingling with our pleasure; - We heard that day prophetic words, - High thoughts the heart must always treasure. - - Great Nature’s Priest! thy calm career, - With that sweet morn, on earth has ended— - But who shall say thy mission died - When, winged for Heaven, thy soul ascended! - - * * * * * - - - - - INSPIRATION. TO SHIRLEY. - - - BY WM. P. BRANNAN. - - - What shall yield me inspiration, - What sweet spell entrance my thought, - Whilst I sing the adoration - By thy matchless beauty wrought? - Overcome with exultation - Which thy charming presence brought. - - Incense-bearing breezes hover - Round my flushed and throbbing brow, - Minstrels in their shady cover - Chant divinest music now; - Nature, yield to nature’s lover - Language worthy of his vow! - - Where she walks a richer splendor - Hallows all the earth and sky, - Unseen angels there attend her; - Heaven and love sleep in her eye— - Graces have no grace to lend her, - Zephyr breathes an envious sigh. - - Thou thyself art inspiration! - Moving, breathing, blessing, blest; - The lily and the rose-carnation - Live upon thy cheek and breast, - Daring time and desolation, - Thrilling hearts with wild unrest! - - * * * * * - - - - - EDDA MURRAY. - - - BY ENNA DUVAL. - - - Learn to win a lady’s faith - Nobly, as the thing is high; - Bravely, as for life and death— - With a loyal gravity. - - Lead her from the festive boards, - Point her to the starry skies, - Guard her by your truthful words, - Pure from courtship’s flatteries. - - By your truth she shall be true— - Ever true as wives of yore— - And her _Yes_, once said to you, - SHALL be Yes for evermore. - ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. - -It was a hot, sultry afternoon at —— ——, a fashionable summer resort -at the sea side. The three great events of the day were -accomplished—namely, the bath, dinner, and the arrival of the boat -bringing the mail; the visiters, therefore, had nothing to do but to get -rid of the afternoon in as noisy a manner as possible, keeping -themselves as warm and uncomfortable as they could, in order to prove -that they were enjoying themselves after the most approved fashion. -Ladies could be seen in every direction, passing from one hotel to -another, flitting in and out of cottages, dressed in the most -incongruous style—in silks, mulls, and gauzes, fitted for a full-dress -dinner or evening party; and surmounting this dressy costume was—the -only really sensible article to be seen in this dominion of Folly—the -prim, plain country sun-bonnet. Fashion had established that hats at the -sea-side were vulgar, and accordingly, every belle mounted one of these -useful, but exceedingly ugly head-dresses. Carriages and wagons of every -description darted to and fro, from the funny little Jersey sand wagon, -with horses of a Jersey match, gray and brown, or black and white, up to -the well matched, well ordered establishment of the _nouveau riche_, who -was willing to sacrifice his delicate town-bred horses, in order to -exhibit his magnificence to the _plebs_. A fine establishment drew up in -front of the entrance of one of the principal hotels, and the owner of -it, Mr. Martin, a prosperous merchant, with his fussy, dressy, -good-natured, fat little wife, entered it. As Mr. Martin handed his wife -in, he asked, - -“Where’s Edda?” - -“Oh, let her alone, my dear,” replied his wife, “she will get over her -moping after awhile. She’s fretted herself into a sick headache, and is -lying down.” - -“Confound the fellow,” muttered Mr. Martin, “I wish she had never seen -him. If I had my way she should be divorced from him. What right has a -man to a wife when he cannot support her? Now, as long as he lives, I -suppose, our poor little darling will be down-hearted.” - -“Oh,” said the wife, settling herself back comfortably in the luxurious -carriage, after having carefully disposed the folds of her rich, silk -gown and heavily embroidered mantle in a manner to crush them the least, -“wait until he gets fairly settled out at the West, and the winter -parties, and concerts, and operas commence, then Edda will cheer up.” - -“I hope so, with all my heart,” ejaculated Mr. Martin, “and if money, -amusements, and fine clothes can make her what she was two years ago, I -shall be glad enough, for I hate a sad, gloomy face.” - -While they were thus talking, their niece, the subject of their -conversation, was lying in her bed-room, burying her throbbing, aching -head in the pillows of the couch, wishing that an endless sleep would -come to her, and deaden the painful sense of grief. - -Poor Edda Murray! Two short years before, a happier, more free-from-care -girl could not have been found. Then, she had never known a trouble. Her -aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Martin, who were childless, and possessed -ample means, had taken her at the time of her parents’ death, which had -occurred during her infancy, and from that moment up to the present, she -had been their spoiled pet and darling. They were good-natured, indolent -people, caring for but little else than the amusements of the -out-of-doors world. As Edda grew old enough to enter society, they took -great pleasure in dressing her extravagantly, and accompanying her to -every gay place of resort of the fashionable world. According to Mrs. -Martin’s ideas, every girl should be married early; and when Edda was -addressed by Mr. Murray, near the close of her first winter, and seemed -pleased with his attentions, her aunt’s rapture knew no bounds. Mr. -Martin was pleased also, for Murray, though a young man, was a rising -merchant, and was steady and industrious. - -How Ralph Murray ever happened to fancy Edda Martin, was a mystery to -all those of his and her friends, who had observed but little of this -marriage business of life. As a general rule, both men and women, -especially when young, select the very companions that are the most -unlike their ideals, and what is still stranger, the most unsuitable for -them. - -Ralph Murray was a reserved, dignified young man, rather stern for his -years, with the most rigid ideas of justice and propriety, even in -trifles; exact in every thing, and making but little allowance for -others less exact than himself. He did not require more than he was -willing to give in return, but he had no consideration, no patience, and -when disappointed, was apt to become cold, moody, and uncompromising. In -woman he had always required, “that monster perfection.” His mother had -been a model of feminine propriety. He had no sisters, but a whole troop -of cousins, who happened to be laughing, hoydenish, good-natured -creatures; but they were his utter abomination, he never countenanced -them, pronouncing them silly, frivolous, and senseless; but how they -laughed and teased him, when his engagement with Edda Martin was -announced—verily they had their revenge. - -Edda was, indeed, a spoiled pet, full of caprice and whim, beautiful and -graceful as a fairy, and as untamed and uncontrollable as an unwedded -Undine. But, poor child, marriage brought no happy spirit to dwell in -her household. How could it? For they had married under the influence of -the maddest, wildest infatuation. Their love was beautiful while it -lasted; but soon the husband grew exacting, the angel became a mere -woman, and the darling, who had never obeyed any will but her own, -discovered she had a lord and master, whose will was stronger and more -unbending than even her own had ever been. Then Edda was extravagant and -thriftless, and thoughtless, a real child-wife, like poor Dora, that -English Undine creation of Dickens’s fancy, but with more spirit and -temper than “Little Blossom.” Edda’s character had in it qualities which -would have made her a fine woman, properly and gradually developed; but -her husband placed her on the scale of his own model of perfection, and -endeavored to drag her up to this idea of wifehood, without waiting for -Nature to assist him. It was the old, sad story told over -again—incompatibility of tempers, unreasonableness on his part, -petulance, waywardness and temper on hers. - -God sent them a little babe, but the child brought no tenderness to the -heart of either parent for each other. Then trouble came upon Ralph -Murray in his business—unfortunate speculations, bad failures in others -he had trusted; but instead of going to his wife, and talking -affectionately, but candidly, remembering all the while what a spoiled -darling she had been, he considered himself aggrieved by her lavish -expenditure, and told her haughtily that she was now the wife of a young -merchant, and not the niece of a rich man, and ought to have sense -enough to observe economy. Poor Edda was offended, bitter words passed -between them, and they parted in anger. Her aunt found her in -tears—happening to come in just as the irritated husband had left her. -Edda turned to her thoughtless, childish aunt, for comfort, telling her -the whole story of her wrongs; and Mrs. Martin pronounced Mr. Murray a -brute, to treat her poor child so unkindly. Mr. Martin thought always as -his wife did, and in the first flush of temper, they carried the -weeping, angry wife, with her young babe, away from her husband’s roof; -the exasperated uncle leaving for Mr. Murray an angrily worded note, in -which he said that Edda had never ceased to be his niece, even if she -had been so unfortunate as to become the wife of a parsimonious -merchant, and an unkind husband. The following day Ralph Murray was a -bankrupt. - -The news of other heavy failures of houses indebted to him, brought his -affairs to a crisis, and all his troubles seemed piled mountain high -upon him at once. Poor Edda would have gone instantly to her husband -when she heard of his trouble—for she had immediately repented of her -hasty step—but she did not dare; she remembered his sternness, and -dreaded a repulse which she felt she deserved. Then a new cause of -anxiety displayed itself, her boy sickened, and, after a few hours’ -illness, he died in her arms. Her husband was sent for, but he did not -notice her; he stood beside the coffin of his child, pale, tearless, and -with a countenance as unchanging as a statue of marble; he never looked -at his sobbing wife, who, softened by her grief, would have willingly -thrown herself into his arms, and asked pardon for the past, and -forbearance for the future; but he coldly turned from her after the -funeral, without speaking a word. - -Two months passed by, and still Ralph Murray treated his wife with the -same silent indifference. He never sought an interview nor an -explanation; it seemed as if the death of their child, instead of -softening him, had, to his mind, broken off all connection between them. -Edda grieved incessantly, until at last her health became seriously -affected. When the traveling season came, the physicians who had been -called in to heal the poor breaking heart, recommended an instant -departure for the sea-side. Fine apartments were procured, every -elegance, every luxury surrounded her; but she looked more wretched, -more unhappy every day. - -She knew that their beautiful house belonged to another—every thing had -been sold; that she no longer had a home with her husband; and the -consciousness that she was a childless, lonely wife, became daily more -insupportable. Poor girl! life seemed very dark and hopeless to her. Her -trouble had lifted her spirit on almost a life time; all the childish, -capricious waywardness of girlhood had disappeared; sorrow had done the -work of years; and she was now a woman—but a suffering, loving woman, -ready to make any sacrifice, perform any duty, to atone for the past. -Her uncle and aunt caressed her, and sympathized with her, while they -incessantly spoke of her husband with words of reproach and blame; and -when she would check them, saying the greater part of the blame rested -on herself, they would think her still more lovely and amiable, and lift -their hands in surprise. How reproaching to her conscience was their -sympathy! and she grew more and more despairing and hopeless. - -At midnight she would pace her room, wringing her little hands with -remorse for the past. Her husband’s stern face would rise before her, -blended with the beautiful, loving expression his countenance had worn -during the delicious season of courtship. Then she would recall every -noble, honorable trait in his character, and remember her own willful -conduct. All, all was over, and henceforth she would have to live -without him. This seemed impossible; and the poor girl would call on -Heaven, agonizingly, to take her away from life or give her back her -husband. - -All her friends upheld her and blamed Mr. Murray. They called him stern, -cold and heartless. The fashionable world thought her a lucky woman in -possessing a rich old uncle to take care of her. Her quarrel with her -cross husband had taken place in the very nick of time, they said; now -she need not suffer from his mischances; when she would so willingly -have borne the very heaviest burden poverty could impose. But what could -she do but suffer idly? - -Day after day passed by, still no message came from her husband. Her -uncle had told her that the principal creditors had willingly and -generously arranged matters; for, as every one said, the failure had -resulted from misfortune, not from mismanagement, and that he had heard -that a friend had offered Mr. Murray a situation in a commercial house -out in the very farthest west, with a chance of becoming a partner in -time. Then the next news that reached her was, that he was actually -leaving for his new home. And would Ralph leave her without a word—a -line? she asked herself over and again. - -At last a letter came—a cold, stern, haughty letter, bidding her -farewell, as if for ever. There were one or two tender passages in it; -but the tone of the whole letter was so cold and unforgiving, that it -crushed her to the earth. She had received it the day before our little -sketch opens; and when her aunt urged her to drive out and shake off her -trouble, she only buried her little head still deeper in the pillows and -prayed still more agonizingly for death. The afternoon passed slowly -enough to the poor sufferer. Then came the evening—the noisy, gay -evening. As there was a ball in the saloon of the hotel, her -thoughtless, butterfly aunt and uncle joined the merry crowd of -triflers, after an earnest but unsuccessful persuasion of Edda to follow -their example. - -The merry music of the band sounded loudly in Edda’s lonely bed-room; -but the lively dancing melodies seemed to her ears like the voices of -taunting demons. She restlessly rose from her bed and walked into her -little parlor, which opened on a balcony that swept around the house. -She stepped out on this balcony, and listened to the pealing thunder of -the ocean, which rolled unceasingly before her. Her agony increased, and -a demon seemed to whisper in her ears: - -“What is life but a torment? Death is an endless, dreamless sleep. Why -suffer when you can so easily find relief?” - -Shudderingly she put her little hands to her ears, and, closing her -eyes, hastened into the room, fearing that in another instant she might -be induced, by despair, to plunge headlong over the railings on the -cliff beneath. For a while she laid on the lounge, as if stunned; but at -last tears came to her relief, and she felt calmer. To avoid danger she -closed the Venetian shutters of the door and window, but drew up under -them the lounge, and threw herself on it, that the damp night air might -cool her fevered, burning head. She had not been long there when she -heard the sound of voices and laughter, but she was too weak to arise, -and remained quiet—remembering that she could not be seen from the -outside. - -It was a little group of young girls, who were promenading after the -dance, and who had concluded that the upper balcony commanded a finer -view of the ocean. As chance would have it they selected that part of -the balcony just under Edda’s window for their gossiping lounge. One, -more sentimental than the others, pointed out the effect of the -moon-beams which made the edges of the rolling, dashing waves shine like -molten silver. But the beauty of the scene was quickly lost, even on -this moon-struck damsel, for she, as well as the rest, were soon deeply -interested in discussing a wedding that had lately taken place in the -_beau-monde_. - -“Oh, dear, there’s Mrs. Jones,” exclaimed one, “she just came from town -yesterday, and can tell us all about it.” - -The lady mentioned joined the group, and threw them into a state of -perfect felicity by telling them she had actually been present at the -wedding. Immediately she was called upon by a dozen eager voices to tell -them “all about it.” Poor Edda, she was doomed to listen to the whole -senseless detail, commencing at the bride’s India mull robe, and its -heavy, elaborate embroidery, her “exquisite and graceful head-dress,” -with the costly Honiton veil, the “rich splendid gifts” of the -relatives, and ending with the list of bridemaids and their costume. How -the whole description brought her own gorgeous wedding back to her -thoughts! and she felt heart-sick. - -“Poor things!” she murmured to herself with a sigh, “I hope they will be -happier than Ralph and I have been.” - -The conversation grew more bustling and detached; the lady who was the -reporter-general was giving, for the fifth time, to some new comer, a -description of the bride’s costume, which she did with a volubility so -eloquent and untiring as to have reflected credit on a French -_modiste_—expatiating largely on the beauty and costliness of the -materials of which it was composed, and united to her minute details of -the tucks, headed by rich rows of lace and embroidery, could be heard -exclamations of the others, who had already listened to the description. - -“Oh,” said one, in a tone of voice that told what delicious satisfaction -costly articles of dress gave her, “it is too lovely to be married in an -India robe, with heavy embroidery and rich Valenciennes _berthé_ and -trimming. If ever I’m married, I intend to make ma order one of Levy’s -for me; it shall be imported especially for me.” - -“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Jones, stopping in the midst of her harangue, _à -la_ parenthesis, “Mr. Grugan received the order for Blanche’s wedding -robe last year, the very day Mr. Holmes offered. No one knew it but her -family, except me—I knew it, of course.” - -“I don’t believe she knew a word about it. Mrs. Jones is always -pretending she’s so intimate with every body,” said a young lady, _sotto -voce_; but Mrs. Jones was too deeply engaged in the tucks, and lace -trimming, and Honiton veil, to hear the doubt and charge. The -conversation increased in animation, and Mrs. Jones’s clear, high voice -was almost drowned. - -“Ah,” exclaimed one, “it’s splendid to be married in such style.” - -“Yes,” rejoined another, “and how delightful to go right off on a -journey, and to Europe, too.” - -“Oh, girls,” exclaimed one, “only think—Blanche Forrester went to -school with me, and, here, she’s married!” - -“Well,” said another, “her first bridemaid, Helen Howell, and Aubrey -Hilton, are engaged, and Helen was in the same class with me. We all -came out last fall together—you’re no worse off than I am.” - -Some gentlemen joining the group, the conversation became too detached -and confused to be heard, and there were so many little bursts of -laughter as to make the whole affair quite a medley. Presently the -scraping of the violins, preceded by a loud crash of the whole united -band, announced that a waltz was about to be danced. - -“Oh!” they exclaimed, simultaneously, “that delicious _Schottische_,” -and soon the balcony was empty—or at least so thought Edda; but she was -mistaken, for she heard other voices. A lady and gentleman had seated -themselves under her window, and were enjoying the sight of the waves -and moonlight. She knew their voices well. One was a Mrs. Howard, a -gentle, lady-like woman, for whom her husband entertained the highest -respect. Edda knew but little of her; she had met her in society after -her marriage, but had always drawn back a little in awe when she had met -with her, because she constantly heard Ralph holding her up as such a -model of wifely dignity and propriety. The other was a Mr. Morrison—a -cynical, fault-finding old bachelor—or, at least, Edda had always -regarded him as such. No wonder the poor girl shrank still closer to the -lounge—she seemed doomed to be persecuted. - -Mrs. Howard and Mr. Morrison had heard part of the conversation about -the wedding, and the first that reached Edda’s ears were Mr. Morrison’s -severe, caustic remarks. - -“Silly, senseless fools!” he exclaimed. “They talk as if life had but -two points to attain; to get married in an India robe, in such a style -as to produce a fine theatrical effect, and to go to Europe. What right -have such idiots to get married at all? What do they know of the -realities of married life—the holy, sacred obligations of marriage?” - -“Very little, it is true,” answered his companion; “and this ignorance -is wisely ordered! for I am afraid, Mr. Morrison, if these young, -thoughtless creatures knew the one half of life’s stern realities, -whether married or unmarried, they would sooner lie down and die than -encounter them. Youth is as hopeless in trouble as it is thoughtless in -prosperity.” - -“Very true, madam, very true,” said the old gentleman; “but it seems to -me that these frivolous creatures might be taught a little—enough to -give them some ballast. What sort of wives will they make? Why, I -declare it makes me shudder when I see these silly, thoughtless wretches -entering into marriage as they would into a dance—not displaying half -the anxiety that a man would on entering into a commercial engagement -that can be dissolved at will after a certain season.” - -“Well,” said the lady, with a sweet, low laugh, “from what we see on all -sides, my dear sir, a great many of those who marry at the present day -seem to regard marriage only as a mere partnership, to be dissolved at -will.” - -“I would pretty soon put an end to that divorce business, madam,” said -Mr. Morrison, “if I had the power. Every couple that could not live -happily together, and wished to be separated, should have their request -granted, but on one condition—that both, particularly the woman, should -go into some religious asylum, and spend the rest of their days in -entire seclusion, employed constantly in the performance of strict -religious duties and works of charity.” - -“Oh!” exclaimed the lady, laughing outright, “I am very sure any husband -and wife would prefer the most inharmonious intercourse to such an -alternative.” - -“Well, well,” said Mr. Morrison, “they could have their choice, and it -would teach others to be more careful how they ‘married in haste to -repent at leisure.’ This is becoming a curse to society; on all sides we -see husbands and wives disagreeing. Now-a-days a wife must spend as much -money as she pleases, lead a dissipated life—for going to parties and -balls, and every other gay place, constantly is dissipation—entertain -admirers, and her husband must not complain. He, poor devil—beg pardon, -madam—must not express a wish for a quiet home and a companion, after -the toil of the day and the wear and tear of exciting, perilous -business. Oh, no! If he does madam will leave him in a huff, and he may -whistle for a wife, and life is a wreck to him ever afterward.” - -“Do these unhappy marriages always result from the thoughtlessness and -selfishness of the wives, my dear sir?” asked Mrs. Howard. “I think -there are as many wives with domestic tastes, who have the same -complaint to make against their husbands.” - -“Yes, yes,” answered Mr. Morrison, a little hesitatingly; “I suppose -there is blame to be found on both sides; but generally speaking, with -the married people of what is called ‘society,’ especially the young, -the fault lies with the wife. Yesterday I bade good-bye to as fine a -fellow as God ever created, whose whole happiness for life has been -wrecked by one of these silly, heartless fools. You know him, my dear -madam, and are, I believe, one of his few friends; for the whole world -unite in condemning him and upholding his doll-baby wife in her sinful -disobedience.” - -“You are speaking of Ralph Murray, I am sure,” said Mrs. Howard, in a -sad tone. - -Poor Edda writhed, but she had not power to move; she felt spell-bound, -and every word of the conversation fell on her ear with painful -clearness. - -“Yes, I mean Murray,” replied Mr. Morrison. “God help him, poor fellow! -His haggard face haunts me like a ghost.” - -“But,” said Mrs. Howard, “much as I love Ralph, much as I respect his -high, honorable character, I cannot hold him blameless.” - -“What!” exclaimed Mr. Morrison, in a tone of surprise, “you cannot hold -him blameless? Why, what can you see wrong in any thing he has done?” - -“He should not have married as he did,” replied Mrs. Howard; “or if -determined to gratify his fancy at the expense of his judgment, by -yielding to an infatuation, he should have had more patience with his -wife. If he felt willing to trust his happiness in the hands of a -petted, spoiled child, he should have remembered what she was, in the -hour of trial, and not exacted of her the ability and judgment which are -possessed only by a sensible, well-trained woman.” - -“Yes, you are right,” answered Mr. Morrison, after a short pause; “he -was wrong in the first place—he never should have married such an -idiot. But, my God, madam,” he exclaimed, impatiently, “any woman who -was lucky enough to get such a noble husband as Ralph Murray, should -have been so proud of him as to have been willing to have made every -sacrifice of whim and caprice for his comfort.” - -“That’s true man’s reasoning,” said Mrs. Howard, good-naturedly. “But, -Mr. Morrison, I think I am not mistaken when I say that if Ralph had -managed his pretty, petted, capricious fairy of a wife patiently and -properly, their happiness would not have been wrecked as it is.” - -“_Their_ happiness!” repeated Mr. Morrison, sneeringly. “Little she -cares, while she has aunt to caress her and uncle’s money to spend.” - -“Indeed you do her great injustice,” said Mrs. Howard. “To be sure, I do -not know Mrs. Murray intimately, but I am certain if you were to see her -pale, wretched face and frail figure, as I do daily in the corridor, -when they bring her in, half fainting, from the bath, you would think as -I do—that, let her husband’s sufferings be ever so great, the wife -suffers quite as much. Oh, my dear Mr. Morrison, how I wish I were Edda -Murray’s friend.” - -“What would you do, my dear madam? Add another to her host of -sympathizers?” said the old gentleman. - -“No,” replied Mrs. Howard, mildly; “I would tell her to send for Ralph, -to ask pardon for the past and patience for the future, and beg him to -take me once more to his heart, and help me to be a good, faithful wife. -This she must do, or never know peace in this life.” - -“Ha, ha,” laughed Mr. Morrison; “why, my dear Mrs. Howard, if she had -sense and feeling enough to act thus, she would never have behaved as -she has done.” - -“Edda Murray has acted willfully and selfishly, I admit,” said Mrs. -Howard; “but we do not know what provocations she may have had. Ralph is -a fine, noble fellow, but arbitrary and impatient—the very kind of man -that I should fancy it would not be easy to make happy in domestic life, -even if a judicious woman were to undertake the task. Think, then, how -many excuses should be made for his impulsive, wayward little wife, who -never in her life was subjected to control. I am certain this trouble -has done her good, however, for a woman’s character is seldom properly -developed in prosperity; like precious metals, it must pass through the -fiery furnace of affliction—it must be purified in the crucible of -sorrow, until it loses all recollection of self. There is a beautiful -simile in the Bible, which compares the purification of the soul to the -smelting of silver. Silver must be purged from all dross, until it is so -clear and mirror-like that it will reflect the countenance of the -refiner; thus the soul must be so pure, in so high a state of godliness, -as to reflect only the will of the Creator. I cannot recall the passage -exactly, but I often apply it to my own sex, whose characters, to be -properly developed, must be purged from all selfish dross, in order to -make them think only of the happiness of others—forgetful always of -self; then, like silver seven times refined and purified, their spirits -reflect only the countenance of the purifier, which is the will or -command of God.” - -Just then Mr. Howard and some others joined them, and after a little -playful bantering about the flirtation of two such steady old persons, a -remark or two on the fine night and the beauty of the ocean scene, the -party moved off and Edda at last was alone. - -That night, when Mr. and Mrs. Martin stopped at Edda’s room door, on -their way to bed, they found her sitting at her desk writing. She kissed -them, bade them good night, and thanked them for their affectionate -inquiries, in a more cheerful manner than she had shown for months, -which gladdened their silly, warm old hearts, and they went off -comforting themselves with the hope that all now would be well. - -“Yes, my dear,” said Mr. Martin, as he composed himself to sleep, “you -were right—Edda is getting over it. She looked and talked more brightly -than she has since poor little Martin’s death.” - -And Edda really felt so, but for a reason her uncle little suspected. -Mrs. Howard’s words had given form and impulse to her thoughts; she no -longer wasted time in mere actionless grief; she saw her duty before -her, and, hard as it was to perform, she nobly resolved to do it. A day -or so afterward, as Ralph Murray was leaving town for his new western -home—sad, lonely, and for the first time feeling that maybe in the past -he had not been entirely free from blame, he received a letter, directed -in the delicate, lady-like, hand-writing of his wife. With trembling -hands he opened it, and thick, short sobs swelled up in his throat and -hot tears sprang to his eyes, as he read her childish, frank, penitent -appeal. - -“I am your wife, Ralph,” she wrote; “you must not leave me—you must -take me with you. God joined us, and trouble—death has bound us still -closer. Pardon my past waywardness, and take your penitent, suffering -Edda back to your heart. Think what a reckless, thoughtless, -uncontrolled child I was when you married me, and have patience with me. -I cannot live without you, Ralph. I shall die broken-hearted if you -treat my selfish, wayward conduct as it merits. God forgives the -penitent—will you be more just than He is, my beloved? Come to me, and -let me hear from your lips once more, ‘dear Edda.’ Do not tell me you -are poor; I can live on any thing, submit to any privation, if blessed -with your presence, your forgiveness, your love. You shall not find me -in the future a thoughtless, extravagant child, but, with God’s help, a -faithful good wife. Oh, Ralph, receive me once more, I pray you, and let -me be again your own darling little wife Edda.” - -The fashionable world at —— was thrown into a state of astonishment a -few weeks afterward, by hearing that Mrs. Murray had actually gone out -west with her cruel, good-for-nothing husband, and a thousand different -stories were told about the matter, each one as far from the truth as -the other. - -Poor Mr. and Mrs. Martin made loud opposition when Edda told them her -resolve, but she looked so bright and happy, and throwing her arms -around her aunt and uncle, made them read the lover-like letter of her -husband, in which he not only freely forgave the past, but took on -himself all the blame. - -“She’s right, my dear,” said Mr. Martin, to his wife; “but we must not -let them go—we must make them as comfortable as we can with us. Thank -Providence, I have enough for us all.” - -But Ralph Murray steadily refused all offers of assistance from Mr. -Martin. He knew it would be better for them, for a little while at -least, to be away from all Edda’s old connections. Several years they -spent “out west,” and not until they had nearly reached mid-life, did -they return to their old home in ——; then, at the urgent request of -Mr. and Mrs. Martin, who had grown old, infirm, and tired of society, -and really needed Edda, they moved back. Edda was a lovely looking -matron at the time of her return—she seemed so happy and contented. I -well remember the pleasant effect it produced upon me when I saw her -surrounded by her troop of noble boys, and leaning on her husband, who -still retained his dignity, but blent with it was an air of loving -softness that he had gained by intercourse with his gentle, “darling -little wife.” - -Her married life, even after their reconciliation, however, was not -exempt from trials. There were times when her husband’s old moods of -exaction and impatience would come over him, and her own willful, -rebellious spirit would stand in the way, and torment her with demands, -such as “what right has he more than I?” and the like—as if the -gratification of rights, merely for justice sake, made up the happiness -of home life, a happiness that is only gained, only insured, by love’s -sweet yieldings. They both tried to struggle against these dark -influences; but at such times life would be very dreary to her, and it -needed all the strict discipline of her faith—all her hope and trust in -Heaven, to make her victorious over self. - -Their children, however, proved angel-blessings to them. They softened -and humanized Ralph, and soothed and occupied Edda. Dear Edda! her -spring season had been a wild, frolicksome one, bringing a stormy, -cloudy summer; but her autumn yielded a rich harvest of happiness, and -her little, throbbing heart thanked God hourly for his kindness and love -to her in sustaining her through all her dark hours. - -“Seven great boys, and not one daughter!” exclaimed our old friend, Mrs. -Howard, to Edda, after her return to her old home—“what a pity!” - -“Oh, no,” replied Edda, quickly; “I am always so thankful my children -are all boys. I would not have the charge of a daughter’s happiness on -me for a world.” - -“Why!” asked Mrs. Howard with surprise. - -“Because,” replied Edda, in a low tone, looking significantly at the -good old lady, “a woman’s character seldom develops in prosperity—it -requires, like precious metals, the fiery furnace of affliction—the -crucible of sorrow.” - -Mrs. Howard’s surprise was increased, for Edda’s blushing face and lips, -trembling with emotion, told that she had a deeper meaning than the mere -expression of an opinion; but Edda soon removed her wonder. She told her -the whole history of the past—her struggle on that eventful night at -the sea-side watering place years before, when the fearful temptation to -self-destruction had assailed her; she caused the kind old lady’s eyes -to grow dim with tears, when she described the beneficial effect -produced by the overheard conversation between her and Mr. Morrison; and -added, with tears and smiles of joy— - -“Yes, dear Mrs. Howard, your blessed words taught me my duty. If I have -any happiness in life, I owe it, through God, to you. But, happy wife -and blessed mother, as I am, I thank God I have no daughter’s future -resting on my heart. A woman’s lot in life is a dangerous one, either in -prosperity or adversity, and to tread her life-path well she seems to -require almost a special helping from God; to but few is this granted, -and many there are who wrestle darkly and blindly with sorrow through -life’s perilous journey unaided.” - -“But,” replied Mrs. Howard, “does it not strike you that you are taking -but a one-sided, narrow view of life, my dear? When you speak so sadly -of woman’s lot, it seems as if you thought this life was all we had to -expect, when I am sure you do not think so. The perils of life belong to -both man and woman. But what matters all that we suffer in this state of -existence, when compared with the glory of the sun-light of -eternity—that sun which has no setting, and of the rising of which this -dark, perilous life-hour is but the precursor—the hour before the -dawn.” - -“You are right, my dear madam,” said Edda, with a sweet look of meek -thoughtfulness, “and I, of all other women, should not speak so -hopelessly, for, after all my dark hours, light came at last; and so -beautiful is life to me now, that I sometimes fancy to me is given a -glimpse of Heaven’s dawning.” - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNETS, - - - ON PICTURES IN THE HUNTINGTON GALLERY. - - - BY MRS. ELIZABETH J. EAMES. - - - I.—ST. JOHN. - - I stood within the glowing, graceful ring - Of pictures hung upon the gallery’s wall:— - The admiring murmur of the crowd did bring - My step to pause before a shape, in all - The thoughtful grace of artist-skill designed, - The sense of Beauty _felt_—but not defined. - Thou face, serene in solemn tenderness— - In the uplifting of those calm, deep eyes; - On the rapt brow of holy earnestness - The light of prophecy reflected lies. - The mystic vision of the Apocalypse - Thy pen of fire sublimely did record: - But most we love His lessons from thy lips— - John, thou beloved disciple of the Lord! - - - II.—MERCY’S DREAM. - - Like thee to dream, by angel-wings unshaded! - The starry crown hangs o’er thy meek young head, - Flinging a glory round thee, like the braided - And brilliant tints by a rich sunset shed. - O loveliest vision of the painter’s thought— - Born in his happiest hour of inspiration, - How more than fair the exquisite creation - His genius-gifted pencil here hath wrought! - How wondrously is charmed the “Pilgrim” story - That made my childhood’s ever new delight: - Sweet Mercy! _now_, in tenderest grace and glory, - Thy pale, bright picture floats before my sight. - Thrice blesséd! and thrice beautiful! might _we_ - But in _our_ dreams some guardian-angel see! - - - III.—THE MARYS AT THE SEPULCHRE. - - The first faint crimson of the early morning - Dawned on the tomb where the loved Master lay; - And on the Marys, who for His adorning - Came bearing spices sweet, at break of day. - In meek, mute reverence, near the sepulchre - The mourners drew, as round a sacred shrine— - And gazing down for the dear form divine— - The unsealed stone—the white-robed messenger— - Met their affrighted view! In awe they fled, - And she, the Magdalen! the tidings spread, - “Christ is arisen!” O, woman! in that hour - Well might a solemn rapture fill thy mind— - Thou, earth’s poor outcast, honored with high power - To bear such joyful tidings to mankind. - - - IV.—PIETY. - - Meek list’ner! on whose purely virgin brow - Is set the beauty of submissive thought: - Oh! blest beyond Earth’s favored ones art thou, - Whose earnest eyes so reverently caught - The Teacher’s look, with mild, grave wisdom fraught. - How was the awakened soul within thee stirred - To suppliant or adoring tones, as fell - The quickening power of the Eternal Word, - Like the winged seed, on thy young heart; to dwell - A germ not lost! A heavenly light serene, - Unclouded, sits on thy soft, spiritual mien— - I call thee Blest, for thou hast chosen well, - Daughter of Christ! O, happy to have given - The bloom of thy unblighted years to Heaven! - - - V.—FOLLY. - - And _this_ is Folly! Like a flaunting flower - Her red lips part half wanton, half in scorn: - Over the wreck of many a squandered hour - This poor frail child of Pleasure well might mourn. - But with the consciousness of beauty born, - Exulting in her youth’s superior brightness— - (Not yet the rose-leaves from her garland torn)— - She moves along to scenes of festal lightness. - The aged teacher’s solemn, sacred lesson - Is a dead letter to her worldly spirit— - The Word of Life—its Promise, and its Blessing, - The world’s gay votary cares not to inherit! - No claims upon a heritage divine— - This lot, O Folly! this sad lot is thine. - - * * * * * - - - - - THINKING OF MINNA. - - - BY ELLIS MARTYN. - - - What though my way unblissful care - To weary solitudes incline! - I feel thy beauty everywhere; - Thy spirit brightens mine. - - On all the dewy leaves that crowd - The moon-lit trees, I read thy name; - From every crimson morning cloud, - It flows through all my frame. - - And when the spiritual eve advances, - To bathe the weary world in rest, - Thou comest near, with loving glances, - And leanest on my breast. - - In all the ages, young or olden, - Was ever life so blest as mine! - Where’er I go the clime is golden, - And all the air divine! - - * * * * * - - - - - THOMAS JOHNSON. - - - THE LAST SURVIVOR OF THE CREW OF “THE BONHOMME RICHARD.” - - - BY THOMAS WYATT, A. M. - - -[Illustration] - -This venerable sailor is in the 92d year of his age; nearly sixty of -which he has spent on the ocean, and thirty-five under the stars and -stripes of his adopted country. Although almost helpless from age, his -mind is clear and his memory retentive. He remembers distinctly many -interesting incidents during his cruisings with that eccentric but -intrepid officer, John Paul Jones, and narrates many of the daring -exploits in which he was a participator under the direction of this -extraordinary man. - -Thomas Johnson is a Norwegian by birth, the son of a pilot at Mandal, a -seaport on the coast of Norway, where he was born in the year 1758. -Having been engaged in that occupation for nearly twenty years, he was -consequently accustomed to a seafaring life; and in the absence of his -father towed the first American vessel into the harbor of Mandal. This -vessel was the _Ranger_, from Boston, carrying eighteen guns, under the -command of Captain Jones. The sight of a ship from a country which was -at this time struggling for independence, and of which they knew so -little, caused no little sensation among the inhabitants of that town. -After their arrival in port, Jones sent for the young pilot, and -presenting him with a piece of gold, expressed his pleasure at his -expert seamanship, which he had minutely watched during the towing of -his ship into the harbor. - -He also observed that he had made the port of Mandal, in order to -enlarge his crew, not having sufficient men for the long cruise he was -about to make; and added, that if the father of the young pilot would -permit, he would be glad to engage him. Satisfactory arrangements were -made, and Johnson was received as a seaman on board the _Ranger_. It -will be remembered that Captain Jones had been cruising the last two -years as first lieutenant of the _Alfred_ flag ship, the first privateer -fitted out by Congress to cruise against British commerce. - -In this ship he hoisted with his own hands the American flag, the first -time it was ever displayed on the ocean; its emblems were a pine-tree, -with a rattle-snake coiled at its root, as if about to strike. - -The _Alfred_ was very successful, and had brought home several valuable -prizes. Congress, therefore, determined on the purchase of three other -ships for the same purpose, and Captain Jones was permitted to make -choice of either; he chose the _Ranger_, and was invested with the -command by the following resolutions: - -_Resolved_, “That Captain John Paul Jones be appointed to command the -ship _Ranger_, and that William Whipple, Esq., member of Congress, and -of the Marine Committee, John Langdon, Esq., continental agent, and the -said John Paul Jones be authorized to appoint lieutenants and other -officers and men necessary for the said ship; and that blank commissions -and warrants be sent them to be filled up with the names of the persons -they appoint, returns whereof to be made to the Navy Board in the -eastern department.” - -“_Resolved_, That the flag of the thirteen United States, henceforth be -thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; and the union be thirteen -stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation.” - -Jones immediately commissioned the _Ranger_, and, singular to say, was -the first to display the new flag of the republic, as he did the -original one on board the _Alfred_, about two years previous. The -_Ranger_ was intended to carry twenty-six guns; but Jones begged to -exercise his own judgment, believing that she would be more serviceable -with only eighteen, and accordingly mounted that number, for which he -had often occasion to congratulate himself on his judicious forethought; -for the ship proved to be exceedingly crank, and with the whole number, -would have been nearly useless. - -His first cruise with his new ship was to the coast of France, and on -his voyage there he chased a fleet of ten sail, under a strong convoy, -took two prizes, and carried them safely into Nantes. - -From thence he took a short cruise on the coast of Norway, and putting -into the port of Mandal, as we before stated, engaged the services of -Thomas Johnson, the subject of this sketch. - -After completing his arrangement, Jones returned to Nantes, and from -thence proceeded to Quiberon Bay, giving convoy to some American vessels -which were desirous of joining the French fleet commanded by Admiral La -Mott Piquet, who had been ordered to keep the coast of France clear of -British cruisers. Writing to the Marine Committee on the 22d February, -1778, he says, “I am happy in having it in my power to congratulate you -on seeing the American flag, for the first time, recognized in the -fullest and most complete manner by the flag of France; and as it is my -greatest desire to render useful services to the American cause, I would -suggest that, as the field of cruising being thus extended, and the -British navy, in numbers, so superior to ours, it would be well to -surprise their defenceless places, and thereby divert their attention, -and draw it from our coasts.” These suggestions contained the plan of -annoyance which was eventually adopted in Paul Jones’s cruisings in the -European seas. It was about the middle of April, 1778, so our hero -relates, that they found themselves on the coast of Scotland, -immediately in the vicinity of the birth-place of Jones, and in sight of -the port of Whitehaven, upon which he had determined to make his first -descent. - -It was near the break of day, when Jones ordered two boats, and a -plentiful supply of combustibles to be prepared, with thirty-one men, to -leave the _Ranger_ and make for the outer pier. Jones commanded the -first boat himself, the other was under the command of Simpson, his -first lieutenant, conveying the combustible matter, and charged with -firing the vessels, about seventy in number, lying on the north side of -the pier, while he undertook the rest. They found two batteries at -Whitehaven, which Jones, with ten of his men, Johnson being one of the -number, scaled, taking the soldiers prisoners, and spiking the guns. He -then, with his party, started for the other battery, about a quarter of -a mile distant, which he served in the same way. - -On his return he met his lieutenant, with the remainder of the sailors, -who stated that he had not done as he had requested him, having a -reluctance to destroy the undefended property of poor people, he had -hesitated until his candles had burned out, and then found it impossible -to execute his orders. - -Jones was exceedingly angry, and vented his rage in the most insulting -language, saying at the same time, “that if the accomplished Lord Howe -would commit deeds of burning, pillage, and slaughter, upon the persons -and property of Americans, the right of retaliation belonged to us.” In -making such hasty remarks, he forgot that this enterprise was one of an -entirely different nature; the scheme, if it may be so called, was one -of his own forming, the American government not being apprised of any -thing of the kind, neither had he received any order to that effect. The -whole affair must be allowed to be one of the most audacious of its -kind, and will ever attach a lasting stain upon the memory of its -originator. - -It was now daylight and the frightened inhabitants were beginning to -collect; still Jones was unwilling to depart without carrying any of his -intended depredations into effect, after surmounting so many -difficulties. - -He posted to the nearest house and demanded a light, which, having -obtained, he deliberately kindled a fire in the steerage of a large ship -which was surrounded by others lying dry upon the shore, pouring a -barrel of tar into the flames; during this operation, Johnson, with -several other sailors, stood sentinel against any surprise he might -receive from the inhabitants, who by this time were attracted by the -flames, and had assembled to the pier in great numbers. On seeing them -approach in such formidable numbers, he seized his pistols, one in each -hand, and standing between them and the ship on fire, ordered them to -retire to their homes, which they did with precipitation. At length he -and his party entered their boats and rowed quietly to their ship, -where, from the deck, he could see the panic-stricken inhabitants -running in vast numbers to their forts, which was no little amusement to -him, as he had spiked their guns. - -Jones afterward ascertained, much to his chagrin, that only the ship -which he himself had fired was destroyed, the surrounding ones were -saved by the exertions of the people. He consoled himself by saying, -“that he had done enough to show England that not all her boasted navy -could protect her own coasts, and that the scenes of distress which she -had caused the Americans to pass through, might soon be brought home to -her own doors.” On his return to the _Ranger_, Jones informed his -officers and men that he had not yet done with Scotland, that he had -another project in his head, which he intended to carry into effect; -that was, to obtain possession of the person of the Earl of Selkirk, a -nobleman residing at Selkirk Abbey, on a beautiful promontory called St. -Mary’s Isle, running out into the river Dee, and not more than two miles -distant from where they then were. - -Jones conceived that if he could obtain possession of this nobleman’s -person, he could demand an exchange for some distinguished American -prisoner. He remained in the bay of Kirkcudbright till the following -morning, when he started with two boats and about twenty men, among whom -was Johnson, who relates the particulars of this singular adventure. -Johnson was in the first boat with Jones, who commanded it himself; the -other was commanded by Simpson, his first lieutenant. They landed on -part of the grounds, not more than two hundred yards from the house; -some laborers were at work near by, of whom they inquired if Lord -Selkirk was at home; they were informed that he was in London, -consequently, his end was frustrated. On receiving this information they -prepared to return to their boats, when his officers, of whom there were -four, expressed a wish to repair to the Abbey and demand the family -plate, pleading as an excuse, that it was the universal custom of the -English on the American coast. Jones, in his official report, says, -after some hesitation, he reluctantly consented, charging them to insult -no person on the premises, especially Lady Selkirk. During this delicate -embassy, Jones withdrew behind some trees, where he could perceive what -was going on. Simpson, with ten of his sailors, went to the house. Lady -Selkirk was at breakfast when they presented themselves at the window, -and supposing them to be the crew of a revenue cutter, sent a servant to -inquire their business, and to offer them some refreshment. Simpson -entered the room on the return of the servant, and stated his errand to -Lady Selkirk. - -Her ladyship made no resistance, but sent the servant to collect the -remainder of the plate, requesting that the teapot, which was then on -the table, might be emptied and placed with it. After being collected, -it was carefully packed in baskets, and the party, having performed -their errand, withdrew to their boats, where Paul Jones met them. They -soon regained their ship, when the prize they had made was safely -repacked, and they set sail for the coast of France. - -During their voyage from Scotland to France he fell in with an English -vessel called the _Drake_; a sharp conflict ensued, which lasted more -than an hour, when the _Drake_ surrendered, and was towed in safety into -Brest, a seaport of France. On the very day of his arrival at Brest, -Jones wrote the following eccentric epistle to Lady Selkirk, which one -of his biographers calls “the queerest piece of epistolary -correspondence extant.” - -“MADAM,—It cannot be too much lamented, that in the profession of arms, -the officer of fine feelings and real sensibility, should be under the -necessity of winking at any action of persons under his command which -his heart cannot approve; but the reflection is doubly severe, when he -finds himself obliged, in appearance, to countenance such actions by his -authority. This hard case was mine, when, on the 23d of April last, I -landed on St. Mary’s Isle. - -“Knowing Lord Selkirk’s interest with his king, and esteeming as I do -his private character, I wished to make him the happy instrument of -alleviating the horrors of hopeless captivity, when the brave are -overpowered and made prisoners of war. It was, perhaps, fortunate for -you, madam, that he was from home, for it was my intention to have taken -him on board the _Ranger_, and detained him until, through his means, a -general and fair exchange of prisoners, as well in Europe as in America, -had been effected. - -“When I was informed by some men whom I met at landing, that his -lordship was absent, I walked back to my boat, determined to leave the -island. By the way, however, some officers who were with me could not -forbear expressing their discontent, observing that in America no -delicacy was shown by the English, who took away all sorts of moveable -property, setting fire not only to towns and to the houses of the rich, -without distinction, but not even sparing the wretched hamlets and -milch-cows of the poor and helpless, at the approach of an inclement -winter. - -“That party had been with me at Whitehaven; some complaisance, -therefore, was their due. I had but a moment to think how I might -gratify them, and at the same time do your ladyship the least injury. I -charged the officers to permit none of the seamen to enter the house, or -to hurt any thing about it; to treat you, madam, with the utmost -respect; to accept of the plate which was offered, and to come away -without making a search, or demanding any thing else. I am induced to -believe that I was punctually obeyed, since I am informed that the plate -which they brought away is far short of the quantity expressed in the -inventory which accompanied it. I have gratified my men; and when the -plate is sold, I shall become the purchaser, and will gratify my own -feelings in restoring it, by such conveyance as you may please to -direct. - -“Had the earl been on board the _Ranger_ the following evening, he would -have seen the awful pomp and dreadful carnage of a sea engagement; both -affording ample subject for the pencil as well as melancholy reflection -for the contemplative mind. Humanity starts back from such scenes of -horror, and cannot sufficiently execrate the vile promoters of this -detestable war; - - For they, ’twas they unsheathed the ruthless blade, - And Heaven shall ask the havoc it has made. - -“The British ship of war _Drake_, mounting twenty guns, with more than -her full complement of officers and men, was our opponent. The ships -met, and the advantage was disputed with great fortitude on each side -for an hour and four minutes, when the gallant commander of the _Drake_ -fell, and victory declared in favor of the _Ranger_. The amiable -lieutenant lay mortally wounded, besides near forty of the inferior -officers and crew killed and wounded; a melancholy demonstration of the -uncertainty of human prospects, and of the sad reverses of fortune, -which an hour can produce. I buried them in a spacious grave, with the -honors due to the memory of the brave. - -“Though I have drawn my sword in the present generous struggle for the -rights of men, yet I am not in arms as an American, nor am I in pursuit -of riches. My fortune is liberal, having no wife nor family, and having -lived long enough to know that riches cannot secure happiness. I profess -myself a citizen of the world, totally unfettered by the little, mean -distinctions of climate or of country, which diminish the benevolence of -the heart and set bounds to philanthropy. Before this war was begun, I -had, at an early time of life, withdrawn from sea-service in favor of -‘calm contemplation and poetic ease.’ I have sacrificed not only my -favorite scheme of life, but the softer affections of the heart, and my -prospects of domestic happiness; and I am ready to sacrifice my life -also with cheerfulness, if that forfeiture could restore peace among -mankind. - -“As the feelings of your gentle bosom cannot but be congenial with mine, -let me entreat you, madam, to use your persuasive art with your husband, -to endeavor to stop this cruel and destructive war, in which Britain can -never succeed. Heaven can never countenance the barbarous and unmanly -practice of Britons in America, which savages would blush at, and which, -if not discontinued, will soon be retaliated on Britain by a justly -enraged people. - -“Should you fail in this, and I am persuaded you will attempt it, (and -who can resist the power of such an advocate,) your endeavors to effect -a general exchange of prisoners, will be an act of humanity, which will -afford you golden feelings on your death-bed. - -“I hope this cruel contest will soon be closed; but should it continue, -I wage no war with the fair. I acknowledge their force, and bend before -it with submission. Let not, therefore, the amiable Countess of Selkirk -regard me as an enemy; I am ambitious of her esteem and friendship, and -would do any thing consistent with my duty to merit it. - -“The honor of a line from your fair hand, in answer to this, will lay me -under singular obligation; and if I can render you any acceptable -service in France or elsewhere, I hope you see into my character so far -as to command me, without the least grain of reserve. I wish to know the -exact behaviour of my people, as I am determined to punish them if they -have exceeded their liberty.” - -This vain, Quixotic, and inexplicable epistle, is a perfect illustration -of the character of the writer; but with all its egotism and chivalry, -it did not produce the wished for answer from the “fair hand of his -amiable countess.” - -It could not be for one moment supposed that Lady Selkirk would -condescend to answer a letter couched in such terms of gross -familiarity. The plate, after many difficulties and delays, was finally -restored, some seven or eight years after it was taken. The French -government being at this time on the eve of embracing the American -cause, overwhelmed Jones with congratulations upon his late -achievements. He received a letter from the French Minister, offering -him the command of the _Bonhomme Richard_, with permission to choose his -own cruising ground, either in the European or American seas, and to -cruise under the flag of the United States. Jones accepted the offer, -and accordingly prepared to form his crew by enlisting raw French -peasants and volunteers, having only thirty Americans in the whole, -these he transferred from the _Ranger_, with Johnson, our veteran -sailor. He commenced his cruising on the coast of Norway, from thence to -the west coast of Ireland, during which he made many valuable prizes. - -He now determined to cruise around the English coasts, to intercept the -colliers bound to London, many of which he destroyed. It was during this -cruise that he was joined by the _Alliance_, the _Pallas_, and the -_Vengeance_, these, with the _Richard_, formed the squadron of which he -was commander. On the 23d of September the squadron was standing to the -northward, toward Flamboro Head, with a light breeze, when they -discovered a fleet of forty-one sail running down the coast, very close -in with the land. Jones soon discovered that this was the Baltic fleet -which he had been so anxious to encounter, but had never before had the -chance. This fleet was under convoy of the _Serapis_, a new ship, -mounting forty-four guns, and the _Countess of Scarborough_, of twenty -guns. Early in the evening the _Serapis_ was observed to haul round and -place herself between her convoy and the _Richard_, as if preparing to -engage her; she soon came within pistol-shot, when the captain of the -_Serapis_ demanded, “What ship is that?” and in reply, a shot was fired -from the _Richard_. This was the commencement of a battle more famous -for stubborn courage and heroic daring than perhaps the world ever knew. -The biographers of this eccentric but gallant officer have so often -described this triumphant conflict, that we shall content ourselves with -a few incidents with which our veteran sailor was more immediately -connected. He relates that the _Richard_ suffered severely at the first -of the battle, till Jones ordered his ship to be laid across the hawse -of the enemy; in doing so the two ships swung broadside and broadside, -the muzzles of the guns touching each other. Jones sent one of his men -to lash the two ships together, and commenced with his own hand in -making fast the jib-stay of the _Serapis_ to the _Richard’s_ mizenmast; -when the sailors saw what he was about to do, Johnson, with two others, -ran to his assistance, and soon performed the task. The firing continued -from the starboard sides of both vessels for more than an hour, the -effect of which was terrible to both ships. There was much skirmishing -with pistols and pikes through the ports, but no effort was made from -the _Serapis_ to board the _Richard_, although they must have observed -her crippled condition, she had begun to leak fast. - -It was near ten o’clock when the _Richard_ had sunk considerably from -the water she had received through the shot-holes, which was now below -the surface. Some of the subordinate officers believing that she was -sinking, cried out lustily for “Quarter!” when Jones, in great anger, -threw a pistol at one of them, which he had just discharged at the -enemy, fractured the poor fellow’s skull, and sent him reeling down the -hatchway. Jones ordered all the hands that could be spared to the pumps, -and shortly after the _Serapis_ surrendered. At this moment there was -much confusion, as several of the crew, who were Englishmen, and near -their homes, took advantage of the _mêlée_ to desert in a small boat -toward _Scarborough_. Our hero well remembers seeing one of the -lieutenants of the _Richard_ appear on the deck and present several of -the officers of the _Serapis_ to Commodore Jones as prisoners. - -The action had now ceased, all hands were ordered to assist in -separating the two ships which had been so long in deadly embrace, and -to extinguish the flames which were now raging in both vessels. It was -daylight in the morning when the carpenters were ordered to examine the -_Richard_. After a deliberate examination, they were of opinion that she -could not be kept afloat sufficiently long to reach any port. Jones was -not willing to abandon her till the last moment, and kept a lieutenant -with a party of sailors at the pumps for twenty-four hours; Johnson says -he worked for nine successive hours, and at last, when all hopes were -extinguished, they commenced removing the wounded and the stores to the -_Serapis_. They had not finished their operations more than half an -hour, when she sunk to rise no more. - -The next cruise was to the Texel, and from thence to Amsterdam, where -they received great kindness from the Dutch. Jones still continued his -cruising with satisfaction to the American government until the -beginning of the year 1781, when he was sent with the ship _Ariel_ to -Philadelphia with stores for the army which had been waiting in France -for more than a year, no suitable conveyance having been provided. They -arrived in Philadelphia in February, 1781, the first time Johnson had -seen the land of his adoption. Here he received his prize money, and -having disengaged himself from the _Ariel_, determined to remain a short -time in order to become master of the English language, of which at that -time he knew but little. - -At this time Congress was sitting in Philadelphia, and several of the -members were about removing their families to that city. Application was -made to Captain Jones to furnish a man to take charge of a sloop to -Boston, to convey the furniture of John Adams to Philadelphia; he -accordingly appointed Johnson, and he brought the furniture safely to -that city. - -This circumstance often brought Johnson in contact with Mr. Adams, who -knew that he was one of the crew of Captain Jones, and consequently must -have been in the conflict of the _Serapis_ and _Richard_, which having -occurred so recently, was a subject of general conversation. Many of the -sailors frequented the hall of Congress, and Johnson became interested -in listening and observing what was so new to him that he was a daily -visiter. When the members found that the sailors were part of the crew -of Captain Jones, they frequently left their seats, and came over to -them to inquire the particulars of the recent engagement. Mr. Adams -particularly engaged the attention of Johnson; to use the veteran’s own -words, he says, “a nervous sensation seemed to pervade the patriot as he -listened to the description of the battle given by the sailors, fire -flashed from his eyes, and his hair seemed perfectly erect;” he would -clasp his hands, and exclaim, “What a scene!” - -During the time they remained in Philadelphia, General Washington -arrived, and was presented to Congress; Johnson was present and listened -to the introduction by President Hancock, and the reply by the general. -Some days after, when the sailors were in the hall, Mr. Adams brought -General Washington to them, who kindly shook each by the hand, calling -them “Our gallant tars!” and asking them questions relative to the many -successful adventures they had recently achieved. - -Johnson soon after left the navy, and engaged in the merchant service -for some years, but eventually returned to it again, where he remained -till, near the end of his life’s voyage, age obliged him to ask repose -and protection in that asylum provided for the grateful and worn-out -mariner. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE MAIDEN’S LAMENT FOR HER SHIPWRECKED LOVER. - - - BY WM. ALBERT SUTLIFFE. - - - I heard a maiden by the tumid ocean— - The day had gone and night came on apace— - Chanting a hymn to the spray’s chiming motion, - Starlight and moonlight, and the sea’s dim face. - And, as the moon looked down, her song up-stealing - Fell thus upon my ear: “Hope of my hope, - Gone o’er the swelling waters, whence this feeling - That thou art dead? I give my fancy scope, - And see thee hideous, with Death’s image o’er - Those features I have loved, but know no more. - Hope of my hope, gone o’er the swelling ocean, - What cavern holds thy form— - Cast by the furious storm? - - “Hope of my hope, gone o’er the swelling ocean! - I weep for thee when night is on the sea: - My bosom bursteth with its deep emotion— - My spirit stretcheth out its arms but finds not thee. - O misery! and then itself within itself retires, - And weeps away a night that has no morn; - And lights forever up fierce funeral pyres— - Dreaming of cypress wreaths, and things forlorn. - - “What sea-nymph made thy bed - Beneath the briny waves? - Thetis with golden hair? - Panopea wondrous fair, - Lone virgin of the ocean’s deepest caves, - With filmy garments shred - About thy form, - Mock of the brumal storm? - Ho! mourn with me, ye nymphs, he is no more! - Go sound it, Triton, o’er the humid waters! - Go weep for him again, ye misty daughters! - Re-echo it, ye cliffs, along our shore! - And I myself will take the sad refrain - Of the elegiac strain, - And tune my lyre to a symphonious stream - Floating along with many a moony gleam, - Soft as an angel’s dream, - Over the foamy summit of each wave, - That rolleth o’er his grave. - - “Well do I know the day - That bore him hence away! - I watched him from yon cliff, in joy departing: - I, with the tear-drops starting, - Wept that he thus should go. - He, hopeful of the future, saw not wo - In the dim cloud that gathered, and the spray - Leaped joyful up about his seaward way— - Leaped up the vessel’s sides with treacherous kiss; - Deceitful waves, that now in the abyss - Have whelmed my love’s proud form, - Play of the pitiless storm. - - “I’ve wept until my tears - Have worn with furrows deep my pallid cheek; - Have gazed until my poor eyes, worn and weak, - Like age’s eyes, seem faded with long years. - Oh! the long, dreary nights I’ve passed alone! - Would Reason from her throne - Might flee, and bear with her this dim, dull grief— - This memory’s haunting tone! - Then might I have relief. - Receive me, ocean! lo, to thee I come! - I, too, will share thy home: - Our bridal bed shall be of pearls and diamonds, - First loved, last loved, and fondly loved forever. - No distance e’er shall sever—” - The voice was hushed; I sped me to the strand. - Only the moonlight fell; and o’er the sand - A fountain gushed, pure as our holiest dreams. - Perchance ’twas she, thus changed; how could I tell? - And gone, as Arethusa once, beneath the deep, - Had sought her lover in his quiet sleep. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE YEARS OF LOVE. - - - For Love there’s no oblivion. I have cherished - An idol beautiful, but in this hour, - Hopes that had bloomed for years have wholly perished, - And left me but the fragrance of the flower: - But be the hopes of love like blossoms blighted, - Wherever in the temples of the heart - Hath stood an altar with their splendor lighted, - The glory will not utterly depart; - Still as we enter life’s forgetful haven, - And every form of beauty disappears, - The pictures on the memory engraven - Of early love, win our last smiles and tears; - The inspiration of the first endeavor - After the love of woman dwells forever. - - * * * * * - - - - - EARLY ENGLISH POETS. - - - GEORGE HERBERT. - - - BY JAMES W. WALL. - - -How few in our day have read the pious verses of George Herbert, “the -sweet singer of The Temple,” as his biographer, old Walton, so loves to -call him—verses overflowing with the sensibilities of a heart -consecrated to pious uses, all aglow with love for humanity, and an -ardent desire to bring it nearer to Him who so freely gave himself for -it. - -Sweet George Herbert! Who that has ever read the rich outpourings of -your warm and pious spirit, but has felt how poor and cold in the -comparison were the promptings of his own? Who that has ever pondered -over your verse, radiant with the praises of that sanctuary in whose -hallowed courts you so loved to tread, but has felt the full force of -your own sweet words? - - A verse may find him who a sermon flies, - And turn delight into a sacrifice. - -George Herbert, the author of “The Temple,” a collection of sacred -poems, was of a most noble, generous, and ancient family. His brother -was the famous Edward Lord Herbert, of Cherbury, who was himself a poet, -but attained higher distinction as a statesman and historian, having -filled, during the reign of James I., the responsible posts of privy -counselor, and ambassador to France; it was while engaged in the duties -of this embassy that he composed his famous history of Henry the Eighth, -so often quoted and referred to by the modern English historian. - -The subject of our sketch was born at Montgomery Castle, in Wales, April -3, 1593. He was educated at Westminster school, and being a king’s -scholar, was elected to Trinity College, Cambridge, about the year 1608. -He took both degrees in the Arts, and became a Fellow in the college. In -1619 he was chosen orator for the University, which post he held eight -years. This office he is said to have filled with great honor to himself -and to the University. And this was no wonder, for, to use the quaint -language of his biographer, old Izaak Walton, “he had acquired great -learning, and was blessed with a high fancy, a civil and sharp wit, and -with a natural elegance both in his behaviour, his tongue, and his pew.” -When that royal pedant, King James, published his “Basilicon Doron,” he -sent a copy to the University of Cambridge. Herbert, in his capacity as -orator, was called upon to acknowledge its receipt on behalf of the -institution, which he did in a most elegant manner, by a letter written -in Latin, closing with the following lines: - - Quid vaticanam Bodleianamque objicis hospes! - Unicus est nobis Bibliotheca Liber. - -The excellence of its Latinity, and the complimentary allusions -plentifully sprinkled through it, so pleased the vanity of the king, -that he inquired of the Earl of Pembroke if he knew the learned scholar -who penned the epistle. His answer was, “That he knew him very well, and -that he was his kinsman; but that he loved him more for his learning and -virtue, than that he was of his name and family.” At which answer the -king smiled, and asked the earl leave that he might love him too, for he -took him to be the jewel of that University. - -The complimentary remark of the king, coming to the ears of Herbert, no -doubt first turned his thoughts toward court preferment; for about this -time we find him applying himself to the study of the Italian, French, -and Spanish languages, in which he is said to have attained great -proficiency; and by means of the attainment of which, to use his own -language, “he hoped to secure the place of Secretary of State, as his -predecessor, Sir Francis Nethersole had done.” This, and the love of -court conversation, with the laudable ambition to be something more than -he then was, drew him often from Cambridge to attend his majesty, King -James. - -Shortly after this the king visited Cambridge in state, and was received -on behalf of the University by Herbert, in a most elegant oration in -Latin, stuffed full, as the manner of the time then was, of most fulsome -adulation. In his progress he was attended by the great Sir Francis -Bacon, Lord Verulam, and by the learned Dr. Andrews, Bishop of -Winchester; and Herbert, by his learning and suavity, soon captivated -these distinguished men. Bacon seems afterward to have put such value -upon his judgment, that he usually desired his approbation before he -would expose any of his books to be printed, and thought him so worthy -of his friendship, that having translated many of the Prophet David’s -Psalms into English verse, he made George Herbert his Patron, by a -public dedication of them to him as the “best judge of divine poetry.” -In 1620, the king gave Herbert a sinecure, formerly conferred upon Sir -Philip Sydney by Queen Elizabeth, worth some twelve hundred pounds per -annum. - -His ambitious views of further court preferment seem never to have been -realized. The character of his mind, perhaps, did not fit him for the -responsible duties of a statesman, or he might have been deficient in -those arts of the courtier, so necessary, and such ready aid to court -preferment. It may be that he had too independent a spirit, and could -not “crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, that thrift might follow -fawning.” But be this as it may, we think, in the sentiment contained in -some verses written by our poet about the period of his leaving the -court and entering holy orders, we have a readier solution for the -sudden relinquishment of his hopes of court preferment. These verses -were written upon the famous saying of Cardinal Wolsey, uttered by that -proud churchman when his spirit was crushed, and the fruits of his -ambition had turned to ashes on his lips. “Oh, that I had served my God -with half the zeal with which I have served my king, he would not thus, -in my old age, have placed me in the power of mine enemies.” - -No doubt the wholesome reflections inspired by the contemplation of -those touching words, awakened the sensitive mind of our poet to a full -appreciation of the vanity of all earthly ambition. He discovered in -time, that pleasures springing from honor and grandeur of condition, are -soon faded; that the mind nauseates, and soon begins to feel their -emptiness. In the words of one of England’s most gifted divines, “Those -who are so fond of public honor while they pursue it, how little do they -taste it when they have it? Like lightning it only flashes on the face, -and it is well if it do not hurt the man.” - -Without further speculating as to the reasons that induced our poet to -fly from the court circles into the quiet retreat of the pastor’s life, -most certain it is, about the year 1629, we find him renouncing the pomp -and vanities of earthly ambition, and entering into holy orders. -Previous to his induction, we find him using the following language in a -letter to a friend: “I now look back upon my aspiring thoughts, and -think myself more happy than if I had attained what then I so -ambitiously thirsted for; and now I can behold the court with an -impartial eye, and see plainly that it is made up of graced titles, and -flattery, and many other such empty imaginary painted -pleasures—pleasures that are so empty as not to satisfy where they are -enjoyed. But in God and his service is a fullness of all joy and -pleasure, but no satiety.” Of the fervency of his piety we have a most -beautiful exemplification in some of his poems published about this -time, especially in that styled “The Odor,” in which he seems to rejoice -in the thought of the word “Jesus,” and say that the adding of these -words “my master,” to it “seemed to perfume his mind, and leave an -oriental fragrance in his very breath.” Alluding, in another poem, to -his “unforced choice to serve at God’s altar,” he says, - - I know the ways of Learning; both the head and pipes - That feed the press, and make it run; - What reason hath from nature borrowed, - Or of itself, like Housewife sheen. - I know the ways of Honor, what maintains - The quick returns of courtesy and wit; - The ways of favor, either party gains - And the best mode of oft retaining it. - - I know the ways of pleasure, the sweet strains, - The lullings and the relishes of it; - The proposition of hot blood and brains; - What mirth and musick mean; what love and wit. - Yet through these labyrinths, not my grovelling wit, - But the silk twist let down from heaven to me, - Did both conduct and teach me, how by it - To climb to thee. - -In 1630 he was admitted to the priestly office, and was immediately -inducted to the Rectory of Bemerton, near Salisbury. And here it was, -stripping from him the gaudy trappings of a fashionable court, he -clothed himself in the better and more enduring robes of humility and -meekness. It was here, amid the quiet shades of his peaceful parish, he -prepared, for his own use and that of his brethren, a brief manual, -entitled “The Country Parson”—the rich gatherings of his own -experience, and the exemplification of his own ardor in the performance -of the duties of the pastoral office. His sermons, delivered while at -Bemerton, are practical in doctrine, forcible in illustration, and make -directly to the heart. They are just such sermons as we should suppose -the author of The Country Parson would preach. They are many of them -explanatory of the forms and services of the Church of England, urging -their importance and the necessity of their being truly understood. - -He usually took his text from the gospel of the day appointed to be -read, and did as consistently declare why the Church did appoint that -portion of Scripture to be that day read; and he shortly made it appear -to them (to use his own words) “that the whole service of the Church was -a reasonable, and therefore an acceptable sacrifice to God—as, namely, -we begin with confession of ourselves to be vile and miserable sinners; -and we begin so because, until we have confessed ourselves to be such, -we are not capable of that mercy which we so much need; but having in -the prayer of our Lord begged pardon for those sins which we have -confessed, and hoping by our public confession and real repentance we -have obtained that pardon—then we dare and do proceed to beg of the -Lord ‘to open our lips, that our mouth may show forth his praise;’ for -till then we are not able and worthy to praise him.” - -The church holydays and fasts, and the benefits to be derived from their -observance, were most beautifully illustrated in Herbert’s discourses; -and we venture to say that in the sermons of no clergyman of the Church -of England, or the Episcopal Church of America, can there be found so -practical and so beautiful an exemplification of the excellency of the -Episcopal Church service. The simple parishioners of Bemerton learned to -love the service of their church under the preachings of their sainted -pastor, because its practical usefulness, and its adaptation to their -every spiritual want, was brought forcibly home to the door of their -hearts. The form, they were taught, was as nothing, save as the most -fitting vehicle of their wants and spiritual aspirations. In our age, -where the cold religion of formality is seen struggling for the mastery -over that which is ardent and spiritual; when “the outward and visible -sign” seems to be more thought of than “the inward and spiritual grace;” -when the outward adornments of the sanctuary are held almost in as high -value, and as necessary to salvation, as the inward adornment of the -meek and pious spirit, it is refreshing to read such sermons as those of -Herbert. He was a formalist only so far as form could be made a means to -an end; a means to bring man to a closer contemplation of the love and -the abounding mercies of his God; a means through which he could be made -to praise him in holiness and truth. The form he looked upon as the -fitting vehicle, “the silken twist,” to lead man’s thoughts in fit -expression up to the throne of God. The summum bonum, the all in -religion, he still believed, and so most earnestly taught, consisted in -the free-will offering of the penitent and pious spirit. - -In his essay on the duties of the Country Parson, he enjoins upon the -pastor, “to be constant in every good work, setting such an example to -his flock as they may be glad to follow; and by so doing, profit thereby -to their souls’ good.” - -And most diligently (if we are to believe the testimony of his -contemporaries) did George Herbert conform himself to the character so -beautifully sketched. In the functions of his humble office he is said -to have led a most pious and blameless life. - -The priests of the Levitical ministration, put on the humerus blazing -with jewels, before they took the breastplate of righteousness and -truth; thereby signifying that the priest must be a shining light, -resplendent with good works, before he fed them with righteousness and -truth, the legitimate milk of the word. And in the daily beauty of his -blameless life; in the gentle, dove-like spirit that animated his every -motive; in his daily charities, and his devout ministerings at the -altar, Herbert most beautifully illustrated the doctrines that he -preached. His life was “indeed, a shining light, resplendent with good -works;” and the flock which he so faithfully tended, found through his -guidance spiritual pastures. Quaint old Jeremy Taylor, alluding to the -necessity of the Christian pastor exemplifying in his daily life the -doctrines that he preaches, most beautifully remarks: - -“Herod’s doves could never have invited so many strangers to their -dovecots if they had not been besmeared with most fragrant ointment. As -said Dydimus, make your pigeons smell sweet, and they will allure whole -flocks. And, Christian pastor, if your life be excellent, your virtues, -‘like precious ointment, full of fragrance,’ you will soon invite your -charges to run after your precious odors.” - -Such, in all things, was the subject of our sketch; his virtues were the -precious ointment, full of fragrance, alluring the quiet flock his -Master had given him to feed. - -We have said more of Herbert in his pastoral character than we first -intended, although, perhaps, we have not dwelt upon it too long to give -an illustration of the beautiful simplicity and pious ardor of the man. - -It was in the quiet village of Bemerton that Herbert composed his little -volume of poems, styled “The Temple,” of which it was said by a -contemporary, “There was in it the picture of a divine soul in every -page, and the whole book was such a harmony of holy passions, as would -enrich the world with pleasure and piety.” - -We do not pretend to claim for these songs any great poetic merit. They -abound with faults, such as were peculiar to most of the minor poets of -that age. The versification is often rough and inharmonious, the words -ill chosen for the rhyme, while conceits far-fetched and unnatural are -most plentifully sprinkled through them. These, however, are faults -peculiar to the versification of the time in which our poet flourished. -The great merit of these songs, most undoubtedly, consists mainly in the -pious ardor and genuine devotional feeling which characterize them. The -reader is attracted at once by the deep and earnest piety they manifest. -There seems to be a consistent effort in the poet’s mind to give -utterance to his devotional feeling in words of earnestness and power, -such words as shall not dishonor the high and noble theme he had chosen -for his subject. It can readily be discovered that they give utterance -to the language of his heart, and that the influence of that heart’s -holiest affections was the happiest inspiration of his verse. If there -is any truth in those sweet lines of Cowper, - - The Poet’s lyre to fix his fame, - Should be the Poet’s heart; - Affection lights a brighter flame, - Than ever blazed by art. - -then “sweet George Herbert” has made sure his claim to remembrance, and -left something behind him which posterity will not willingly let die. - -Wherever deep and holy love for sacred things is esteemed, there the -verses of Herbert will find many ardent admirers. They are the pure and -free-will offerings of a heart consecrated to pious uses, and attuned to -sacred harmonies—the soft breathings of a devotional spirit, that seems -too pure for earth. - -When he sings of the church where he so loved to worship, it is with all -the earnest enthusiasm, if not with the inspiration of that noble song -of Solomon, commencing, - -“Behold thou art fair, my love, behold thou art fair; thou hast dove’s -eyes within thy locks, thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from -Mount Gilead. Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is -comely; thy temples are like a piece of pomegranate within thy locks, -thou art all fair, my love, there is no spot within thee.” - -And Herbert loved the church, because it was the fold where he could -gather the flock that had been given him to tend. The church on earth -was to him the emblem of the spiritual church “eternal in the heavens.” -His gentle spirit seems all aglow with love, whenever he sings of its -quiet retreats and the rich solemnities of its glorious worship. - -The poems, styled “The Temple,” are preceded by a long poem as a -preface, called “The Church Porch,” where he would have the reader -linger before entering the sanctuary. And in the poem the poet takes -occasion to give sage counsel and most excellent advice, the better to -fit the mind for the contemplation of the sacredness of the sanctuary -beyond the porch. He would purify the spirit from the dross of earthly -vices, he would have it “purged of the contaminations of earth,” before -entering the temple, where the divine presence loves to dwell. - -And no one who will read the advice embodied in this introductory poem, -but must rise from its perusal with the conviction that it contains a -code of morality, enforced by most excellent precepts. Independent of -its religious tone, it may be said to contain the very best of -principles, enforced by illustrations that carry conviction to the mind -at once. In the rude measure of the time, it holds up virtue in all its -beauty to our approbation, and lays bare all the hideousness of vice. He -seeks not for harmonious verse, as the vehicle of thought, he desires -not to please, but to persuade; not to amuse, but to instruct. - -Is lust within, polluting, corrupting, and withering the heart, his -warning is, - - Beware of lust; it doth pollute the soul - Whom God in baptism washed with his own blood, - It blots the lesson written in thy soul; - The holy words cannot be understood. - How dare those eyes upon a Bible look, - Much less toward God, “whose lust is all their book.” - -Profanity he rebukes in lines like these: - - Take not his name who made thy mouth, in vain. - It gets thee nothing, and has no excuse. - Lust and wine plead a pleasure, avarice gain; - But the cheap swearer, through his open sluice, - Lets his soul run for naught. - -Remembering in whose sight “lying lips are an abomination,” and the -sacredness of whose sanctuary is polluted by falsehood, he breaks forth -with indignant tone, - - Lie not, but let thy heart be true to God, - Thy mouth to it, thy actions to them both. - Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod. - The stormy working soul spits lies and froth; - Dare to be true—nothing can need a lie; - A fault which needs it most, grows two thereby. - -Extravagance, which is the grateful mother of debt, penury, and want; -which has desolated as many homes, withered as many hearts, and -destroyed as many lives as the sword, he thus rebukes: - - Never exceed thy income, youth may make - Even with the year; but age, if it will hit, - Shoots a bow short, and lessens still his stake - As the day lessens, and his life with it. - Thy children, kindred, friends upon thee call, - Before thy journey, fairly past with all. - -The dangers that wait on suretyship, and the madness of yielding to its -pressing importunities, are thus set forth: - - Yet be not surety, if thou be a father; - Love is a personal debt. I cannot give - My children’s right, nor ought he take it, rather - Both friends should die, than hinder them to live. - Fathers first enter bonds to nature’s ends, - And are her sureties, ere they are friends. - -The spirit in which we should enter the hallowed courts of the -sanctuary, is set forth thus: - - When once thy foot enters the church, believe - God is more there than thou, for thou art there - Only by his permission. Then beware, - And make thyself all reverence and fear. - Kneeling ne’er spoiled silk stockings; quit thy state, - All equal are within the church’s gate. - -Space will not permit us to make further extracts from “The Porch.” -Enough has been given to show its tone and character. The poems called -“The Temple,” thus introduced, are a series of devotional songs upon -sacred subjects, overflowing with ardent feeling, and manifesting the -existence of a piety as fervent as it is rare. - -In his verses on Prayer, we have an apt illustration of our author’s -style and devotional ardor. - - Prayer, the Church’s banquet, angels age, - God’s breath in man returning to his birth. - The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage, - The Christian’s plummet sounding heaven and earth. - -The quiet stillness of the Sabbath morn, and the blessings that -accompany it, call forth such verses as the following: - - Oh, day most calm, most bright, - The fruit of this, the next world’s bud, - Th’ indorsement of supreme delight, - Writ by a friend, and with his blood; - The couch of time, care’s balm, and bay; - The week were dark, but for thy light, - Thy torch doth show the way. - - Sundays the pillars are - On which Heaven’s palace arched lies; - The other days fill up the spare - And hollow room with vanities; - They are the fruitful beds and borders - In God’s rich garden; that is base - Which parts their ranks and orders. - - The Sundays of man’s life, - Threaded together on time’s string, - Make bracelets to adorn the wife - Of the eternal glorious king; - On Sundays Heaven’s door stands ope, - Blessings are plentiful and rife— - More plentiful than hope. - -In his verses styled “The Odour,” we have an exemplification of the -Poet’s love for his Divine Master, expressed with that fervency which -betokens the sincerity of his adoration. - - How sweetly doth my master sound! my master! - As ambergris leaves a rich scent - Unto the taster. - So do these words a sweet content, - An oriental fragrance—my master! - -The poem entitled “Christmas,” has considerable merit, the versification -is smoother, and the measure not so irregular as most of his poems, -while at the same time it is characterized by the same warmth of -devotional feeling, that is manifested in all. - - The shepherds sing, and shall I silent be? - My God, no hymn for thee? - My soul’s a shepherd, too; a flock it feeds - Of thoughts, and words, and deeds. - The pasture is thy word, the streams thy grace, - Enriching all the place. - Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers - Outsing the daylight hours. - -The little poem entitled “Jesu,” although it has neither the merit of -smoothness, or any poetical beauty, is strongly illustrative of the -purely saint-like piety of its author. Dr. Sanderson was enraptured with -this little production, and used to style it, “a gem of rare conceit.” -We see nothing in it, however, to warrant such praise; it certainly has -no poetic merit, and the conceit embodied in it, appears to be rude and -far-fetched. - - JESU. - - Jesu is in my heart, his sacred name - Is deeply carved there, but th’ other week, - A great affliction broke the little frame, - Ev’n all to pieces; which I went to seek; - And first I found the corner where was I, - After where es, and next where u was graved. - When I had got these parcels, instantly - I sat me down to spell them, and perceived - That to my broken heart, he was I ease you, - And to my whole is Jesu. - -Space will not permit us to make further extracts from these poems of -Herbert’s. Those that we have given, illustrate the pious ardor of the -subject of our sketch, while at the same time they give evidence of some -claim to take position with the minor poets of his day. His prose -compositions undoubtedly possess more merit than his poetical, and -clearly entitle him to rank with the best of his contemporaries. The -beautiful simplicity of the character of our poet, has never been -surpassed in any age. His disposition was of the most sweet and engaging -nature, adorned with all the graces of a most saint-like piety. “He -lived like a saint,” says his enthusiastic biographer, old Walton, “and -like a saint did he die.” The Sunday before his death, raising himself -from his bed, he called for his instrument, and having tuned it, played -and sung that verse from his poems, commencing, - - The Sundays of man’s life - Threaded together on time’s string, - Make bracelets to adorn the wife - Of the eternal, glorious king. - -Like the dying swan, - - As death darkened his eye and unplumed his wings, - His sweetest song was the last he sings. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE GIFT OF A ROSE. - - - BY GEORGE D. PRENTICE. - - - I send thee, Mary, a sweet young rose, - That bright with the hues of the sunset glows; - Its beauty, alas! is frail and brief, - It will come to thee with a withered leaf, - But the fervent kiss that my earnest lips - Have left for thee on its crimson tips, - Will not from the fading flower depart, - But come all fresh to thy lip and heart; - For oh, ’tis a breath of the love and trust - That will live when our lips and our hearts are dust. - - Mary, dear Mary, pray love this flower, - Let it have for thy heart a spell of power; - For I plucked it fresh from its lovely stalk, - On the blooming edge of that garden walk, - Where we strayed together so deeply blest, - When the sun was low in the golden west, - And murmured our loves in burning words, - With none to hear but the flowers and birds, - And lingered long on the dear, sweet spot, - While our warm hearts kissed, though our lips did not. - - Mary, dear Mary, my thoughts still cleave - To each memory sweet of that blessed eve, - To each tone more dear than the sweetest lute, - To each vow we breathed when our lips were mute, - To the wild, deep thrill through each trembling frame, - From fingers warmed with a pulse of flame, - To each gentle tear, to each gentle sob, - To each sigh that told of the heart’s deep throb, - Aye, these memories dwell in this soul of mine— - Oh, Mary dear, do they live in thine? - - Mary, dear Mary, I pray thee say, - Do the roses bloom where thy steps now stray? - Do they look at morn on the sky’s soft blue - Through the trembling tears of the early dew? - When I come to thee will they smile to greet - Thy lover’s steps with their perfume sweet? - Will they list at eve to our tender vows? - Will they weave their wreaths for our gentle brows? - And when at last we are doomed to part, - Will they breathe a sigh for each breaking heart? - - Mary, dear Mary, I fain would know, - Do thy heart’s sweet flowers keep their fresh young glow? - Are their eyes yet turned on the skies above? - Do they glitter still with the dews of love? - Has no blighting frost, has no bitter blast - Cold, cold o’er their buds and their blossoms past? - If my name is said, are their leaves yet stirred - To the olden thrill at the cherished word? - And say, oh say, will those dear, heart flowers, - Still bloom for me in the Eden bowers? - - * * * * * - - - - - AH, DO NOT SPEAK SO COLDLY. - - - Ballad. - - - WORDS BY - - FITZGERALD. - - MUSIC BY - - BENKERT. - - Published by permission of Edward L. Walker, 160 Chestnut Street. - - _Publisher and Importer of Music and Musical Instruments._ - -[Illustration] - - Ah! do not speak so coldly, - Cold words my heart will chill; - If I have lov’d too boldly, - Oh! let me worship still? - If - -[Illustration] - - I have lov’d too boldly, - Oh! let me worship still? - The pure heart loves forever, - To its own likeness true; - And though fate bids us sever - I’ll love I’ll love but you, - And though fate bids us sever - I’ll love I’ll love but you. - - SECOND VERSE. - - The heart will throb in sorrow - If from its idol torn. - Nor elsewhere joy will borrow, - If love’s return be scorn. - Then do not speak so coldly, - Cold words my heart will chill; - E’en if I’ve lov’d too boldly, - Oh! let me worship still, &c. - - * * * * * - - - - - TEAL AND TEAL SHOOTING. - - -BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF FRANK FORESTER’S “FIELD SPORTS,” “FISH - AND FISHING,” ETC. - - -[Illustration: THE GREEN-WINGED TEAL. (_Anas Carolinensis._) - -THE BLUE-WINGED TEAL. (_Anas Discors._)] - -In this present month, the sport of duck-shooting on the inland streams, -rivers, and lakelets, may be held to commence in earnest, as contrasted -to the pursuit of the same tribes on the outer bays, estuaries, and -surf-banks. About the end of September, and thenceforth through this and -the next ensuing month, according to the variations of the seasons, and -the longer or shorter endurance of that delicious time, the most -delicious and most gorgeous of the whole American year, known throughout -this continent as Indian Summer, the Mallard, and the two beautiful -species which we have placed at the head of this article, begin to make -their appearance on the little lakes of the interior, and in the various -streams and rivers which fall into them, and thence downward to the -Atlantic seaboard. - -In the vast northern solitudes of the great lakes of the northwest, in -all the streams of Upper Canada, even to the feeders of Lake Superior, -and throughout the western country so far south as Texas, and northward -to the Columbia and the fur countries, the Blue-Winged Teal breeds, -literally by myriads. Throughout the great lakes, it is abundant in the -early autumn, becoming excessively fat on the seed of the wild rice, -with which the shallows of all those waters are overgrown, and being -deservedly esteemed as one of the best, if not the very best, of the -duck tribe. But it is the first of its race to remove from the wild, -limpid waters, and wood-embosomed rivers of the great west, to the -seaboard tide-waters, taking the inland water-courses on their route, -rarely visiting the actual sea-shores, and proceeding on the occurrence -of the first frosts, for they are singularly susceptible of cold, to the -Southern States, where they swarm, especially in the inundated -rice-fields of Georgia and South Carolina, during the winter months. - -The Green-Winged Teal, which is the nearest congener, and frequently the -associate of the Blue-Wing, has a far less extensive range, so far as -regards its breeding-grounds, in as much as it never, so far as has been -satisfactorily shown, has nidificated or produced its young south of the -Great Lakes, nor even there in great numbers, its favorite haunts, for -the purposes of reproduction, being the extreme northern swamps and -wooded morasses almost up to the verge of the arctic circles. It does -not come down on its southward migration, at nearly so early a period of -the autumn as its congener, being less susceptible of cold, and tarrying -on the Great Lakes till the frosts set in with sufficient severity to -prevent its frequenting its favorite haunts with pleasure, or obtaining -its food with facility. It is rarely or never seen in the Middle States -during the summer, but is tolerably abundant during the autumn on all -the marshy lakes and pools, and along the shores of all the reedy rivers -from the great lakes downward to the sea-board, though, like the last -named species, it is purely a fresh-water duck, never frequenting the -sea-shores or salt bays, finding no food thereon with which to gratify -its delicate and fastidious palate, which, eschewing fish, the larvæ of -insects, and the lesser _crustaceæ_, relishes only the seeds of the -various water plants and grasses, the tender leaves of some vegetables, -and more especially the grain of the wild rice, _Zizania panicula -effusa_, which is its favorite article of subsistence, and one to which -may be ascribed the excellence of every bird of air or water which feeds -on it, from the Rice-Bird and the Rail, to the Teal, the Canvas-Back, -and even the large Thick-Billed _Fuligula_, closely allied to the -Scoter, the Velvet Duck, and other uneatable sea-fowl of Lake Huron, -which are scarcely, if at all, inferior to the Red Heads of Chesapeake -Bay, the Gunpowder, or the Potomac. On the Susquehanna and the Delaware, -both these beautiful little ducks were in past years excessively -abundant, so that a good gunner, paddling one of the sharp, swift skiffs -peculiar to those waters, was certain of filling his boat with these -delicious ducks within a few hours’ shooting. Both of these species are -rather tame than otherwise, the blue-winged bird more particularly, -which has a habit, on the lower waters of the Delaware especially, of -congregating on the mud in vast flocks, sunning themselves in the serene -and golden light of a September noon, so careless and easy of approach, -that the gunner is frequently enabled to paddle his skiff within a few -yards of them, and to rake them with close discharges of his heavy -batteries. At times, when the tide is out, and the birds are assembled -on the flats out of gunshot from the water’s edge, the thorough-going -sportsman, reckless of wet feet or muddy breeches, will run his skiff -ashore, several hundred yards above or below the flock, and getting -cautiously overboard, will push it before him over the smooth, slippery -mud-flats, keeping himself carefully concealed under its stern until -within gunshot, which he can sometimes reduce to so little as fifteen or -twenty yards, by this murderous and stealthy method. The Green-Winged -Teal is much less apt to congregate, especially on shore, than the -other, and consequently, affords less sport to the boat-shooter, keeping -for the most part afloat in little companies, or trips, as they are -technically called, very much on the alert, and springing rapidly on the -wing when disturbed. They, and the Blue-Wings also, fly very rapidly, -dodging occasionally on the wing, not unlike to a wild, sharp-flying -Woodcock, and when they alight, darting downward with a short, sudden -twist among the reeds or rushy covert, exactly after the fashion of the -same bird. - -The commoner and, in our opinion—where these birds are abundant either -along the courses of winding drains or streamlets, or in large reedy -marshes, with wet soil and occasional pools or splashes—far the more -exciting way of killing them is to go carefully and warily on foot, with -a good medium-sized double-gun, say of eight to ten pounds weight, and a -thoroughly well broke and steady spaniel, to retrieve and occasionally -to flush the birds, which will sometimes, though rarely, lie very hard. -A good sportsman will frequently, thus late in the autumn, when the -mornings are sharp and biting, and the noons warm and hazy, but before -the ice makes, pick up, on favorable ground, his eight or nine couple in -a day’s walking, with a chance of picking up at the same time a few -Snipe, Golden Plovers, Curlew, or Godwit; and this, in our mind, is -equal to slaughtering a boat load by sneaking up in ambush to within -twenty yards of a great company, whistling to make them lift their heads -and ruffle up their loosened plumage, so as to give easy entrance to the -shot, and then pouring into them at half point-blank range, a half pound -of heavy shot. - -In the southern States they are commonly taken, says Wilson, “in vast -numbers, in traps placed on the small dry eminences that here and there -rise above the water of the inundated rice fields. These places are -strewed with rice, and by the common contrivance called a figure four, -they are caught alive in hollow traps.” This we, of course, merely -mention as illustrative of the habits of the bird; for, of course, no -sportsman would dream of resorting to so worse than poacher-like a -proceeding. The mode described by the eloquent pioneer of American -natural history, is probably practised, for the most part, by the -negroes for the supply of their masters’ table, and furnishing their own -pockets with a little extra change, and is not used by the planters as a -means of sport or amusement. It must be remembered, also, that Wilson, -than whom there is no writer more to be relied on in matters which he -relates of his own knowledge, and as occurring in his own days, must -often be taken _cum grano salis_, as to the numbers of birds slain in -this way or that within a certain time—things which he records, -probably, on hearsay, and on which—we are sorry to say it—even good -sportsmen, men who on any other subject would scorn to deviate one -hair’s breadth from the truth, will not hesitate to draw a bow as long -and as strong as Munchausen’s. Again, he writes of times when sporting -was but little pursued, otherwise than as a method of procuring superior -food for the table, or for the purpose of destroying noxious vermin and -beasts of prey; when the rules of sportsmanship were little understood -and as little regarded; and, lastly, when game abounded to a degree -literally inconceivable in our day—although we have ourselves seen, -with sorrow, the diminution, amounting in many regions around our large -cities almost to extinction, of all birds and beasts—nay, but even fish -of chase, within the last twenty years. We must be careful therefore not -to charge exaggeration on a writer who, beyond a doubt, faithfully -recorded that which he himself saw and enjoyed in his day; which we -might see likewise and enjoy in our generation, and our children and -grand-children after us, if it were not for the greedy, stupid, selfish, -and brutal pot-hunting propensities of our population, alike rural of -the country and mechanical of the cities, which seems resolutely and of -set purpose bent on the utter annihilation of every species of game, -whether of fur, fin or feather, which is yet found within our -boundaries. - -In my opinion, the common error of all American fowlers and duck -shooters, lies, in the first place, in the overloading the gun -altogether, causing it to recoil so much as to be exceedingly -disagreeable and even painful, and in the same degree diminishing the -effect of the discharge; for it must never be forgotten that when a gun -recoils, whatever force is expended on the retrogressive motion of the -breech, that same force is to be deducted from the propulsion of the -charge. In the second place, he erroneously loads with extremely large -and heavy shot, the result of which is, in two respects, inferior to -that of a lighter and higher number. First, as there will be three or -four pellets of No. 4 for every one pellet of A or B in a charge, and, -consequently, as the load is thereby so much the more regularly -distributed, and so much the more likely to strike the object, and that -in several places more, in the ratio of three or four to one, than could -be effected by A’s or B’s. Second, as the flesh will constantly close -over the wound made by a small shot, so as to cause the bleeding to go -on internally to the engorgement of the tissues and suffocation by -hemorrhage; whereas the wound made by the large grain will relieve -itself by copious bleeding, and the bird so injured will oftentimes -recover, after having fallen even to the surface of the water, or lain -flapping, as it were, in the death-struggle on the blood-stained sand or -grassy hassocks. This fact has been well noticed, and several examples -adduced to prove its truth, by Mr. Giraud, in his exceedingly clear and -correct, though, to our taste, far too brief volume on the “Birds of -Long Island.” - -For my own use I invariably adopt for all the smaller species of -duck—as the two varieties of Teal, the Summer Duck, the Golden Eye, and -the Buffel-headed Duck, _Anates_, _Carolinensis_, _Discors_, _Sponsa_, -and _Fuligulæ_, _Clanguid_, and _Albeola_—the same shot which is -generally used for the various birds known on our shores and rivers as -bay-snipe, viz: No. 4 or 5—the latter best for the Plovers, the former -for duck, whether in large or small guns. In this relation I may observe -that, on one occasion—the only one, by the way, on which I ever saw a -green-winged teal in the summer season—I killed a couple of these -beautiful birds, right and left, while woodcock shooting, in Orange -County, New York, with No. 8 shot. They sprang quite unexpectedly from -behind a willow bush, on the Wuwayanda creek, and I dropped them both -quite dead, some what to my own astonishment, and to the utter -astounding of Fat Tom, who witnessed it, into the middle of the stream, -respectively at twenty and twenty-five yards distance. Until I recovered -them I supposed that they were young wood ducks, but on examination they -proved to be young green-winged teal, of that season, in their immature -plumage. This must have been in the last week of July or the first of -August—it was many years since, and as at that time I kept no shooting -diary, I unfortunately am unable to verify the exact date. The birds -must, I conclude, have been bred in that vicinity, by what means I -cannot conjecture, unless that the parent birds might have been wounded -in the spring, and disabled from completing their northern migration, -and that this, as is some times the case with the minor birds of -passage, might have superinduced their breeding in that, for them, far -southern region. In corroboration of this I may add that, in the spring -of 1846, a couple of these birds haunted a small reedy island in front -of my house, on the Passaic, to so late a day in summer—the 29th, if I -do not err, of May—that I sedulously avoided disturbing them, in the -hope that they would breed there. This I yet think would have been the -case but for the constant disturbance of that lovely river throughout -the summer by gangs of ruffianly loafers, with whom the neighboring town -of Newark abounds beyond any other town of its size in the known world, -boating upon its silvery surface day and night, and rendering day and -night equally hideous with their howls and blasphemies. - -Before proceeding to the description of these birds it is well to -observe that it will be found the better way, in approaching them, as -indeed _all_ wild fowl, to work, if possible, up wind to them; not that -wild fowl have the power, as some pretend, of scenting the odor of the -human enemy on the tainted gale, as is undoubtedly the case with deer -and many other quadrupeds, but that their hearing is exceedingly acute, -and that their heads are pricked up to listen, at the occurrence of the -least unusual sound, and at the next moment—_hey, presto!_—they are -off. - -The little cut at the head of this paper, for his spirited and faithful -execution of which the author and artist must be permitted to return his -acknowledgments to his friend, Mr. Brightly, represents a favorite -feeding ground of the various tribes of water fowl, as is indicated by -the large gaggle of geese passing over, from right to left, and the trip -of green-wings alighting to the call of a clamorous drake in the -background. On a rocky spur of the shore, in the right foreground, is a -male Green-Winged Teal, in the act of springing, with his legs already -gathered under him; and, still nearer to the front of the picture, on -the right, a Blue-Winged Drake, swimming on the limpid water, soliciting -his congener, with reverted neck, and the harsh gabble—whence his -name—to take wing and greet the new-comers—it being the object of the -draftsman to give an idea not merely of the markings and form of these -two most beautiful and graceful of the duck tribe, but of their motions, -the character of their flights, and the nature of their feeding grounds -and habitations. - -The head of the Green-Winged Teal is of moderate size and compressed; -the bill nearly as long as the head, deeper than broad at the base, -depressed at the tip; neck slender, of moderate length; body full and -depressed; wings rather small, feet short and rather far back. - -The plumage is short and blended; that of the hinder head and neck -elongated into a soft filamentous drooping crest. The bill is black; -iris hazel; feet light blue; head and upper part of neck bright chestnut -brown; a broad band of shining rich bottle-green, narrowings from the -eye backward and downward to the nape, margined below with black, -anterior to which is a white line; chin dusky brown. Upper parts and -flanks white, beautifully and closely undulated with narrow lines of -deep gray. Anterior to the wings is a broad transverse lunated white -bar—_this alone distinguishing the American from the European bird_. -The wing coverts, scapulars and quills gray. The speculum bright green -above, blue-black below, margined posteriorly with pure white. Tail -brownish gray, margined with paler brown. Lower part of the neck -undulated, like the back. Breast pale rufous, spotted and banded with -black; white below. Abdomen white, barred with gray. A black patch under -the tail; the lateral tail coverts tawny, the larger black, white-tipped -and margined. Length of male bird, 14¾.24. Female, 13¾.22½. - -The description and drawing of this bird are taken, by kind permission, -which the writer gratefully acknowledges, from a fine specimen in the -Academy of Natural Science of this city. - -The Blue-Winged Teal is rather larger than the above, the male measuring -16.31½, the female 15.24. - -The shape and proportions of this bird closely resemble those of the -latter, but in plumage it widely differs from it. The bill is blueish -black; iris dark hazel; feet dull yellow, webs dusky; upper part of the -head black, a semilunar patch of pure white, margined with black -anterior to the eye; the rest of the head and upper neck deep purplish -gray, with changeable ruddy reflections. The lower hind neck, back, -alula, and upper parts generally, rich chocolate brown, every feather -margined with paler tints, from reddish buff to pale reddish gray, with -black central markings, changing to metallic green in the centres. Upper -wing coverts rich ultra-marine blue, with a metallic lustre; the lower -parts pale reddish orange, shaded on the breast with purplish red, and -thickly spotted with roundish or eliptical black spots; axillary -feathers, lower wing coverts, and a patch on the side of the rump, pure -white; lower tail coverts brownish black. - -These, with the exception of the Buffel-Headed Duck, are the two -smallest; with the exception of the Summer Duck, the two loveliest; with -the exception of the Canvas-Back the two best of the duck tribe. Well -met be they, whether on the board or in the field—shot be they with No. -4—eaten roast, underdone, with cayenne and a squeeze of a lemon, -lubricated with red wine, _quantum suff._ - - * * * * * - - - - - THE FINE ARTS. - - - _Amateur Concerts—Difference between Stage Singing and Chamber - Singing—Effect produced by Stage Acting on the Manners and - Conversation in Private—Origin of the modern florid style of - singing—Conclusion._ - -Concerts are popular all over the Union, but in no other town are they -so successful and popular as in Philadelphia. We have here all kinds of -these entertainments, Ethiopian Concerts—Donation Concerts—Society -Concerts, such as the Musical Fund and Philharmonic—and pre-eminent -above all others, in point of fashion, Amateur Concerts. - -A small, good Opera Troupe, it is true, would be of more service to our -musical taste; for this hearing the works of great masters by bits, as -it were, is not of much benefit; however, so that we have music in some -manner is better than not to have it at all. - -The concerts of the past winter were all well attended; but the Amateur -Concerts were the favorites, and were, indeed, very successful. The -amateurs, both ladies and gentlemen, surprised their audiences; and -great praise is due to “_Maestro Perelli_.” We have heard some of them -execute pieces in a manner that would have done credit to a professional -singer. But while we admired, we felt a little disposed to remonstrate, -for one or two old-fashioned reasons. - -If they are really amateurs, and are training their voices for private -singing, are they not running a risk of injuring their style by singing -in public? - -In the olden times of vocal training, there was always a marked -difference made between public and private singing. So particular were -the old masters that they divided singing into three classes—church -singing, stage singing, and chamber singing. - -Church singing required a more simple manner, a more pure and severe -style, than stage singing; but the voice like that intended for the -stage, had to be strong and full, with great volume and power, and the -intonation clear and correct. There was not much difference between the -voices of the church and stage singer; that is, it was not thought that -either style injured the voice for the other, on the contrary, some of -the finest voices the Italian school has produced, have been trained in -church choirs, under the old chapel-masters. - -But there was always a marked and decided difference made between stage -singing and chamber singing. For the latter, it is necessary to have a -plain, simple manner, a clear, pure intonation, good articulation, and -great polish. The cadenzas and ornaments should be few, but of the most -exquisite style and finish. Strength and volume of voice are not so much -needed for the chamber singer, as delicacy of articulation and purity of -tone. - -Tone, in music as in painting, is mellowed by distance, and the singer -who wishes to produce a pleasing effect in the drawing-room, should bear -this in mind. It is as absurd to present in private a piece of music -executed in the ornamented, operatic style, as it would be to hang in a -cabinet or drawing-room, a large painting fitted for a church, a -gallery, or a theatre; or, to make another comparison, for an orator, a -public speaker, to entertain the guests of his drawing-room, with the -same loud tone, earnest rhetorical manner, and volume of voice, that he -used in the public assembly or town-meeting. - -The habit of singing in public will give to the private singer, a manner -and style which may sound very well in the concert-room, or on the stage -where they are mellowed by distance, and softened by an orchestra, but -this same manner and style will appear in private, coarse, violent, and -theatrical. There should be a difference between public and private -singing; both styles are beautiful, and equally effective in their way, -but they should be kept separate. - -It is well known that actors and actresses, in dressing for the stage, -are apt to lose that nice, delicate eye for color, which is required to -render a private costume pleasing; they become fond of strong contrasts, -bright colors, and ornaments which appear glaring and wanting in harmony -off the stage. Stage acting also affects the conversation, the tone of -voice, and manner of expression. We were much amused once with the witty -reply of a clever person, when asked why he did not admire a -distinguished actress he had met with in private. - -“She is too theatrical,” he said. “First she gives us a dash of tragedy -_à la_ Lady Macbeth, then comes a touch of genteel comedy _à la_ Lady -Teazle, which is very tiresome. One likes such exhibitions well enough -on the stage, but they are quite out of place in one’s drawing-room.” - -And thus it is with vocal music, to make it pleasing in society, or what -is better, in one’s home circle, it should be like drawing-room, or home -costume, home manner, conversation, reading—simple, pure, with few -ornaments, and those well chosen. - -Though these rules seem severe, they are not confining, for the -chamber-singer is not limited. The music of the great masters can be -produced in private, with great effect, in the same manner as all of us -have, doubtless, heard a good reader give in private circles, scenes -from Shakspeare and other dramatic poets. If the reader should present -to us in his reading, all the starts, the loud tones and energetic -manner required on the stage to produce an illusion, his reading would -create disgust in us, and we would listen unwillingly; but if, on the -contrary, he should read in a quiet manner, but with clear enunciation, -and good emphasis, leaving our imaginations and recollections to make up -the stage illusion, then, his reading would prove effective and -pleasing. - -Every vocalist knows that the graces and ornaments of a piece are -entirely independent of the melody. The musical student who has studied -the works of the old composers, will understand this better than the -amateur who has been confined to modern compositions. - -In the olden times more stress was laid upon the simple melody. Haydn -used to say, - -“Let your _air_ be good, and your composition will be so likewise, and -will assuredly please.” - -But in the present day, the air is almost forgotten in the rich -_rifioramenti_, and bewitching _capricci_ of the Italian singer, the -surprising _vocalization_ of the French, and the graces, shakes, and -turns of the English vocalist. - -We do not object to these adornments; when properly used, they produce a -pleasing effect—they break up the monotony of the melody; but any one -will see how necessary it is to have these adornments different in -different places. The graces, cadenzas, etc., which would be added to a -piece sung on the stage, should not be used in the drawing-room or in -the church, although the simple melody itself, may from its character do -very well for either place, if sung with appropriate ornaments. - -These elaborate, ornamental, vocal passages, which appear in modern -compositions, are not to be found in the old writers. They would have -considered it derogatory to the dignity of their melodies, to have -written out in them the _rifioramenti_ of the singer. - -We remember seeing, several years ago, some Italian copies and -manuscripts of compositions by Durante, Trajetta, Paisiello, and other -old Italian masters. They belonged to a singular, remarkable person, -then living in this country, Signor Trajetta, the son of the old Maestro -Trajetta, the master and companion of Sacchini. These compositions were -for the voice, and in looking over them, we were struck with their -bareness and severity. The airs were, many of them, pure, and full of -beautiful melody, but we could readily imagine that it would require a -very severe taste to listen to them without finding them monotonous, and -so we said. - -“Ah!” replied Trajetta’s pupil, as wild an enthusiast as his master, -“your taste has been spoiled and vitiated by modern music.” - -The present taste for florid execution was caused, it is said, by the -desire of the vocalists to rival the instrumental passages of the Opera. -During the time of Metastasio, the musicians, especially those of the -German school, so famous for instrumentation, overpowered the singers. -The struggle of the singers for the lead, caused Metastasio to make a -remark which would apply very well in this day—that the singers in an -Opera made _vocal concertos_ of their passages. - -Agujari turned her voice into a flute, and the capricious, bewitching -Gabrielli, the pet pupil of Porpora, astonished every one by her -wonderful _capricci_ and delicate chromatic passages. - -A love for the wonderful displays itself constantly in mixed audiences, -and they are more likely to applaud that which is surprising, rather -than that which is strictly good. This approbation is apt to dull the -taste of the singer who will forget or neglect good old rules, when by -outraging them, they secure applause. - -The taste for vocal gracing and adornment has increased to such a degree -that it would be almost impossible to present a composition of an old -master, or even of composers so late as Mozart, without adding to the -adornments of the original composition. Rossini, whose vocal -compositions in some places appear to consist only of connected phrases -of ornaments and gracings, so completely is the melody hidden by the -_cadenzas_, had two styles. His early style was chaste and simple; his -greatest opera, _Tancredi_, was written in this style, and the reader, -if familiar with Rossini’s works, has only to compare this beautiful -opera with one of his last compositions, _Semiramide_, to see the strong -contrast between the two styles of composition. His _L’Italiani in -Algeri_ and _Il Turco in Italia_, operas which contain some of his most -exquisite melodies, belong also to this simple style; but his more -popular operas, _Il Barbiere_, _La Cenerentola_, _Otello_, _La Gazza -Ladra_, _etc._, are in his later style, which is florid, not only in the -vocal parts, but also in the orchestral accompaniments; indeed, he -seemed to have attained the extreme of this florid style, but the -composers of the present time have gone far beyond him; for instance, -Verdi, whose compositions appear to be entirely made up of -_rifioramenti_, and while listening with amazement to the vocal feats -his singers perform, in executing his compositions, a good old-fashioned -lover of music is very apt to wonder if a melody really exists under all -these embellishments. - -There is an interesting account given in Stendhal’s Life of Rossini, -relative to his adoption of the florid style in composition. In 1814 he -went to Milan, to superintend the bringing out of his opera, -_L’Aureliano in Palmiro_. The principal tenore, Velluti, a very handsome -man, had a voice of great flexibility. At the first rehearsal, Velluti -sung his part in a manner that delighted the composer; at the second -rehearsal, the singer added some cadenzas, which Rossini applauded even -rapturously; at the third rehearsal, the original melodies of some of -the cavatinas seemed lost amid the luxurious profusion of vocal -ornaments; but at the first public representation of the opera the -singer added so many _fiorituri_, that Rossini exclaimed, “_Non conosco -più la mia musica!_”[7]; however, Velluti’s singing was well received by -the audience, and every vocal feat brought down thunders of applause. -The hint was not lost on Rossini. He observed that his opera had but -little success without Velluti, and he resolved in future to compose in -a different style. He would no longer remain at the mercy of the singer, -but write down in his score a sufficient number of embellishments, not -leaving room for the addition of a single _appogiatura_ by the singer. - -We have digressed from the original subject, dear reader, in order to -show that the _rifioramenti_ of a piece are mere additions, and also to -point out to the amateur the propriety of omitting startling and -surprising stage points, when presenting in private fine operatic -passages, and the nice, delicate taste that would be displayed in giving -more of the original melody, avoiding embellishments, using them only -where they seem absolutely necessary to break up the monotony of a -continuous strain, and render it more effective. - -We could give our other objection to this public singing of amateurs, -which objection applies more particularly to lady amateurs; but we have -chatted long enough already, and, moreover, our objection is decidedly -too old-fashioned to be talked about in these days, “of rights of men, -women and children;” therefore, we will suffer it to pass unmentioned, -trusting to the force of the one already given to convince you, at least -good reader. - - * * * * * - -OLD ’76 AND YOUNG ’48.—This is the title of a new picture by WOODVILLE, -received from Dusseldorf for the New York Art Union, which is to be -engraved for one of the future distributions of that association. The -_Mirror_ describes the picture as fully justifying the high opinion -formed of the young artist’s genius, and as placing his name in the -front rank of our American artists. The picture represents a young -soldier just returned from Mexico, travel-stained and wounded; he sits -at a table relating his adventures to his grandfather, “Old ’76,” while -his father and mother, and a group of colored servants, peeping in at -the door, are eagerly listening to the soldier’s rehearsal of his -battles. All the accessories of the picture are purely American, and -help to carry out the story; the portrait of the old man, painted in all -his rosy prime, the bust of Washington, the ornaments on the mantle, all -are in strict keeping; but it is in the individualities of character as -delineated in the countenances and actions of the different personages -that the genius of the artist is displayed; the old man, leaning on his -crutch, shaking his head with a mixed feeling of pride in his grandson’s -achievements, and a recollection of his own acts in the times that tried -men’s souls, is a triumph of the artist; the old fellow seems to be just -at the point of saying “O yes, my boy, all that is very well; you fought -bravely, no doubt, and General Taylor was a good soldier; but it’s -nothing to old ’76, and General Taylor ain’t Washington.” It is a most -successful effort. - - * * * * * - -MONUMENT TO PEEL.—The proposal to erect a national monument to Sir -Robert Peel, by subscriptions limited to one penny each person, will be -entirely successful. - ------ - -[7] “I don’t know my own music!” - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - - _Elementary Sketches of Moral Philosophy: Delivered at the Royal - Institution, in the years 1804, 1805 and 1806: By the late Rev. - Sidney Smith, M. A. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -Sidney Smith appears, in this volume, as an ethical and metaphysical -philosopher, and certainly ethics and metaphysics were never before made -so clear and so entertaining. Sharp, shrewd, sensible, witty, humorous, -eloquent, discriminating, the author goes on, from topic to topic, -analyzing and laughing, condensing maxims into epigrams, embodying -principles in sarcasms, eliciting jokes from abstractions; and after -making his reader laugh tears into his eyes and pains into his sides, -really leaves him in possession of more metaphysical knowledge than he -would get from Dugald Stewart. The mind of Sidney Smith was so beautiful -and brilliant, that men have done injustice to its depth and exactness. -He was really an accomplished belles-lettres scholar, a close reasoner, -a proficient in the philosophy of politics, morals and mind, as well as -a wit and humorist; and in one of the rarest gifts of reason, justness -and readiness in the conception of premises, he evinced equal force and -fertility. Besides all this, he was an honest, courageous, uncanting, -and disinterested man—loving and possessing goodness and virtue, hating -and denouncing wickedness and vice. His goodness had not the weak -diffusion which characterises the quality in the so-called “good -people;” but will and intellect condensed it into lightning, and -launched it at error and evil. It smiles sweetly, but it also smites -sharply; and no man is more worthy of contemptuous pity than the bigot, -dunce, libertine, professional rascal or knavish politician, who comes -within word-shot of Sidney’s indignation. - -There is no part of the present book which will not delight and instruct -the general reader; but the most original portions are those devoted to -practical remarks on mental diseases and to acute observations on minor -topics of the great subject. To all who know Sidney Smith’s writings it -is needless to add, that every idea in the volume is conceived and -stated clearly, and that the author’s ignorance in the higher regions of -his theme never seeks refuge in obscure terms, but is boldly, and some -times exultingly, acknowledged. Many of the great philosophers, and -especially the idealists and skeptics, are rather fleeringly disposed -of. Common sense is Sydney’s test; but common sense is hardly able to -grapple with Aristotle and Descartes, the greatest of metaphysicians; -and they are, therefore, praised for their power and ridiculed for its -perversion. The author’s peculiar felicity in making ludicrous -statements which operate with the force of arguments, is displayed -throughout the volume. “Bishop Berkeley,” he says, “destroyed this world -in one volume octavo, and nothing remained after his time but mind; -which experienced a similar fate from the hand of Mr. Hume, in 1737.” -Nothing could be more felicitous than this statement, considered as a -practical argument against the systems of the idealists and skeptics. -Again he says: “A great philosopher may sit in his study, and deny the -existence of matter; but if he take a walk into the streets he must take -care to leave his theory behind him. Pyrrho said there was no such thing -as pain; and he saw no _proof_ that there were such things as carts and -wagons; and he refused to get out of their way: but Pyrrho had, -fortunately for him, three or four stout slaves, who followed their -master without following his doctrine; and whenever they saw one of -these ideal machines approaching, took him up by the arms and legs, and, -without attempting to controvert his arguments, put him down in a place -of safety.” - -The passages on Aristotle are in a similar vein of pleasantry. “Some -writers,” he remarks, “say he was a Jew; others that he got all his -information from a Jew, that he kept an apothecary’s shop, and was an -Atheist; others say, on the contrary, that he did not keep an -apothecary’s shop and that he was a Trinitarian.” Further on he adds, -that Aristotle’s philosophy “had an exclusive monopoly granted to it by -the Parliament of Paris, _who forbad the use of any other in France_;” -and he goes on to compare the great Stagarite with Bacon, to the -manifest disadvantage of the former. After speaking of the triumphs of -the Baconian method, and the indebtedness of mankind to the vast -understanding of its author, he proceeds to remark, that to “the -understanding of Aristotle, equally vast, perhaps, and equally original, -we are indebted for fifteen hundred years of quibbling and ignorance; in -which the earth fell under the tyranny of words, and philosophers -quarreled with one another, like drunken men in dark rooms, _who hate -peace without knowing why they fight, or seeing how to take aim_.” Zeno, -the founder of the sect of the Stoics, is represented as a Cyprus -merchant, who had studied the writings of the most eminent Socratic -philosophers, and who, in the course of his mercantile pursuits, -“freighted a ship for Athens, with a very valuable cargo of Phœnician -purple, which he completely lost by shipwreck, on the coast near the -Piræus. A very acute man, who found himself in a state of sudden and -complete poverty in Athens, would naturally enough think of turning -philosopher, both as by its doctrines it inspired him with some -consolation for the loss of his Phœnician purple, and by its profits -afforded him some chance of subsistence without it.” Socrates, he says, -was the great father and inventor of common sense, “as Ceres was of the -plough and Bacchus of intoxication.” Two thousand years ago, he adds, -“common sense was not invented. If Orpheus, or Linus, or any of those -melodious moralists, sung, in bad verses, such advice as a grand-mamma -would now give to a child of six years old, he was thought to be -inspired by the gods, and statues and altars were erected to his memory. -In Hesiod there is a very grave exhortation to mankind to wash their -faces; and I have discovered a very strong analogy between the precepts -of Pythagoras and Mrs. Trimmer—both think that a son ought to obey his -father, and both are clear that a good man is better than a bad one.” - -Among the best lectures of the volume, both for sense and brilliancy, -are those on the “Conduct of the Understanding,” the “Faculties of -Animals and Men,” “Habit,” and “Wit and Humor.” In these Sydney Smith -exhibits both his power of rapid analysis and his power of clearly -perceiving the essential points of the subjects he discusses. The -lecture on the “Faculties of Animals and Men,” is a sort of humorous -philosophical poem in prose, the beauty of the humor being as striking -as its laughable quality. He commences with observing that he would do -no injustice to the poor brutes, especially as they have “no professors -to revenge their cause by lecturing on our faculties;” and he is so -perfectly satisfied with the superiority of men to animals, that he sees -no reason why he should not give the latter full credit for what “few -fragments of soul and tatters of understanding they may really possess.” -His settled opinion is, that baboons and blue apes will never rival -mankind in understanding or imagination, though he confesses that he has -sometimes felt a little uneasy at Exeter ’change, “from contrasting the -monkeys with the ’prentice boys who are teasing them;” but a few pages -of Locke, or a few lines of Milton, always restored him to his tranquil -belief in the superiority of man. He then proceeds to give a humorous -statement of the various opinions held by philosophers on the physiology -of brutes, emphasising especially the theory of Père Bougeant, a Jesuit, -that each animal is animated by a separate and distinct devil; “that not -only this was the case with respect to cats, which have long been known -to be very favorite residences of familiar spirits, but that a -particular devil swam with every turbot, grazed with every ox, soared -with every lark, dived with every duck, and was roasted with every -chicken.” Smith then goes on to define and illustrate instinct, with an -analysis as fine as the humor is exquisite. Instinct he considers as an -animal’s unconscious use of means which are subservient to an end, in -contradistinction to reason, which is a conscious use of those means and -a perception of their relation to the end. The examples are all stated -in Smith’s peculiar manner. It would take, he says, “a senior wrangler -at Cambridge ten hours a day, for three years together, to know enough -mathematics for the calculation of these problems, with which not only -every queen bee, but every _under-graduate grub_, is acquainted the -moment it is born.” - -The general conclusion of Smith, with regard to insects and animals, is -the common one, that their instincts and faculties all relate to this -world, and that they have, properly speaking, no souls to be saved. But -this position he states, illustrates and defends with more than ordinary -metaphysical acuteness. If the discussion were not so sparklingly -conducted, it would strike the reader as very able analysis and -reasoning; but the mirthful fancy with which the whole is adorned, -satisfies of itself, and seems to claim no additional praise for the -argument it illustrates. The delicious sympathy of the humorist for all -grades of being peeps out on every page, and no insect or animal is -referred to without being lifted into the comic ideal. Thus he remarks -that nature seems on some animals to have bestowed vast attention, “_and -to have sketched out others in a moment, and turned them adrift_. The -house-fly skims about, perches upon a window or a nose, breakfasts and -sups with you, lays his eggs upon your white cotton stockings, runs into -the first hole in the wall when it is cold, and perishes with as much -unconcern as he lives.” Again, in speaking of that superiority of man -over animals which comes from his longevity, he remarks: “I think it is -Helvetius who says he is quite certain we only owe our superiority over -the ourang-outangs to the greater length of life conceded to us; and -that, if our life had been as short as theirs, they would have totally -defeated us in the competition for nuts and ripe blackberries. I can -hardly agree to this extravagant statement; but I think in a life of -twenty years the efforts of the human mind would have been so -considerably lowered, that we might probably have thought Helvetius a -good philosopher, and admired his skeptical absurdities as some of the -greatest efforts of the human understanding. Sir Richard Blackmore would -have been our greatest poet, our wit would have been Dutch, our faith -French, the Hottentots would have given us the model for manners, and -the Turks for government.” He then adds that man’s gregarious nature is -another cause of his superiority over all other animals. “A lion lies -under a hole in the rock, and if any other lion happen to pass by they -fight. Now, whoever gets a habit of lying under a hole in a rock, and -fighting with every gentleman who passes near him, cannot possibly make -any progress.” - -The lecture on “Wit and Humor” is, perhaps, the most brilliant of all; -but, though the definitions are keenly stated and the distinctions -nicely drawn, we suppose that even Sidney Smith, fine wit and humorist -as he is, has not settled the matter. It appears to us that the -difficulty consists in considering wit and humor as distinct powers, -instead of viewing them as modifications of other powers. The mental -peculiarities which distinguish wit and humor are qualities equally of -fancy and imagination. The difference is emotional, not intellectual; in -sentiment, not in faculty. A man whose sentiment and feeling of the -ludicrous is predominant, will naturally make his intellectual powers -serve his mirthful tendencies. If he has a lively fancy he will be a -wit; if he has a creative imagination he will be a humorist. We should -say, generally, that wit was fancy and understanding, directed by the -sentiment of mirth; and that humor was imagination and understanding, -directed by the same sentiment. It will be found, we think, in all -ingenious and creative minds, that their peculiar direction depends -altogether on sentiment. Sometimes imagination is exercised in a -department of thought or action so far removed from the fine arts, that -we can hardly recognize the power in its direction. In metaphysics, in -mathematics, in government, war and commerce, we often come in contact -with thinkers of vast imaginations, who still may despise poets and -artists, and be heartily despised by them. If a change in the form and -purpose of imagination thus appears, to many minds, to change its -qualities, and to demand new definitions, we need not wonder at the -popular reluctance to admit wits and humorists into the band of poets, -though fancy and imagination be equally their characteristics. - -Although our notice of this delightful volume has extended beyond the -space we can properly allow it, we take leave of its wise and witty -pages with regret, heartily commending it to the leisure hours of every -man who can relish vivid argument and brilliant good sense. - - * * * * * - - _Confessions of an English Opium Eater, and Suspiria de - Profundis. By Thomas De Quincy, Boston: Wm. D. Ticknor & Co. 1 - vol. 12mo._ - -Thomas de Quincy has been well known during the last twenty years, not -only as the author of “Confessions of an English Opium Eater”, but as a -prominent contributor of able, thoughtful, and eloquent articles to -Blackwood’s Magazine, and other British periodicals. The publishers of -the present volume intend to follow it up with others, containing the -best of his many remarkable historical, biographical, and critical -papers. When completed, the series will constitute a body of thought -which no student’s library can well be without, for the author’s -learning extends over widely separated departments of literature and -science, and in each he has proved himself capable of throwing out those -suggestive thoughts which take root in the reader’s mind, and bear -fruit. A resolute, inquisitive, and reflective student, richly dowered -with understanding and imagination, and exercising great dominion over -the harmonies and subtilties of expression, De Quincy has been prevented -from producing little more than colossal fragments of thought, by the -mastery obtained over his will by opium, and the contemptuousness of -disposition which that habit provokes for calm, orderly, systematic -works. He is dogmatic, negatively as well as positively. It is natural -that a man who obtains glimpses of grand truths and magnificent systems, -through artificial stimulants, should disdain the sober realizations of -consecutive and industrious thought, wanting all that misty magnificence -which clothes things viewed in the waking dreams of the opium eater. But -egotist and dogmatist as he is, he is still a resolute thinker, whose -mind, busy with all the problems of society and philosophy, is -continually startling us with novel thoughts and splendid rhetoric. - -In the first part of the “Confessions” there is one passage, describing -a dream inspired by opium, which we cannot resist the temptation to -extract, as it is one of the sublimest in English prose. “The dream,” he -says, “commenced with a music which now I often heard in dreams—a music -of preparation and awakening suspense; a music like the opening of the -Coronation Anthem, and which, like _that_, gave the feeling of a vast -march, of infinite cavalcades filing off, and the tread of innumerable -armies. The morning was come of a mighty day—a day of crisis and of -final hope for human nature, then suffering some mysterious eclipse, and -laboring in some dread extremity. Somewhere, I knew not where—somehow, -I knew not how—by some beings, I knew not whom—a battle, a strife, an -agony, was conducting—was evolved, like a great drama, or piece of -music; with which my sympathy was the more insupportable from my -confusion as to its place, its cause, its nature, and its possible -issue. I, as is usual in dreams, (where we make ourselves central to -every movement,) had the power, and yet had not the power, to decide it. -I had the power, if I could raise myself, to will it; and yet again had -not the power, for the weight of twenty Atlantics was upon me, or the -oppression of inexpiable guilt. ‘Deeper than ever plummet sounded,’ I -lay inactive. Then, like a chorus, the passion deepened. Some greater -interest was at stake; some mightier cause than ever yet the sword had -pleaded, or trumpet had proclaimed. Then came sudden alarms; hurryings -to and fro; trepidations of innumerable fugitives. I knew not whether -from the good cause or the bad, darkness and light, tempest and human -faces, and at last with the sense that all was lost, female forms, and -the features that were worth all the world to me, and but a moment -allowed—and clasped hands, and heart-breaking partings, and -then—everlasting farewells! and, with a sigh such as the caves of hell -sighed when the incestuous mother uttered the abhorred name of death, -the sound was reverberated—everlasting farewells! and again, and yet -again reverberated—everlasting farewells!” - -“Suspiria de Profundis,” the conclusion of the Confessions, occupies -about as much space as the original work, and has now, for the first -time, been connected with it in the same volume. The style of the -conclusion is even more majestic, visionary and resounding than the -first portion, and is full of thrilling pictures and Macbeth “sights.” -We hope that this volume will meet with a success so marked, as to -induce the publishers to issue the remaining volumes of De Quincey’s -miscellanies in rapid succession. - - * * * * * - - _Life and Letters of Thomas Campbell, Edited by William Beattie; - M. D., one of his Executors, New York: Harper & Brothers, 2 - vols. 12mo._ - -Dr. Beattie’s work cannot take a high place in biographical literature, -as far as it is to be judged by his own power of thinking and writing. -He has, properly speaking, no conception of Campbell’s character; and -the passage from one of his statements to the letter or anecdote which -he adduces in its support, will indicate this to the least reflecting -reader. Were it not for the richness of his materials his work would not -be worth reprinting; but it has great value and interest from the number -and variety of the private letters it contains. Campbell’s -correspondence, though it evinces much nervous weakness of mind and a -sensitiveness of vanity easily elated or depressed, has a peculiar -raciness which wins and rewards attention; and, in addition to its own -excellent qualities of wit and fancy, which delight of themselves, it -furnishes much information relating to the literary men of the last -fifty years. - -Mr. Irving has written a very pleasing introduction to these volumes, -characteristic equally of his delicacy, his good nature and his -discrimination, and embodying several new anecdotes of Campbell. He says -that Beattie’s life “lays open the springs of all his actions and the -causes of all his contrariety of conduct. We now see the real -difficulties he had to contend with in the earlier part of his literary -career; the worldly cares which pulled his spirit to the earth whenever -it would wing its way to the skies; the domestic affections, tugging at -his heart-strings even in his hours of genial intercourse, and -_converting his very smiles into spasms_; the anxious days and sleepless -nights preying upon his delicate organization, producing that morbid -sensibility and nervous irritability which at times overlaid the real -sweetness and amenity of his nature, and obscured the unbounded -generosity of his heart.” This praise, of course, must be considered due -to the “Letters” rather than the “Life” of Campbell. - -Lord Jeffrey, in a letter to Campbell, on the subject of “Gertrude of -Wyoming,” very felicitously indicates the prominent faults of that -exquisite poem, and of Campbell’s general artistic method. “The most -dangerous faults,” he says, “are your faults of diction. There is a good -deal of obscurity in many passages—in others a strained and unnatural -expression—an appearance of labor and hardness; you have hammered the -metal in some places till it had lost all its ductility. These are not -great faults, but they are blemishes; and as dunces will find them -out—noodles will see them when they are pointed to. I wish you had -courage to correct, or rather to avoid them, for with you they are -faults of over-finishing, and not of negligence. I have another fault to -charge you with in private—for which I am more angry with you than for -all the rest. Your timidity, or fastidiousness, or some other knavish -quality, will not let you give your conceptions glowing, and bold, and -powerful, as they present themselves, but you must chasten, and refine, -and soften them, forsooth, till half their nature and grandeur is -chiseled away from them.” - -An interesting feature in this biography is the number of poems it -contains not included in any edition of Campbell’s works, and the -original drafts it gives of many of Campbell’s well-known productions. -The “Battle of the Baltic” originally contained twenty-seven stanzas, -and in that shape was enclosed in a letter to Scott. We extract a -specimen of the omitted verses: - - Not such a mind possessed - England’s tar; - ’Twas the love of nobler game - Set his oaken heart on flame, - For to him ’twas all the same, - Sport or war. - - All hands and eyes on watch - As they keep; - By their motion light as wings, - By each step that haughty springs, - You might know them for the kings - Of the deep! - - ’Twas the Edgar first that smote - Denmark’s line; - As her flag the foremost soared, - Murray stamped his foot on board, - And a hundred cannons roared - At the sign! - -This Life of Campbell, and the Life of Southey, now in course of -publication by the same house, are the best literary biographies we have -had since The Life of Mackintosh, edited by his Son. We wish the Harpers -would reprint the latter, as there has been no complete American edition -of it ever published. It contains more matter than any similar work -since Moore’s Life of Byron. - - * * * * * - - _The National Cook Book. By a Lady of Philadelphia, a Practical - Housewife. Philada.: Robert E. Peterson. 1 vol. 12 mo._ - -This is, on all sides, admitted to be the very best of the many cook -books that have been issued by the press of late years. The editor, be -she whom she may, understands the art of preparing a delicious meal, of -any material, it seems, and our taste has passed favorable judgment upon -a fruit cake of most inviting look, and of quality the best. A lady, in -whose judgment we have the most unbounded confidence, pronounces this -“the only cook book worthy of a housekeeper’s perusal.” - -Next to the intellectual feast, which is spread before the reader of -Graham each month, we suppose, will come a snug breakfast, a glorious -good dinner, or a cozy, palate-inviting supper of birds, with mushrooms. -Now, without Peterson’s Cook Book, the meal cannot be perfection. Of -this we feel convinced. - - * * * * * - - _The Gallery of Illustrious American Daguerreotypes by Brady. - Engraved by D’Avignon. Edited by C. Edwards Lester, assisted by - an Association of Literary men. 205 Broadway, New York._ - -We have received the sixth number of this truly national work—the first -and second we have before this noticed. The third, fourth and fifth -numbers the publishers have omitted to send us. As we have before -stated, this is a publication of great merit, and cannot fail to attract -a liberal encouragement both in this country and abroad. The portraits -are executed with wonderful fidelity, and are the best specimens of the -lithographic art we have ever seen. Mr. Brady deserves much praise for -his exact and skillful daguerreotypes, from which D’Avignon has produced -these masterly “counterfeit presentments” of our great national -characters. The selection from our living worthies have been well made. -The publishers have not confined themselves to the faces of our elder -public men long familiar in the print shops, but they have well chosen -alike from the old and the young—those who have been long famous by -past services, and those whose genius and precocious merit have excited -a keen interest and a just pride in the heart of every American. This -number is adorned by a life-like portrait of Col. Fremont; and the -editor, Mr. Lester, has in this, as he has in those numbers which have -preceded it, and which have been sent to us, given a brief and pointed -sketch of the marvelous youth whose adventures in the camp of science -outstrips the wildest tales of romantic daring. A work like this must -prosper. - - * * * * * - - _The History of the Confessional. By John Henry Hopkins, D. D., - Bishop of the Diocese of Vermont. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 - vol. 12mo._ - -Dr. Hopkins is already well known as an Episcopalian writer of much -merit and erudition, and the present work will add considerably to his -reputation. It is acute, learned, and clear, going patiently over the -whole historical ground of the dispute between the Church of England and -the Church of Rome, and singularly candid and dispassionate in its tone -and in its substance. We rarely see, in a controversialist, such decided -opinions, in connection with so much intellectual conscientiousness. - - * * * * * - - _Doctor Johnson; His Religious Life and his Death. New York: - Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -This volume is evidently the production of some individual whose -ambition to write a book was far greater than his ability to write a -good one; the result is a compilation from Boswell’s Life of Johnson, -made up from its most valueless and uninteresting portions, without the -addition of any thing of importance by the compiler. Dr. Johnson, in his -own time, had no power of communicating any of his own intellectual or -moral life to his mental sycophants; and, judging from the present -volume, we should suppose that this power was still wanting in his -writings. - - * * * * * - - _The Pillars of Hercules; or a Narrative of Travels in Spain and - Morocco, in 1848. By David Urquhart, Esq., M. P. New York: - Harper & Brothers. 2 vols. 12mo._ - -Of all the volumes of travels lately issued, this appears to us the most -independent and intelligent. The author gives a new view of the social -condition of Spain, and states some facts and opinions calculated to -make us re-examine the notions commonly held of Spanish affairs. He is -an acute observer of men, a scholar, a politician versed in the -practical details of legislation and government, and a man who sees, -feels, and thinks for himself. To those who have read Barrow and Ford -the work will have great attractions. - - * * * * * - -EDGAR A. POE.—We have on hand several articles, from leading writers of -the country, upon the life and character of Edgar A. Poe, which we will -find room for in the December number, in which we shall give an extra -form, for the purpose of putting before the country these generous -tributes to the dead poet and critic. The causticity of several of them -will not be particularly relished by his immaculate defamers, who busy -themselves in raking up his ashes to expose his defects to the gaze of -the world. - - * * * * * - -A DESERVED HONOR.—We see that at the late commencement of the Miami -University, Ohio, the degree of LL. D. was conferred upon Professor John -S. Hart, of the Philadelphia High School. It is a compliment very -properly bestowed, and from an Institution which renders the honor of -value. - - * * * * * - -THE LAST CHANCE.—We desire to impress upon the attention of the -subscribers to “Graham,” that if they desire our elegant Premium Plates, -they should now remit either $3 for one year, or $5 for two years, or -for two copies one year. In either case we furnish each subscriber _thus -sent_, “_Christ Blessing Little Children_,” and “_The First -Prayer_”—two beautiful engravings of large size. - -_After the first of November_, the plate will be disposed of, and no -premiums will thereafter be sent from this office. - - * * * * * - -OUR PARIS FASHIONS.—Every mail brings us congratulations upon the -superior finish and beauty of our Paris Fashion Plates. Our friends have -opened their eyes to the fact, that “Graham” is the only magazine in -America that incurs the expense of _original_ designs. All others are -copies of the French plates, poorly done, and insufferably old. We -should not mention the matter, but that efforts are made to deceive the -magazine public by silly and unfounded boasting. The expense, which is -several hundred dollars _extra_ each month, we cheerfully incur for the -liberal subscribers to this magazine, whose cultivated taste would soon -detect the bold impositions practiced upon others. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: - -LE FOLLET Paris, boul^{t}. S^{t}. Martin, 69. -Chapeaux M^{lle}. Grafeton, r. de la Paix, 24—Fleurs de Chagot ainé, r. - Richelieu, 73. -Pardessus de la mais^{n}. S^{t}. Arnaud–Dentelles de Violard, r. Choiseul, - 4. -The styles of Goods here represented can be had of Mess^{rs}. L. J. 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 202, and geologial descriptions ==> and geological descriptions -page 203, amidst the minosas ==> amidst the mimosas -page 204, when a bark ascending ==> when a barque ascending -page 212, conquest of of Shivas ==> conquest of Shivas -page 215, His bark stranding ==> His barque stranding -page 216, safe and and sound ==> safe and sound -page 225, there are Bachinalian ==> there are Bacchanalian -page 225, genii and faries ==> genii and fairies -page 226, within many degress ==> within many degrees -page 228, among the lowley ==> among the lowly -page 228, The hundreth psalm ==> The hundredth psalm -page 229, shame to doggrel ==> shame to doggerel -page 230, an argent bark ==> an argent barque -page 231, what commisseration he ==> what commiseration he -page 234, And now its ==> And now it’s -page 236, added: [_To be continued._ -page 239, laughed and teazed ==> laughed and teased -page 241, its splendid to be ==> it’s splendid to be -page 241, Blanch Forrester went ==> Blanche Forrester went -page 241, delicious _Scottische_ ==> delicious _Schottische_ -page 250, vaticanam Bodleianamgue ==> vaticanam Bodleianamque -page 250, Onicus est nobis ==> Unicus est nobis -page 253, As ambegris leaves ==> As ambergris leaves -page 258, fowl have the the power ==> fowl have the power -page 260, Pasiello, and other ==> Paisiello, and other -page 260, OLD ’76 AND YOUNG ’47. ==> OLD ’76 AND YOUNG ’48. -page 261, near the Piraus ==> near the Piræus -page 263, delight of themselvs ==> delight of themselves - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXVII, No. 4, -October 1850, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 1850 *** - -***** This file should be named 54031-0.txt or 54031-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/0/3/54031/ - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net from -page images generously made available by Google Books and -the Los Angeles Public Library Visual Collections - -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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