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diff --git a/old/54032-0.txt b/old/54032-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1ff79c8..0000000 --- a/old/54032-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7909 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXVII, No. 5, -November 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. 5, November 1850 - -Author: Various - -Editor: George Rex Graham - -Release Date: January 20, 2017 [EBook #54032] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, NOVEMBER 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. November, 1850. NO. 5. - - - Table of Contents - - Fiction, Literature and Articles - - Enchanted Beauty. A Myth. - The Vision of Mariotdale - Tamaque - The Sunflower - Minnie de la Croix - Pedro de Padilh - Nettles on the Grave - Familiar Quotations From Unfamiliar Sources - Two Crayon Sketches - Quail and Quail Shooting - Review of New Books - Editorial. To Rev. Rufus Wilmot Griswold - - Poetry, Music, and Fashion - - Hylas - Sorrow - Sonnet.—Moral Strength. - The Reconciliation - Unhappy Love - The Wife’s Last Gift - I Dreamed - Theodora - Charlotte Corday - Sonnet—To Arabella, Sleeping - The Spectre Knight and His Ladye-Bride - To L——. with Some Poems - Wordsworth - Le Follet - - Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: THE ANGEL’S WHISPER.] - - * * * * * - - GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE. - - VOL. XXXVII. PHILADELPHIA, November, 1850. NO. 5. - - * * * * * - - - - - ENCHANTED BEAUTY. A MYTH. - - -The mythologies, in which the faiths, philosophies and fancies of the -world have taken form, have such truth and use in them that they endure, -under corresponding changes, through the reformations of creeds and -modifications of ceremony which mark the history of natural religion -throughout all ages and countries. The essential unity of the race, its -kindred constitution of mind and affections, its likeness of instincts, -passions and aspirations, naturally account for the under-lying -agreement in principles, and central similarity of beliefs, which are -traceable clean through, from the earliest to the most modern, and from -the most polished and elaborate eastern to the rudest northern opinions; -and the nice transitions of doctrine from the infancy to the maturity of -faith and philosophy, are marked by an answering variance in their -significant ceremonials. But, however mingled and marred, the inevitable -truth is imbedded in all the forms of fable, and, under an invariable -law of mind, the inspirations of fancy correspond in essentials to the -oracles of revelation, just because human nature is one, and its -relations to all truth are fixed and universal. - -Creeds and formulæ, like the geological crusts of the earth, at once -retain and record the revolutions, disintegrations, intrusions and -submersions from which they result. In the long succession of epochs -whole continents have risen from the deep, and the vestiges of the most -ancient ocean are found upon the modern mountain tops; promontories have -been slowly washed away by the ceaseless waves, and new islands have -shot up from the ever-heaving sea. Through the more recent crusts the -primitive formations frequently crop out upon the surface of the -present, and the comparatively modern, in turn, is often found -fossilized beneath the most ancient; dislocated fragments are -encountered at every step, and icebergs, from the severer latitudes, are -found floating far into the tropical seas. Nevertheless, through all -changes of system, revolution has been ever in the same round of -celestial influences and relations, and the alterations of form and -structure have been only so many different mixtures of unchanging -elements, from the simple primitives to the rich composite moulds, into -which the waters, winds and sun-light have, in the lapse of ages, -modified them. The constancy of essential principles, through all -mutations of systematic dogmas, is strikingly analagous. The law of -adaptation links the material globe and the rational race which occupies -it in intimate relations, and the universal unity in the great scheme of -being establishes such correspondences of organisms and processes with -ideas and ends, that the symbolisms of poetry and mythology are really -well based in the truth of nature, and the essential harmonies of all -things are with equal truth, under various forms, embraced by fiction -and fact, fable and faith, superstition and enlightened reason. - -“The true light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world;” -“the grace that hath appeared unto all men;” and “the invisible things -of the Creator, clearly seen and understood by the things which are -made,” are propositions which have the formal warrant of our sacred -books to back the authority of logical demonstration. Moreover, it is -pleasant and profitable to believe that “He hath not left himself -without a witness” among any of the tribes of men. The human -_brotherhood_ is so involved in the divine fatherhood, that the -individual’s hold on the infinite and eternal must stand or fall with -the universality of His regards and providence. If Canaan had been -without a “Prophet of the Most High,” if Chaldea had been left without -soothsayer and seer, and classic Greece and Rome destitute of oracles -and Sibylline revelations, the Jewish theology and the Christian -apocalypse would stand unsupported by “the analogy of faith,” and our -highest hopes would be shifted from the broad basis of an impartial -benevolence, to a narrow caprice of the “Father of all Men.” But, -happily, the sympathies of nature, the deductions of reason, and the -teachings of the Book, are harmonious on this point, for we find -Melchisedec, who could claim no legal or lineal relation to the -Levitical priesthood, the chosen type of the perpetual “High Priest of -our profession;” and Balaam, notwithstanding his heathen birth, and -ministry among the Canaanites when their cup of iniquity was full; and -the eastern Magi, who brought their gifts from afar among the Gentiles, -to the new-born “King of the Jews,” all alike guided by the same light, -and partakers and fellow-laborers in the same faith, with the regular -hierarchy of Mount Zion. So, the Star of Jacob is the “desire of -nations,” and the heart and hope of the wide world turneth ever toward -the same essential truth, and strive after it by the same instinct -through a thousand forms, “if haply they may find it.” - -The religious system of the Jews and Chaldeans agreed, with wonderful -exactness, in the doctrine of angelic beings and their interposition in -the affairs of men. The superintendence of the destinies of nations and -individuals, and the allotment of provinces, kingdoms and families among -these ministering spirits, are as distinctly taught in the book of -Daniel of the old testament, and in the gospel of St. Matthew of the -new, as in the popular beliefs of the Arabians and Persians; indeed, the -Bible sanction is general, particular, and ample, for the doctrine of -angelic ministry as it has been held in all ages and throughout the -world. - -The order and organization of these celestial beings, among whom the -infinite multiplicity of providential offices is thus distributed, -falling within the domain of marvelousness and ideality, of course, took -the thousand hues and shapes which these prismatic faculties would -bestow; and in the various accommodations and special applications of -the doctrine, it naturally grew complicated, obscure, and sometimes even -incoherent; but in all the confusion of a hundred tongues, kindreds and -climates, a substantial conformity to a common standard is apparent -enough to prove the identity of origin and the fundamental truth common -to them all. - -It is to introduce one of these remarkable correspondences that these -reflections are employed. - -Fairy tales, it is said by encyclopedists, were brought from Arabia into -France in the twelfth century, but this can only mean that that was the -epoch of the exotic legends. In England, if they were not indigenous, -they certainly were naturalized centuries before Chaucer flourished; and -they were as familiar as the catechism, and almost as orthodox, when -Spencer, wrote his Fairy Queen, and Shakspeare employed their agency in -his most exquisite dramas. But their date is, in fact, coeval with -tradition, and earlier than all written records, and their origin is -without any necessary locality, for they spring spontaneously from faith -in the supernatural. They are inseparable from poetry. The priesthood of -nature, which enters for us the presence of the invisible and converses -familiarly with the omnipresent life of the creation, recognizes the -administration of an ethereal hierarchy in all the phenomena of -existence; they serve to impersonate the spiritual forces, which are -felt in all heroic action, and they graduate the responsive sympathies -of Heaven to all the supernatural necessities of humanity. The live soul -can make nothing dead; it can take no relation to insensate matter; it -invests the universe with a conscious life, answering to its own; and an -infinite multitude of intermediate spirits stand to its conceptions for -the springs of the universal movement. Rank upon rank, in spiral ascent, -the varied ministry towers from earth to heaven, answering to every -need, supporting every hope, and environing the whole life of the -individual and the race with an adjusted providence, complete and -adequate. In the great scale, place and office are assigned for spirits -celestial, ethereal and terrestrial, in almost infinite gradation. The -highest religious sentiments, the noblest styles of intellect and -imagination, and the lower and coarser apprehensions of the invisible -orders of being, are all met and indulged by the accommodating facility -of the system. - -The race of Peris of Persia, and Fairies of western Europe, hold a very -near and familiar relation to the every day life of humanity, by their -large intermixture of human characteristics and the close resemblance -and alliance of their probationary existence and ultimate destiny to the -life and fortunes of men. A commonplace connection with ordinary affairs -and household interests constitutes the largest part of the popular -notion of them; and their interferences among the vulgar are almost -absurd and ludicrous enough to impeach the earnestness of the -superstition; but our best poets have shown them capable of very noble -and beneficent functions in heroic story. Like our own various nature, -they are a marvellous mixture of the mighty and the mean, the -magnanimous, the malignant and the mirthful; they stand, in a word, as -our own correspondents in a subtler sphere, and serve to illustrate, by -exaggerating, all that is true and possible in us, but more probable of -them—our own shadows lengthened, and our own light brightened into a -higher life. In some countries the legends are obscure, in others clear; -but they all agree well enough in ascribing their origin to the -intermarriage of angels with “the daughters of men,” and that they are -put under penance and probation for the recovery of their paradise. So, -like our own race, they have fallen from a higher estate; their natures -are half human, and their general fortunes are freighted on the same -tide. - -The nursery tale of the Sleeping Beauty will serve capitally to -illustrate our theme. Handed down from age to age, and passed from -nation to nation, through the agency of oral tradition chiefly, it has -of course taken as many shapes as the popular fancy could impart to it; -but the essential points, seen through all the existing forms, are -substantially these: - -A grand coronation festival of a young queen abruptly opens the story. -The state room of the palace is furnished with Oriental magnificence. -The representatives of every order, interest and class in the -kingdom—constructively the whole community—are present to witness and -grace the scene. The fairies who preside over the various departments of -nature, and the functions and interests of society, are assembled by -special invitation to invoke the blessings and pledge the favors of -their several jurisdictions to the opening reign. The ceremony proceeds; -the young queen is crowned; the priest pronounces the benediction, and -the generous sprites bestow beauty and goodness, and every means of life -and luxury, until nothing is left for imagination to conceive or heart -to wish. But an unexpected and unwelcome guest arrives—an old Elf, of -jealous and malignant character, whose intrusion cannot be prevented, -and whose power, unhappily, is so great, that the whole tribe of -amicable spirits cannot unbind her spells. Neither can she directly -revoke their beneficences; for such is the constitution of fairy-land -that the good and evil can neither annihilate each other’s powers nor -check each other’s actions, and their active antagonism can have place -and play only in issues and effects. The good commanded and dispensed -cannot be utterly annulled, the profusion of blessings prepared and -pledged cannot be hindered in their source or interrupted in their flow, -but the recipients are the debatable ground; they are, within certain -limits, subject to the control of the demon, and the _end_ is as well -attained by striking them incapable of the intended good. The queen and -her household are cast into a magic slumber until (for the Evil will be -ultimately destroyed by the Good) an age shall elapse and bring a -Deliverer, who, through virtue and courage, shall dissolve the infernal -charm. The blight fell upon the paradise in its full bloom, and it -remained only for the youngest fairy present, who had withheld her -benefactions to the last, to mitigate the doom she could not avert, by -bestowing pleasant dreams upon the long and heavy sleepers. A century -rolls round. The Knight of the Lion undertakes the enterprise; -encounters the horrible troops of monsters and foul fiends which guard -the palace; overcomes them; enters the enchanted hall, and wakens the -whole company to life, liberty and joy again. The knight is, of course, -rewarded with the love he so well deserves and the hand he has so richly -earned. - -This is obviously the story of the apostacy and redemption of the human -family, in the form of a fairy legend. It conforms closely to the -necessary incidents of such a catastrophe, and answers well and truly to -the intuitive prophecy of man’s final recovery. In substance and method -the correspondence is obvious. Every notion of “the fall,” whether -revealed or fictitious, assumes the agency of “the wicked one;” and the -final recovery, universally expected, involves the sympathies and -employs the services of the “ministering spirits,” as important -instruments in the happy consummation. - -This tale was presented as a dramatic spectacle last winter at the -Boston Museum. The play is a minutely faithful expositor of the legend; -and it is by the aid of this fine scenic exhibition that I am able to -adjust the details, of which the primitive story is so legitimately -capable, to the answering points in the great epic of human history “as -it is most surely believed among us.” The parallel presented does not -seem to me fanciful, but the circumstantial exactness of resemblance -may, I think, be accounted for without supposing a designed imitation. - -Before tracing the specialties and their allusions, let us notice the -general parallelism found between the pivotal points of the fabulous and -authentic representations. - -The Bible Eden is introduced at the same stage of the story’s action and -in the same attitude to the principal characters of the narrative; it -stands on the coronation day of its monarch, perfect in all its -appointments; the realms of air, earth and ocean in auspicious relation, -every element harmoniously obedient, and the garden still glows with the -smile which accompanied the approving declaration, “it is very good.” -Dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and -over every living thing that moveth upon the face of the earth, is -conferred, and the heavens add their felicities to the inaugural -rejoicings—“the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God -shouted for joy.” The gifts are without measure or stint, and the Divine -beneficence cannot be tainted in its source nor impeded in its efflux, -but the intended recipients, by “the wiles of the enemy,” are rendered -incapable of the enjoyment. The sin-blunted sense and passion blinded -soul of the fallen race, are plunged into a spiritual stupor, which -sleep—the sister and semblance of death—strikingly illustrates; and -through the long age of moral incapacity which follows, the highest mode -of life is but dimly recognized and feebly felt in the dreams of a -paradise lost and the visions of a millenium to come; till, “in the -fullness of time,” when a complete psychical age shall be past. The -Deliverer, having first overcome the wicked one, shall lead captivity -captive, and by the “marriage of the Lamb” with “the bride which is the -Church,” perfect the redemption and bring in the new heavens and new -earth. - -But to the fable, the dramatic representation and the interpretation -thereof. - -The scene opens upon a rustic society, a hamlet, in the infancy of -civilization, such as, upon ballad authority, was “merrie England” -before the age of her conquests in arts, sciences and arms, and before -the crimes and cares of her age of glory replaced the days of her -innocence and contentment. Simplicity of manners, modest abundance, -moderate labor, aspirations limited to the range of things easy of -attainment, and opinions comfortably at rest on questions of policy and -religion, describe the rural life upon Monsieur Bonvive’s domain. The -master, in bachelor ease, superintends the simple affairs of his -village; Madam Babillard, the house-keeper, has the necessary excitement -without the anxiety of her post—just the amount of trouble that is -interesting with the pigs, poultry and pets of the homestead. The girls, -indeed, are too hasty in ripening into womanhood, and the beaux are -over-bold in their gallantries; but then, these are things of great -consequence to her, and she is, through them, a matter of great -consequence to the community, and the exercise of authority amply repays -all its troubles and responsibilities. The affairs of the commonwealth -take good enough care of themselves generally; the people are happy in -the enjoyment of what they have, and equally happy in the -unconsciousness of what they have not; the holydays come at least once -a-week, and there is space and place for work and play every hour of -every day. Good consciences, light hearts, and natural living, carry -them along very happily, and they have enough of the little risks and -changes of fortune to keep the life within them well alive. The -wilderness upon which their village borders is known to be infested with -hobgoblins and demons, and there is a current belief that in the centre -of the forest there is a princely family bound in a spell for a hundred -years, but they have never penetrated the mystery nor clearly -ascertained the facts. - -Among these simple people there is an ancient dame, who was old when the -oldest villager first knew her, and she has lived through all the known -generations of men. Her whole life has been a continual exercise of the -best offices among the people; she has been nurse and doctress, friend -and counselor, by turns, to the whole community, and they repay her with -the love and veneration which her goodness and wisdom command. She is -now apparently in the decrepitude of extreme age, but the frame only -assumes the marks of age—the mind is as young and the affections as -fresh as they were “a hundred years ago.” She is the “Fairy of the -Oak,”—the youngest at the coronation scene, and the tutelary spirit of -the enchanted family. Ever since the hour of their evil fortunes she has -inhabited a human form, performing the charitable offices of ordinary -life and mitigating its incident evils; but, especially she has been -cultivating whatever of virtuous enterprise and aspiration appeared -among the youth from generation to generation, directing it into the -best service and endeavoring by it the deliverance of the imprisoned -spirits under her charge. Patiently and lovingly she has striven, -earnestly and anxiously she has watched, every promise of a deliverance -that the race from age to age produced. Patriarch, prophet, apostle and -philanthropist, has each in his degree done his own good work, and the -world has been the better that they lived; each has added another -assurance of the ultimate success, but themselves “have died without the -sight.” Her own powers, and those of her auxiliaries, are vast and -supernatural, indeed, but the champion age of human redemption must be -human, and she can but inspire, direct, sustain and guard the mighty -effort. - -Now, a young Christian Knight “the Knight of the Lion,” famous for deeds -of valor in Holy Land, gives promise of the great achievement to the -quick perception of the Guardian Spirit. She has aroused his enthusiasm -and sustained his zeal, disciplining him by trial after trial, and -training him from triumph to triumph, for still greater deeds, which -take continually more definite shape and more attractive forms in the -dreams and reveries which she inspires, until he has grown familiar with -the vision and conscious of its supernatural suggestion, and she is able -at last to intimate the duty and the trial which invite him by songs in -the air addressed to his waking ear. - - “The enchanted maiden sleeps——in vain - To hope redress from other arm, - Foul magic forged the mighty chain, - Honor and love will brake the charm. - - * * * * * - - Dread perils shall thy path surround, - Wild horrors ranged in full array, - Courage shall take the vantage ground, - Bright virtue turn dark night to day.” - -Drawn westward by her art toward the scene of the great enterprise, he -reaches the village on the border of the wilderness, and from the legend -current among the rustics inferring more definitely the character of his -mission, he accepts it in the true chivalric spirit of faith, love and -hope. His squire, or man-at-arms, who has followed him heretofore with -an unquestioning fidelity, consents to incur the risks, though he has a -very imperfect apprehension of the heroic undertaking; but the devotion -of a faithful follower answers instead of knowledge in his rank of -service. He would rather encounter a dozen flesh and blood swordsmen -than one ghostly foe; nevertheless, where his master leads he will -follow, whatever the character of the fight. The knight comprehends the -nature of the conflict fully; it is not with flesh and blood, but with -“spiritual wickedness in high places” that he “has his warfare.” To him -the great battle is not in the outward and actual, but is transferred to -the inward and spiritual sphere—into the real life—whence the ultimate -facts of existence derive all their currents and ends. So felt the hero -who said, in the great faith, “we have our conversation in heaven”—“we -sit in heavenly places;” and so felt and thought the reformer who -deliberately threw his ink-stand at the devils’ head. The region of the -ideal is the fields of the highest heroism, and every life given to the -world in noble service and generous sacrifice is living in the spirit -sphere in familiar sympathy with the good, and constant strife with evil -angels. This faith is the main impulse in all chivalric action; even a -heroic poem cannot be created without it. It cannot be false, for it -differs nothing in the constancy and efficiency of its presence from the -most palpable facts, and is proved true by the test of harmonizing with -all other truth. - -The knight personates the highest ideal of philanthropy; the squire -stands for the lower, more palpable modes of practical benevolence and -reform. They are distinguished as widely as general and special -providence, as the thorough emancipation of the soul and the charity -which relieves the body, or the whole difference between the apostleship -of spiritual and that of civil liberty. They correspond respectively to -the Prophet Elisha, who saw the mountain tops filled with horses and -chariots of fire, outnumbering and overwhelming the hosts of the Syrian -king; and his servant, who saw but two men, his master and himself, -opposed to a numerous and well appointed army. Such is the difference -between the seer and the servant in any labor or conflict of faith—in -any enterprise which involves the spiritual forces that rule the -movements of the world. Throughout the whole action of the drama the -agency and deportment of the knight and his follower are marked by this -distinction. But the scene shifts, and the sympathetic and corroborative -movements in Fairy-land, are revealed. The Fairy of the Oak appears and -summons the spirits of the Air, Earth, Water and Fire. The elements, -disordered by the fall, and thenceforth at war with the poor fugitive -from Paradise, must render their aid in his restoration, that when the -last enemy is put under his feet the material creation, cursed for his -sin, may be renewed with his recovery, and the harmonies of matter -answer to the sanctities of spirit. The spirits of the material forces -obey the invocation, and cordially promise sympathy and service: - - “Throughout all space—above, below, - In earth or air, through fire or snow, - Where’er our mission calls we fly, - Our tasks performing merrily, - Our guerdon winning happily.” - -The actors, human and ethereal, thus adjusted to their several offices, -the knight and his squire enter the haunted wood—the squire to struggle -with the grosser forms of evil, some as ludicrous as sad, others as -horrible as atrocious, and all odious, coarse and palpable; the knight -to be tempted of the devil, and do battle with him for the redemption of -the enchanted family from his dominion. - -On the open front of the stage, darkened with smoke and foul with -offensive odors of noxious gases, the squire is hotly engaged with the -great dragon, in close rencontre, and at the same time assailed above, -around, in flank and rear, by harpies, fiery serpents, and other forms -of terror—the battle of life translated into coarse _diablerie_. The -sentiment and significance of the play in this take great liberties with -the regular charities and practical reforms of our social system. The -sorts of evil which these monsters so uncouthly represent are such as -physical suffering, drunkenness, violence, fraud, and the thousand -shapes of slavery, personal and political, and of all castes and colors. -They are represented as greedy and ugly, and full of mocking and -malignity, but with little intrinsic capability of mischief, for they -are really unattractive in temptation and extremely awkward in battle, -and much more remarkable for thick-skinned insensibility to assault than -for any adroitness in the combat. The squire bravely deals his blows -upon the great dragon. Horror, fear and hatred of the monster, earnest -devotion to the “great cause,” with the courage of full commitment, and, -perhaps, some regard for his reputation as a hard-hitter, put life and -metal in his veins, and right lustily he mauls away. The earliest -effects of his prowess are remarkable. The dragon, defending his own -ground as confidently and angrily as if the empire of evil were really a -rightful one wherever sanctioned by antiquity of possession, dashes his -ponderous jaws at the reckless agitator, opened wide enough to swallow -him, with all his weapons and armor at a gulp; but he manages to elude -the clumsy wrath, and, nothing daunted and nothing doubting, deals his -blows with energy in the ratio of the rage they rouse. Curiously, but -conformably enough, at every stroke another ring of the monster’s tail -unrolls. At first he was an unwieldy, but not an utterly misshapen -brute; now he has become a serpent and a scarecrow; the head and tail -are as incongruous as the pretended righteousness of his cause and his -villainous method of defending it. The strife goes on, and grows only -the worse and wickeder for its continuance, till it is plain that the -beast is not to be mastered with hard blows, and if he yields it is -because his huge, unwieldy bulk is exhausted with the protracted effort -of defense, and he subsides at last rather than submits. So ends the -battle, and then comes the triumph. The valorous victor, claiming all -the honors he has won, mounts his sometime foe in the new character of -hobby, and rides him grandly off the stage in a blaze of gaseous glory, -cheered most vociferously by the boys and affording not a little -merriment, mixed with admiration, to the old folks. What a figure that -procession made! and how exact a figure, too, of many another that the -world witnesses admiringly. The squire is, however, none the less a hero -that his principles are rugged, his method rude, his ideas a little -vulgar, and his aims tinged but not tainted with his egotism. The -dragons, serpents and hobgoblins must be routed, and he is the man for -the emergency. - -All the while this palpable warfare is proceeding in open view, the -knight is engaged with the subtler fiends in the dim and doubtful -darkness of the background. Quite behind the scenes the severest strife -is maintained, but enough is seen and intimated upon the stage to reveal -the real character of the conflict. The fidelity of illustration in the -conduct of the allegory here was really admirable. At one time we -descried him through the gloom by the flashing of his sword, engaged in -hand-to-hand combat with a host of fiends, rushing upon the foe with -true chivalric enthusiasm; at another, hard pressed and well-nigh -exhausted, sternly enduring the blows he could not parry or -repay—exhibiting, in turn, every mood of courage to do and fortitude to -endure the varied fortunes of the field. But anon, with equal -truthfulness of portraiture, he is discovered trembling in sudden and -strange panics, which show the temporary failure of his faith, and seem -to threaten his utter desertion of the field. In the open presence of -the foe his courage never fails, but the stratagem of darkness and -desertion successfully evades the sword-thrust and the shield’s defense, -and gives him up to doubt and desperation. The powers of darkness take -hold upon him, and in his agonies of fear and suffering he would, if it -were possible, that the cup might pass from him. In these moments of -anguish and depression the Fairy of the Oak instantly appeared to -strengthen him. With a touch and a word she reassures him, and the -divine virtue again shines out, exposing visibly the demon of the doubt, -and the good sword again flashes in the gloom, and the fiends, forced -into open fight, are finally overthrown. - -Bulwer strikes the same profound fact of experience in heroic -enterprise, in his “Terror of the Threshold.” The reformer, however, -confident in virtue and assured of the goodness of his undertaking, -naturally trembles at critical stages of revolution in opinions and -institutions long established and interwoven with the existing order of -society, for the risk of introducing new truths may well check the -current of a wise man’s zeal. If I pull down, he will say, this temple -whose ceremonial, though barbarous and blinding, yet supports the morals -of the worshiper and the present order of the social system, will the -liberty and light bestowed avail for the designed improvement, or will -they only unsettle the securities of law and prove occasions of disorder -and licentiousness? The brave bigot and fiery enthusiast know nothing of -this indecision. The cautious hesitation which springs from solicitude -for the best ends and most expedient means, never troubles their -stubborn bluntness of purpose nor abates their boasted consistency of -action. But the regular procedure of Providence is marked by regard for -the influence of conditions and the established law of progress. In -these things the highest benevolence meets impediments and suffers -modifications and even submits to postponement to avoid defeat; and the -agents and instruments of the world’s regeneration have their -Gethsemanes as well as their triumphs and transfigurations. - -Nothing in language, scenery or costume irreverently asserted the -allusions which I am exposing. I do not know that either playwright, -performer or spectator was concerned about or even conscious of the -significant symbolism of the fable and its circumstantial exposition in -the play. It was produced as a beautiful dramatic spectacle. Apart from -any mystical meanings, it was a perfect luxury of scenic entertainment. -It was so regarded by the visiters, and probably was designed for -nothing more; but to me the analogy was a surprise and a delight, -growing at every step of the development. It struck me first when I saw -the knight and his brave squire standing on the threshold of the -enchanted hall, after their victory in the wilderness. With equal zeal, -truthfulness and devotion they had battled with the formidable foe, but -with very different aims and apprehensions. The difference was most -manifest when they stood in the presence of the enchanted family. The -knight, breathless with awe and melting with compassion, showed how -tenderly and reverently he felt the moral and mental bondage which -struck his opened vision; but the squire, though so faithful and loyal -as a follower, and efficient as a servant, had yet not the penetration -of a seer; and the preposterous spectacle of princes, counselors, -knights, esquires, priests, soldiers, pages, artisans, musicians, -dancers, slaves, retainers—every class and calling among men—all -arrested in mid-action, and slumbering for a century amid the luxury and -pageantry of a gorgeous festival, with the viands untasted and the cup -undrained before them, struck him with a comic wonder and pleasant -sportiveness which he cared not to suppress. Approaching the venerable -prime minister of the realm, who sat with the goblet near his lip, -immovable as death, the thirsty soldier familiarly proposed to drink his -health, and only made mouths at the cup when he found it “as dry as -dust.” The cheek of the dancing girl, who stood pivoted for her century -upon one toe, he found “as cold as a stone;” and the apples offered by -an African slave to a guest, whose hand hung arrested midway in the -reach, proved to his disappointed taste a petrified humbug. The whole -scene of deprivation and incapacity before him he pronounced an epidemic -sleeping fever, and he wondered if it was catching, and where and how he -should get his dinner! - -All this has its parallel and exposition in the boys that mock a -drunkard reeling through the street, and the contrasted sadness which a -soul alive to the moral ruin feels at the same sight; or it may be -witnessed again in the conduct of an insensible boor and that of a -person of refinement in the presence of the insane; and in general, in -the sentiments of those who have, and those who have not, learned that -“the life is more than meat, and the body than raiment.” - -These reflections present themselves in the pause while the champion -stands, riveted with emotions of wonder and pity at the mingled gloom -and glory of the scene. - -But the action proceeds again. A strain of melody spontaneously waking -from the silence of an age, fitly preludes and prophesies the harmonies -of the new era, and there wants only the taliha-cumi of the Deliverer to -awaken the princess and her household into the activities of full life. -At the bidding of the minstrel he advances to her pavilion. Answering to -his word and touch, she rises. One by one the women first resume their -proper consciousness, and the revival of the men follows in proper -order, till the spell is broken and the last shadow of the long night -gives place to the perfect day. The renovated realm every where receives -its primal beauty, the flowers of Eden bloom again, and the fruits -regain their flavor, the wine is new in the new kingdom, and all the -material ministries of life without, respond to the renewed faculties -within. - -The fable has not yet exhausted the facts. Obeying the poetical -necessities of the epic story, and conforming also to the apocalyptic -vision of the world’s fortunes, which are to follow the first victory -over the dragon and the binding of the adversary for a thousand years, -we have the peace and happiness of the disenchanted household once more -disturbed. The prince of the powers of darkness, that great magician who -is the author of all the mischief from the beginning, is “loosed out of -his prison,” and gathering all his forces for a final battle, he -surrounds the castle. The queen’s army, led by the knight, go out to -meet the grand enemy in battle, and he is utterly overthrown and his -power broken for ever. The conquerors return in triumph to the castle, -and in the midst of their rejoicings a herald from the outer wall, who -has witnessed the scene, announces the total annihilation of the enemy. -The elements, marshaled by their ruling spirits, have overwhelmed him; a -tempest of hail and fire bursts upon his castle, and the earth opening -has swallowed up the last vestige of his kingdom and power. - -The battle of Gog and Magog (20th Rev.) in which the deceived of the -four quarters of the earth are gathered together, and compass the camp -of the saints about, is the very prototype of this incident in our -story, and “the fire which came down from heaven,” and the “casting of -the devil which deceived them into the lake of fire and brimstone,” is -only a different expression of the same final deliverance of the human -family from the last enemy. - -The marriage rites close and crown the grand achievement, and a -magnificent tableau illustrates the consummation. The spirits of the -elements arise, and array themselves in a vertical arch upon the stage. -The centre and summit is occupied by a new figure, now first introduced, -costumed appropriately in pure white, representing Truth in augurated or -universal harmony; the Spirit of Earth at the base on one side, and of -Water at the other, while impersonations of Air and Fire occupy the -intermediate positions. This bow of beauty and promise, emblematically -dressed and decorated, stood a happy symbol of the restored order of the -material creation. The household, artistically arranged and displayed, -represented the divine order of society, where government and liberty, -refinement and efficiency, luxury and industry, are reconciled, and man -with his fellow man is organized in the harmonies of the creative -scheme. And, that the joy may be full to the utmost limits of communion -and sympathy, the Fairy of the Oak is seen ascending, to take -possession, in behalf of her race, of their recovered heaven—the -guerdon of their services to the redeemed family of Adam. So, the last -scene in the drama mingles the new Heavens with the new Earth, and all -the worlds in our universe triumph together in the general resurrection, -as they rejoiced on the birth-day of the creation. - -I do not know the history of the fairy tale, its age or origin. I know -nothing of the design with which it was prepared for theatrical -representation, nor do I see why it should be inferred, because the idea -and method are so strikingly significant, that the manager, after the -fashion of the ancient “Mysteries,” intended to restore sacred subjects -to the stage in allegorical disguise. I suppose that the fable is simply -fancy’s method of the great fact, and that its doctrinals are the -natural intuitives and inevitable theory of the human mind concerning -the mystery of life, the great epochal experiences of the human family, -their final fortunes, and the interests and sympathies of other worlds -included; for such conceptions as these are general and common among all -men. The question of special revelation is not affected by its -concurrence with universally received ideas. The correspondence -pervading all systems proves the truth and unity of origin of the -essential points in all, but in no wise touches the method of their -revealment, discovery or propagation. - -The points and particulars of the play are none of them manufactured to -supply the running parallel we have given, nor are they nearly -exhausted. Moreover, it will readily occur that the plan of the play -illustrates the whole philosophy of world-mending by its merely human -hero. The actual and eventual progress of civilization, religion and -liberty can be laid down upon its scheme in the exactest detail of -principles, which facts _must_ follow and fulfill. The supernatural -agencies introduced also answer this aspect and rendering of the myth. -They well represent the material and immaterial forces concerned in all -societary movements, and if they may not serve for the religion of the -great process, they may do duty as philosophical abstractions, or as a -beautiful system of poetical symbolism—for in the mystical -correspondence of all these systems of ideas there is such fundamental -unity of use. - - W. - - * * * * * - - - - - HYLAS. - - - BY BAYARD TAYLOR. - - - Storm-wearied Argo slept upon the water. - No cloud was seen; on blue and craggy Ida - The hot noon lay, and on the plain’s enamel; - Cool, in his bed, alone, the swift Scamander. - “Why should I haste?” said young and rosy Hylas: - “The seas were rough, and long the way from Colchis. - Beneath the snow-white awning slumbers Jason, - Pillowed upon his tame Thessalian panther; - The shields are piled, the listless oars suspended - On the black thwarts, and all the hairy bondsmen - Doze on the benches. They may wait for water, - Till I have bathed in mountain-born Scamander.” - - So said, unfilleting his purple chlamys - And putting down his urn, he stood a moment, - Breathing the faint, warm odor of the blossoms - That spangled thick the green Dardanian meadows. - Then, stooping lightly, loosened he his buskins - And felt with shrinking feet the crispy verdure, - Naked, save one light robe, that from his shoulder - Hung to his knee, the youthful flush revealing - Of warm, white limbs, half-nerved with coming manhood, - Yet fair and smooth with tenderness of beauty. - Now to the river’s sandy marge advancing, - He dropped the robe and raised his head exulting - In the clear sunshine, that with beam embracing - Held him against Apollo’s glowing bosom. - For sacred to Latona’s son is Beauty, - Sacred is Youth, the joy of youthful feeling. - A joy indeed, a living joy was Hylas, - Whence Jove-begotten Hêraclês, the mighty, - That slew the dreaded boar of Erymanthus, - To men though terrible, to him was gentle, - Smoothing his rugged nature into laughter - When the boy stole his club, or from his shoulders - Dragged the huge paws of the Nemæan lion. - The thick, brown locks, tossed backward from his forehead, - Fell soft about his temples; manhood’s blossom - Not yet had sprouted on his chin, but freshly - Curved the fair cheek, and full the red lip’s parting, - Like a loose bow, that just has launched its arrow; - His large blue eyes, with joy dilate and beamy, - Were clear as the unshadowed Grecian heaven; - Dewy and sleek his dimpled shoulder rounded - To the white arms and whiter breast between them. - Downward, the supple lines had less of softness: - His back was like a god’s; his loins were moulded - As if some pulse of power began to waken; - The springy fullness of his thighs, outswerving, - Sloped to his knee, and lightly dropping downward, - Drew the curved lines that breathe, in rest, of motion. - - Musing a space he stood, a light smile playing - Upon his face—a spirit new-created - To the free air and all-embracing sunlight. - He saw his glorious limbs reversely mirrored - In the still wave, and stretched his foot to press it - On the smooth sole that answered at the surface: - Alas! the shape dissolved in glimmering fragments. - Then, timidly at first, he dipped, and catching - Quick breath, with tingling shudder, as the waters - Swirled round his thighs, and deeper, slowly deeper, - Till on his breast the River’s cheek was pillowed, - And deeper still, till every shoreward ripple - Talked in his ear, and like a cygnet’s bosom - His white, round shoulder shed the dripping crystal. - There, as he floated, with a rapturous motion, - The lucid coolness folding close around him, - The lily-cradling ripples murmured: “Hylas!” - He shook from off his ears the hyacinthine - Curls, that had lain unwet upon the water, - And still the ripples murmured: “Hylas! Hylas!” - He thought: “the voices are but ear-born music. - Pan dwells not here, and Echo still is calling - From some high cliff that tops a Thracian valley: - So long mine ears, on tumbling Hellespontos, - Have heard the sea-waves hammer Argo’s forehead, - That I misdeem the fluting of this current - For some lost nymph”—again the murmur: “Hylas!” - And with the sound a cold, smooth arm around him - Slid like a wave, and down the clear, green darkness - Glimmered on either side a shining bosom— - Glimmered, uprising slow; and ever closer - Wound the cold arms, till, climbing to his shoulders, - Their cheeks lay nestled, while the purple tangles - Their loose hair made, in silken mesh enwound him. - Their eyes of clear, pale emerald then uplifting, - They kissed his neck with lips of humid coral, - And once again there came a murmur: “Hylas! - O come with us, O follow where we wander - Deep down beneath the green, translucent ceiling— - Where on the sandy bed of old Scamander - With cool white buds we braid our purple tresses, - Lulled by the bubbling waves around us stealing. - Thou fair Greek boy, O come with us! O follow - Where thou no more shalt hear Propontis riot, - But by our arms be lapped in endless quiet, - Within the glimmering caves of Ocean hollow! - We have no love; alone, of all th’ Immortals, - We have no love. O love us, we who press thee - With faithful arms, though cold—whose lips caress thee— - Who hold thy beauty prisoned. Love us, Hylas!” - The sound dissolved in liquid murmurs, calling - Still as it faded: “Come with us, O follow!” - The boy grew chill to feel their twining pressure - Lock round his limbs, and bear him, vainly striving, - Down from the noonday brightness. “Leave me, Naiads! - Leave me!” he cried; “the day to me is dearer - Than all your caves deep-sphered in Ocean’s quiet. - I am but mortal, seek but mortal pleasure: - I would not change this flexile, warm existence, - Though swept by storms and shocked by Jove’s dread thunder, - To be a king beneath the dark-green waters.” - Still moaned the humid lips, between their kisses; - “We have no love. O love us, we who press thee!” - And came in answer, thus, the words of Hylas: - “My love is mortal. For the Argive maidens - I keep the kisses which your lips would ravish, - Unlock your cold, white arms—take from my shoulder - The tangled swell of your bewildering tresses. - Let me return: the wind comes down from Ida, - And soon the galley, stirring from her slumber, - Will fret to ride where Pelion’s twilight shadow - Falls o’er the towers of Jason’s sea-girt city. - I am not yours—I cannot braid the lilies - In your wet hair, nor on your argent bosoms - Close my drowsed eyes to hear your rippling voices. - Hateful to me your sweet, cold, crystal being, - Your world of watery quiet:—Help, Apollo! - For I am thine: thy fire, thy beam, thy music - Dance in my heart and flood my sense with rapture: - The joy, the warmth and passion now awaken, - Promised by thee, but erewhile calmly sleeping. - O leave me, Naiads! loose your chill embraces, - Or I shall die, for mortal maidens pining.” - But still with unrelenting arms they bound him, - And still, accordant, flowed their watery voices: - “We have thee now, we hold thy beauty prisoned— - O come with us beneath the emerald waters! - We have no loves; we love thee, rosy Hylas. - O love us, who shall nevermore release thee: - Love us, whose milky arms will be thy cradle - Far down on the untroubled sands of ocean, - Where now we bear thee, clasped in our embraces.” - And slowly, slowly, sunk the amorous Naiads; - The boy’s blue eyes, upturned, looked through the water, - Pleading for help; but Heaven’s immortal Archer - Was swathed in cloud. The ripples hid his forehead, - And last, the thick, bright curls a moment floated, - So warm and silky that the stream upbore them, - Closing, reluctant, as he sunk forever. - - The sunset died behind the crags of Imbros. - Argo was tugging at her chain; for freshly - Blew the swift breeze, and leaped the restless billows. - The voice of Jason roused the dozing sailors, - And up the ropes was heaved the snowy canvas. - But mighty Hêraclês, the Jove-begotten, - Unmindful stood, beside the cool Scamander, - Leaning upon his club. A purple chlamys - Tossed o’er an urn, was all that lay before him: - And when he called, expectant: “Hylas! Hylas!” - The empty echoes made him answer: “Hylas!” - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: THE HIGHLAND CHASE.] - - * * * * * - - - - - THE VISION OF MARIOTDALE.[1] - - - BY H. HASTINGS WELD. - - - I.—THE SURPRISE. - -My charge was in a beautifully romantic and fertile spot, the natural -features of which would seem sufficient teachers of the power and the -goodness of God, if, indeed, nature were, as some insist, a sufficient -teacher without revelation. I soon found myself, upon here taking up my -residence, almost the only man who thought it worth his while to study -and admire the beauties which nature, with a lavish hand, had scattered -over the scene. It was a valley, enclosed on all sides with hills, whose -ascents, crowned with verdure, exhibited every variety of tint and shade -of green; for the trees of our country display, more than any other, -those varying colors and gentle yet distinctly marked contrasts which -the painter envies, but strives in vain to transfer to his canvas. There -were only two breaks in the surrounding amphitheatre. One was where a -mountain stream came tumbling and babbling into the valley; the other -where, in a more subdued and quiet current, it found egress. The sinuous -path of this little river, or “run,” across the dale, was marked by a -growth of beautiful trees, among which the straight-leaved willow, with -its silver foliage shivering in the light, was most frequent and -conspicuous; other trees which delight in water diversified the long, -green defile; and a little boat, which belonged to one of my -parishioners, offered me frequent twilight pastime. Some labor, to -which, though unused at first, I soon became accustomed, was required to -force the boat upstream; but the highest “boatable” point once reached, -I had only to turn the shallop’s head and guide it down, letting my -little barque slowly float, and conducting it clear of the shallows and -obstructions. Delightful were the views which the turns in the stream -were continually opening; the overhanging trees, forming a green roof -above, were reflected below; and while I seemed thus suspended between -answering skies and trees, over my head and beneath my feet, to look in -either direction of the stream seemed like peering into a mysterious -fairy grot. - -One evening as I paused, looking delighted upon the scene of -enchantment, a new feature was, as if by magic, added to the picture. A -little girl—a child of surpassing loveliness—slipped out from among -the bushes, and, skipping from stone to stone, stood on a high rock, -near the middle of the current—the beau ideal of such a sprite as one -might fancy inhabiting the spot. Her loose tresses floated on the -evening breeze, and her scanty drapery—it was mid-summer—as the wind -pressed it against her form, exhibited a delicacy and grace of contour -which that artist would become immortal who could copy. She did not at -first perceive me; and when the flash of my oar startled her, I almost -expected she would prove herself a vision, by vanishing into the sky -above in a cloud, or dissolving in a foam-wreath in the water which -rippled among the rocks behind her. - -But youth and innocence are courageous; and she took no other notice of -my approach than to seat herself, to await my coming, upon the same -stone on which she had been standing. Her artless ease and beauty won my -heart—as men’s hearts are often too easily won, through the eyes. Hers -was grace unaffected and natural. No drawing-room belle, after years of -practice before her mirror, could have vied with this rustic nymph. She -possessed what art can with difficulty imitate, and that never -entirely—perfect and unconscious self-possession; and she was the more -admirable, that in her child-like simplicity she dreamed not of -admiration. - -I pushed my shallop up beside the rock, and commenced a conversation -with her. I was grieved and amazed to find her helplessly ignorant upon -the commonest subjects which those who fear God teach their children. -She could not even read, she told me. She was born far away, she -said—in another land, mother used to say—and did not remember that she -ever went to church; but mother had told her that she was carried there -once to be baptized, and her name was Bessie. - -“Is your mother dead?” I asked. - -“No—not dead—I think not; but father—” - -A hoarse voice from the shore now shouted her name; and, unalarmed as -she had been when I approached, her little frame now shook with terror, -and her interesting face was pale and sullen with mingled fear and -anger. - -“Is that your father?” I said. - -She did not stop to answer, but instantly commenced picking her way back -to the bank. While she did so, her trepidation several times almost -tripped her into the river. I should have watched her every step at any -other time, but my attention was irresistibly drawn to the repulsive -form which had come, like a dark and unwelcome shadow, over this fair -scene. The face was positively one of the most demoniacal in expression -I have ever met. Thick, black hair, unkempt, hung over the low forehead, -and the shaggy dark eye-brows seemed to glower in habitual gloom over a -rough and unshaven face. The expression of the whole was that of a man -whose countenance is saddened into surliness, like a clay image of -Satan, by habitual strong potations. A slovenly disregard to dress -completed the picture of a man who has sold himself to the vilest and -most disgusting habits of intoxication. - -While I trembled for the fate of such a child, in such hands, she had -come within his reach, and, stretching forth his arm, he dragged her to -him by the hair, tripping her from her footing into the water, and -pulling her to the shore with more inhuman rudeness than I can -describe—her dress draggled and muddied, and her limbs bleeding from -contact with the sharp stones and pebbles. Blow upon blow the ruffian -inflicted upon her, which I could hear as well as see from where I -stood. Not a sound, not a cry escaped her; and while I was hesitating -whether I ought not to try to reach and rescue her, he ceased beating -her, and turned up a path in the bank-side. She silently and doggedly -followed him; and I sadly took my way home, lamenting that the beauty -and peace of such a place should be so brutally interrupted; and -sorrowing more than all, that frequent ill-usage had so deadened the -child’s sensibilities as to make her, otherwise so natural and -unaffected, thus endure pain with the sullen fortitude of an old -offender. I trembled for the life of a child growing up under such -influences; for I could see in her future nothing but crime, suffering -and degradation. - -It was later than my usual time of return when I reached the landing, -and there were already lights in the few houses which stood there. I -might have mentioned before—but that I hate to acknowledge the -fact—that the utilitarian habits of our era had converted my romantic -streamlet into a “power” to turn a mill-wheel. It is not a grist-mill, -which is a proper appendage to rural scenery, but a woolen manufactory, -which, with its unromantic surroundings, caused me many a joke from my -friend, the owner of the boat and of the mill. When I excepted to such -things as stretching frames, as a blot on the beauty of the landscape, -and to the dirty wool and dye-stuff as ruining its romance, he would -tell me that if these valleys and rocks had never heard the clatter of -his machinery, neither would the “sound of the church-going bell” have -disturbed their echoes. There was no answering this, because it was -perfectly true, and I could therefore only “humph” and be silent. Though -wrong in some points of his course, Mr. Mariot, our “owner,” was a -liberal man and well disposed—would there were more such! He built the -little church in which I officiated, and he, in effect, supported the -rector. If he had not done so, there could have been neither church nor -service. And he found his account in the superior order of his -establishment; and would have done still more if, beside building the -church, he had abated or forbidden a nuisance which sadly impeded my -usefulness. - -Mr. Mariot stood at the landing, and as I stepped ashore said, “I came -down to meet you, Doctor, for Yorkshire Jack is in one of his furious -fits, and vows he will beat you—priest or no priest.” - -“And who is Yorkshire Jack?” I asked, though a suspicion who he might be -instantly shot through my mind. My suspicion was correct—for, upon Mr. -Mariot’s explanation, I found that he was the very ruffian whose conduct -I have been describing. As we passed the house dignified with the title -of the “Mariotdale Hotel,” loud voices came through the open windows. -Mr. Mariot would have hurried me past, but I laid my hand upon his arm, -and in a low but determined tone said, “Wait, sir!” - -Sunday after Sunday I had preached—to little purpose—and here was the -reason. Several of my usual congregation, upon whose hearts the word of -God fell like seed upon a beaten path-way, sat listening, half laughing, -half terrified, at the blasphemy of this fiendish fellow—Yorkshire -Jack—and half a score more, who never, by any chance, were seen within -the church walls, were applauding him at the top of their voices. O, -they will have a fearful reckoning who have supplied fools who deny God -with words of blasphemy, and with the scoffings of infidelity, through a -prostituted press—who have caught the thoughtless with profane wit, and -betrayed the daringly wicked with the hardihood of declared infidelity! -The worst words of the worst men were rolled from this wretch’s lips, as -if they were his own utterance; the shallowest cant of infidel -literature came from his mouth as if his own heart had originated what, -indeed, it had only harbored. Out of the borrowed abundance of a vile -heart, his lips spake; and the applause of his auditory was scarcely -less disgusting than his words were. - -Women began to gather round the windows of the house—they dared not -enter—and to call in hoarse whispers to their husbands, fathers and -sons to come out. Children climbed up and looked in, now gazing, -open-mouthed, with terrified interest to the drunken maniac’s fury—now -laughing, in thoughtless merriment, as his antics became ridiculous. At -length, spent with the vanity of a successful orator to a fit audience, -filled with drink, and worn out with rage, Yorkshire John sank on a -chair. The efforts of his satellites failed to awaken him to new -ravings. The joke was worn out—the women coaxed their husbands away, -the children walked off, rehearsing, describing, and laughing over what -they had heard. The place was soon hushed and still, the monotonous -voice of the water only breaking the silence of the night, and Mariot -and I took our way homeward—for I lodged with him. - -On our way nothing was said. The family, except Mrs. M., had retired; -and Mariot seemed as if he would have made that circumstance a pretext -for following them in silence. He put a night lamp in my hand, but I -placed it on the table, and, sitting down, took up THE BOOK. He sat -also—but it was evidently with unwilling politeness. Conscience was at -work—and he was desirous to evade, rather than listen to, her warnings. -I opened to the twenty-eighth of Isaiah, and he started as I read, “Wo -to the crown of pride, to the drunkards of Ephraim!” - -“Edward Mariot,” I said, “God will hold _you_ accountable for the sin -which we have this night witnessed!” - -He arose—I thought angrily. He commenced to speak, but a look from his -wife dissuaded him. How would he defend himself with such facts so -fresh? But I knew that there was a coldness in his manner as he returned -my “good night,” with a half nod, such as I never before had witnessed -from him. I feared that our friendship, and of course my further -residence in Mariotdale, was at an end; but I feared more, that it would -be written of my generous but business devoted friend, “Ephraim is -joined to his idols—let him alone!” - ------ - -[1] The incidents which follow are not offered as from the writer’s own -observation. As the simple narrative can be best told in the first -person, the reader must consider us both as having listened to the aged -clergyman who related it. He was a veteran in the Christian army, and -truly adorned his vocation by unaffected dignity and sincere piety. Long -experience and close observation had given him power to penetrate -character, and to read the very thoughts of those whom he addressed. The -listener might often be startled at what seemed abrupt harshness, but -the result always showed that he knew in what manner to approach all -persons. Sympathy and gentleness he well understood are lost on some -natures; and positive words are as widely improper for others. Clergymen -are too apt to regard all men but as so many copies of each other. They -are taught better as they grow older; but our friend seemed to have an -intuitive knowledge of human nature. - - - II.—THE PEST HOUSE. - -There was an air of uncomfortable constraint over our little family at -the breakfast table on the morrow. All thoughts were full of the same -thing, but none liked to broach it. Edward Mariot’s manner seemed to -say, “I am disposed to forget, if you will be silent.” But I was -determined, at any cost to myself, to insist upon Mariot’s doing his -duty in relation to the disorderly house upon his premises—or, failing -in that, to leave the parish. I felt that my usefulness was at an end if -I hesitated to do what Mariot, as well as I, knew was incumbent upon me; -for a clergyman who compromises his conscience to keep his parish, is -not only an unfaithful servant but an ally to the enemy. Events, -however, were so ordered that I retained my friend, and was spared the -pain of giving him further reproof. I was informed that Yorkshire John -was at the door, and desired to see me. - -I rose instantly and went out. Mariot followed, fearing violence—a -danger which did not once occur to me; for there are few—very few—so -base and cowardly as to make an attack upon a clergyman. The man could -not look me in the face. He was abashed and evidently afflicted, and, -merely muttering that Bessie was “very bad,” and _wanted me_, turned and -strode hastily away. - -Mariot accompanied me down to the little village, and, as we walked, -gave me some particulars of the life and character of this singular -being, Yorkshire Jack. He had only the one child, and its mother was -still living, but had been forced to leave her husband, on account of -his cruel treatment. Nobody knew precisely where she lived, or in what -manner she supported herself; but she was occasionally seen hovering -about the dale, with the intention of seeing or carrying away her -daughter. The father detained the child in the hope that the love of a -mother would bring her back to him; for, in the years that she had been -absent, with a drunkard’s inconsistency, he had earnestly desired her -return, and vehemently promised amendment. In these professions, which -had reached her through a mutual acquaintance, she put no faith. She had -been compelled to fly more than once before; and having, on those -occasions returned only to discover the hollowness of his promises, and -to receive new abuse, she had resolved to trust him no further. She -heard, moreover, through common fame, of all his wild and wicked -proceedings; and learning what her child suffered, was the more firmly -resolved not only never herself to return, but to take away Bessie if -possible. This made John but the more cruel, especially when in drink; -and he was at all times mad with suspicion that some one would aid her -in the abduction. Hence his rage against his daughter and against me; -for as he never conversed even with his own child, he could conceive of -no purpose but a sinister one, in my accidental interview with little -Bessie. I was tempted to chide Mariot for suffering this state of things -without interfering; but judged it discreet to be silent. - -John’s house—or rather his room—was the picture of neglect and -desolation. He had converted it into a sort of fortification, so that -none but a most expert burglar could get in without his permission. -Neither could the child get away when once the premises were locked. -During the day he had been in the habit, often, of fastening her in, and -when she went abroad it was with him. It was shocking to hear that the -poor infant had been the forced auditor of her father’s violence on the -night before, till, spent with fatigue, she fell on the floor and slept. -No wonder, you are ready to exclaim, that she was ill. - -But her disease was evidently something more than mere exhaustion. Now -feverish and languid, she would anon become chilled. Pains in the head -and back, redness of eyes, a husky voice, and sore throat, and a -loathing rejection of food, with other symptoms, which I will not expose -my medical ignorance by attempting to describe, marked her affection as -one of no light character. A hint sent the father for a physician—for -remorse often hastens those whom affection cannot influence. Upon his -arrival he confirmed my surmises, and pronounced the case one of decided -small-pox, and of a very dangerous and malignant type. - -The father was frantic, and raved like a madman. He denied stoutly that -such could be the case—called us fools and idiots, and ordered all—the -physician, Mariot and myself—to leave his house. I looked at my friend, -and saw tokens of the indecision and lack of resolution, which was his -infirmity. Then turning to the father, I said, “We will not leave this -sweet child to perish in your hands; and unless you desist from -violence, if Mr. Mariot will not act, I will cause you to be committed -as a disturber of the peace!” The man was in a frenzy, and absolutely -foamed at the mouth; but the physician and Mariot supported me, and -taking advantage of his temporary absence, we turned his own -fortifications against him and barred him out, while we should consult -what to do in the emergency. - -“Mariot,” I said, after he and the physician had proposed and rejected -as impracticable several expedients, “there is a _pest house_ ready to -your hand. Take that.” - -“The tenant will not suffer it,” said he. - -“Leave that to us.” And, with the doctor, I went directly to the tavern, -and without circumlocution informed the landlord that we were about to -bring a small pox patient to his house, and desired a room! - -He, too, stormed and threatened, but we insisted. The terror among the -residents had now grown intense, for the rumor had spread; and they -having collected, with one voice demanded that the house should be -taken. It stood apart from the rest, and was in all respects eligible -for the purpose. - -“If you do bring the child here,” said he, “I will leave.” - -“Do so before, if you choose,” I answered, “for in one hour she will be -here.” And I further informed him that upon his future quietness and -good behavior it would depend whether he should be proceeded against for -the sale of spirits to minors and his other misdeeds. - -A new cause of alarm was now discovered. The mother of the child lay -sick in another house; and investigation into the nature of her illness -developed the fact that, in a stolen interview with poor little Bessie, -it was she who had communicated to the child the infection. Both mother -and daughter were removed to the tavern, a nurse was provided, and all -proper steps were taken for their comfort. Yorkshire John, having become -subdued by these events, was suffered to be their attendant. The -landlord, having received Mariot’s assurance that his reasonable charges -should be met, sullenly acquiesced, and did not carry out the threat of -removal. The customers, however, fortunately for themselves, avoided the -“Pest House,” and his business was reduced completely to that of an -infirmary. Thus, what fear of moral contagion could not accomplish, was -effected by the dread of physical infection. - - - III.—THE VISION. - -Pass over a couple of years, and behold me, the energetic actor—perhaps -almost unclerical—in the events of the preceding narrative, now -domiciled permanently in the “Mariotdale Hotel.” The old landlord—a -good weaver—has resumed his place in the works, and frequently avows -his satisfaction at the change which circumstances compelled him to make -in his pursuits. Yorkshire John, his very self, is my landlord—and a -quieter dwelling there is not in the country. Perhaps much of this is -due to the good management of his wife—for she, after all, is the man -of the house. - -And Bessie? - -Poor Bessie! We laid her down to rest in the churchyard two years since, -for the illness she had was unto death. It was this shock which recalled -the father to his senses; and rest assured I did not spare him. He was -not a man who could _bear consolation_, for it seemed as if he could -almost strike the person who offered it. He rebelled against the blow, -but found that he was in the hands of a God who will reach those by -affliction who refuse to be persuaded by mercy. - -Poor Bessie—did I say? Blessed child! If the dead can look on earth, -she knows that her father and mother have been reformed and reconciled -through her death; that father and mother have learned to believe that -the early lost are early saved. - -And Mariot, my warmer friend than before, admits that my counsel was -sound—that the souls as well as the bodies of his people are in some -sense in his charge, and that he who neglects his duty in regard to the -first cannot atone for that neglect by care of the last. - -I often float in the evening down to Bessie’s rock, and seldom fail to -see in the twilight, THE VISION. Nor does it now prove to be of the -earth, earthly, as once it did—for I know that she is in Heaven. - - * * * * * - - - - - SORROW. - - - BY ALFRED B. STREET. - - - I saw at sunrise, in the East, a cloud— - A form upon the sky; at first it seemed - Gloomy and threatening, but at length it beamed - Into a glow of tender light endowed - By the soft rising light. How mild and sweet - It shone! how full of holy tenderness! - How like some hovering Angel did it greet - My heart until I almost kneeled to bless! - It brightened more and more, but less and less - It melted, leading further still my gaze - Into the heavens; with lovelier, lovelier dress - It shrunk, until it vanished in a blaze. - Thus sorrow, kindled by Religion’s light; - Turns to a tender joy, pointing toward heaven our sight. - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNET.—MORAL STRENGTH. - - - BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY. - - - The spirit that in conscious right is strong, - By Treachery or Rage may be assailed; - But over single-handed RIGHT, hath WRONG - Never by art or multitude prevailed; - As Samson, shaking off the withes that failed - To hold the Titan, rose all free among - The weak Philistines that before him quailed, - And bade defiance to the coward-throng! - So the Titanic soul through moral power - Rending the toils of Calumny, doth tower— - A host within itself—sublimely free, - Above the foes that in their weakness cower. - Shorn of its strength the human soul must be, - Ere overcome by truth’s worst enemy. - - * * * * * - - - - - TAMAQUE. - - - A TALE OF INDIAN CIVILIZATION. - - - BY HENRY C. MOORHEAD. - - -One day, during a ramble in the interior of Pennsylvania with my gun and -dog, I found myself on the top of a high mountain, which commanded an -extensive view of the surrounding country. The charms of the landscape -soon drew off my attention from the pursuit on which I had set out so -zealously in the morning; and leaving my dog to chase the game at his -pleasure, I indulged myself in pursuing the phantoms of my imagination. -In this mood of mind I approached the end of the mountain, whose rugged -cliffs overhung the river which washed their base. My dog running to the -brink, looked over, but instantly bounded back again, ran to and fro, -looking up in my face then crept back cautiously to the spot, and gazed -intently at some object below him. Curious to learn what it was that so -deeply interested my faithful companion, and anxious to secure it, if -worth shooting, I looked to the priming of my gun, and stretching myself -on the rock, projected my head over the precipice. A single glance made -me follow my dog’s example, and draw back; for, on a kind of shelf, -formed by a projecting rock, a few feet below me, sat an old man, his -white hairs flowing over his shoulders, calmly surveying the scene -around him. From his dress and whole appearance, I judged that he was, -like myself, a stranger in that neighbourhood, which made me still more -desirous to seek his acquaintance. I soon found a winding path which led -to the front of the bluff, and in a few moments brought me to the side -of the stranger. To my increased surprise I found that he was sitting at -the mouth of a cavern, which had been scooped out of the solid rock by -the hand of Nature. Here was as convenient a cell, and as profound a -solitude as any hermit could desire. But it was clear that he was no -hermit. His was neither the garb, nor the look, nor the address of a man -living in seclusion from his fellows. When a sudden turn in the path -brought me close to his side, he rose calmly, and saluted me as blandly -and as kindly as if we had been old acquaintances. Stammering out a few -words of apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw, when he -interposed with a courteous gesture. - -“Would you not like to have a look at my hermitage?” said he; then, -perhaps, noticing my look of incredulity, he added, “It is mine now, at -least, by the right of possession.” - -“Pardon me,” said I, “but I should not take you for an inhabitant of -these mountains.” - -“And why not, pray?” - -“It is not customary, I think, for wild men of the woods and rocks to -wear white neckcloths and polished boots,” said I. - -The old gentleman laughed at this remark, and then said, “you may call -me a _temporary_ hermit, then; for you certainly found me alone, and -sitting at the mouth of my cave. Indeed, if I were to assert my claim to -it, I doubt whether there is any man living who could show a prior -right; for I knew this place when few white men had ever penetrated what -was then considered a remote wilderness.” - -“The prospect must have changed very much since then,” said I. - -“In some respects it certainly has,” he replied; “but the main features -of a scene like this continue ever the same. The plough cannot level -mountains, nor cultivation change the course of rivers. I have been -tracing the windings of this stream with my eye, and find them just as -they were; and I recognize every soaring peak, and every projecting rock -as an old acquaintance; I saw broken clouds just like these floating -above the mountain tops fifty years ago; and I would almost swear that -yonder eagle is the same which then sailed so majestically through the -air.” - -“Those villages and forms, however, must be new to you.” - -“Ah, yes!” said he, “there we see the hand of civilization. Where now -our eyes take in no less than four neat and thriving villages, there -were not then as many clusters of rude wigwams; and these green fields -and blooming orchards were an unbroken wilderness.” - -“A most happy change,” said I. - -“So reason doubtless tells us,” he replied. “Better the peace and -industry which now reign here, than the war-whoop, or the listless -indolence of savage life. And yet it is melancholy to think how quickly -these old lords of the forest have disappeared. Many a league was made -in their rude fashion to endure between the parties and their -descendants, as long as these mountains should continue to stand, or -this river to run. The eternal hills still cast their shadows on the -ever-rolling waters; but the powerful tribes who appealed to them as -perpetual witnesses of their faith are extinct, or live only in a few -wretched stragglers, thousands of miles away in the far west. We have -possessed ourselves of their heritage; and to show our gratitude, we -abuse them for not having made a better use of their own possessions, -and congratulate ourselves on the happy change we have effected.” - -“There will never be wanting romantic persons,” I remarked, “to -celebrate the glories of savage life, and the felicity of spending a -northern winter half naked and half starved, under the precarious -shelter of a wigwam.” - -“Well,” said he, with enthusiasm, “let them embalm the memory of the Red -Man! It will appease the manes of those ambitious warriors to be -renowned in song and story. The noblest spirits of the world have gained -but a few lines in a Universal History, or a single page in a -Biographical Dictionary, and have deemed themselves well paid for a life -of toil. Ambition is everywhere the same; and its essence is a desire to -be remembered. It may happen that the sad fate of the Indian will -perpetuate his memory when the achievements of all his conquerors have -been forgotten.” - -“I cannot help suspecting,” said I, smiling, “that you have yourself -been a warrior, perhaps the adopted son of the chief who presided over -these hunting-grounds.” - -“No,” said he, “I was not so great a favorite with the chief of these -hunting-grounds.” - -“Ah, then,” continued I, “your sympathy is that of a generous conqueror -for an unfortunate adversary.” - -“Not exactly that either,” said he; “I was neither for nor against them. -If you are inclined to hear my story, I will relate it here, in sight of -every spot to which it refers.” - -We then sat down on the rock together, and he proceeded as follows. - - * * * * * - -I came out as bearer of despatches to what was then the frontier -settlement; but an errand of my own induced me to come on here. It was -at the time that the Moravians were making zealous and apparently very -successful efforts to civilize and Christianize the Indians; and they -had a station, under the care of the venerable Luten, which I know must -be somewhere in this neighborhood. Although I had known and honored -Luten from my boyhood, I should scarcely have ventured on such an -expedition for the mere pleasure of seeing _him_; but he had brought his -wife with him, and what is more to our present purpose, his daughter, -Mary. Well, it was a rash undertaking to penetrate this wilderness -without a guide, just then, for the Indians were in a state of angry -hostility toward the whites, in consequence of some real or supposed -injuries lately received; but what will not an enterprising young fellow -risk in such a cause? Even the bold hunter often carries his life in his -hand; and the game I was pursuing was better worth the risk than a wolf -or a panther. - -Having struck on this chain of mountains, and finding that they -commanded a view of the surrounding country, I followed them up until I -reached the brow above us, when I caught a glimpse of a figure suddenly -gliding down the face of the hill toward where we are now sitting. I -cautiously followed, and saw a man whom I knew, from his appearance, to -be an _Indian conjurer_, enter this cave. Without disturbing him, I -returned to the hill above, and carefully explored the country round for -the station I was in search of. I had given up the search, with the full -conviction that there was no settlement in sight, when the light breeze -wafted to my ear the sound of human voices. I soon made out that it was -a familiar strain of sacred music, and sweeping over the valley again -with my telescope, discovered an encampment just where yonder creek -empties into the river. It was the hour of evening worship; and the -savages were tuning their voices to the unwonted notes of a Christian -hymn. Of the venerable missionary, it might emphatically be said, that -he pointed to heaven, and led the way. He had left country, home, and -friends; the habits of a lifetime, and the tastes of a highly cultivated -mind, for the sake of the poor Indian; and it mattered little to him -whether his head reposed in a palace or a wigwam, or whether his bones -were laid in the Fatherland or in some wild glen of the New World, so -that his Master’s work was sped. If such thoughts passed through my mind -whilst my eye rested for a moment on him, they were instantly put to -flight when I saw another figure in the group. But he would have -forgiven my irreverence, if he had known of it, for the love he also -bore his gentle Mary. - -I quickly descended the mountain, and reached the encampment just as the -sun was setting. Luten received me as a son; Mary as a brother, except -that the blush which suffused her face and the agitation of her nerves -were something more than fraternal—so, at least, I flattered myself. -When I inquired for the missionary’s wife a tear started into the eye of -both father and daughter. I understood it all—she had found a grave in -the wilderness. - -I had many questions to ask as well as to answer, and much news to tell, -and the evening wore away before curiosity had been satisfied on either -side. But I felt anxious to know their plans and prospects for the -future; I therefore inquired of Luten how he was succeeding with the -Indians. - -“Far beyond my most sanguine expectations,” he replied. - -“You really think, then, that it is possible to change their savage -natures,” said I. - -“Why should it be thought doubtful?” said he. “Are we not all descended -from the same parents—all partakers of the same fallen nature—all -hastening to the same bourne? But you would scarcely recognize the -gnarled and stunted oak, springing from the scanty earth afforded by a -crevice in the rock, as belonging to the same species with the monarch -of the forest, striking his roots deep in a generous soil, and spreading -his branches proudly toward heaven. Pour into the minds of these poor -heathen savages the light of civilization and Christianity, and in a few -generations they will have become the noblest race of men in the world.” - -“It is a very common belief, however,” said I, “that they are incapable -of civilization; and does not experience seem to justify this opinion?” - -“_My_ experience proves the contrary,” said he, with emphasis. “The -people now in this encampment were lately fierce and blood-thirsty -warriors; I wish the docility and meekness they now exhibit were more -common among white men.” - -“But has there been time,” I asked, “to warrant the conclusion that the -change will be permanent?” - -“I have no fear as to that,” he said; “the change is radical—the savage -nature is extinct in them; and, like children, their plastic minds can -now be moulded into any form by education.” - -“I hope it will prove so,” said I; “but do their chiefs go with them?” - -“Their favorite young chief, Tamaque, now leads them as zealously in the -path of peace, as he formerly did in the war-path,” he replied. “A noble -young fellow he is, too.” - -“Indeed he is,” said Mary, who had hitherto been listening to our -conversation in silence; “he is always so kind and gentle. I love him as -my own brother.” - -The very bluntness of her words might have satisfied me that she meant -_only_ what she said; but somehow or other I did not like her form of -expression, and I began to feel anything but partial toward the person -they referred to. “Pray what does he look like?” I inquired. - -“Oh, he is very handsome,” said she, with the same provoking simplicity. - -“And no doubt very accomplished,” said I, drily. - -“Why, yes,” she replied, “he is by no means wanting in accomplishments. -He was educated at one of our own schools, and, it is said, proved a -very apt scholar. Indeed, his civilized accomplishments are very -respectable; and as to his savage ones,” she added, laughing, “he is -foremost in all the exercises of his tribe.” - -I joined in the laugh, rather faintly, and then added, maliciously: - -“No doubt even his copper color is unusually bright.” - -“By no means,” she replied; “his color is that of a white man a little -tanned by exposure to the sun.” - -“The truth is,” said Luten, “he is only half Indian, and he seems to be -endowed with most of the virtues of both the white and red man, without -the vices of either.” - -The affair had now become serious, and I could no longer help regarding -this accomplished half-breed chief as a formidable rival. - -“On him, more than any man,” continued Luten, “rest my hopes for the -regeneration of his race. I imagine to myself that I see in him the -future founder of Indian civilization. Yes, my young friend, ere you -have attained the age which now bears me to the ground, you will see -these savage tribes every where pursuing the arts of peace; you will see -them kneeling at the altar of the living God, and putting to shame the -boasted civilization of the white man. My old body will be dust long -before that; but this hope, and belief, have sustained me amidst all the -toils and privations of a life in the wilderness.” - -I looked anxiously in the speaker’s face; for the thought struck me that -his mind had become unsettled. But his placid countenance and clear, -steady eye, at once convinced me that what I had deemed madness, was -nothing more than the enthusiasm of a bold and sanguine reformer. I -could not find it in my heart to disturb the vision which afforded him -so much delight by any expression of my doubts, and still less did I -feel inclined to enter upon any further discussion of the merits of -Tamaque. I had heard too much about them already for my repose that -night; and every remark I had made on the subject had only served to -call forth a fresh eulogy. I therefore gladly accepted Luten’s -invitation to retire to my bear-skin couch. Many were the visions that -chased each other through my brain during my broken slumbers, and -Tamaque was connected with them all. Sometimes I saw him the king of a -mighty people, with Mary at his side, crowned as a queen. Again I found -myself engaged in deadly conflict with him, and waked just in time to -escape receiving the death-blow at his hands. At another time I seemed -to have got the better of him, and was about to plunge my sword into his -bosom with fierce exultation, when my hand was arrested by a reproachful -look from her, and started up and thanked heaven that it was only a -dream. At length, however, I fell into a sound and tranquil sleep. But I -was not permitted long to enjoy it; for, just at the dawn of day, a -strange Indian rushed into the camp, yelling the war-whoop until the -mountains echoed it back again. The whole camp was instantly in motion; -in a few minutes the council-fire was blazing, and the Indians had -ranged themselves around it. - -The messenger soon told his story. A number of fanatic white men had -banded together and sworn eternal hostility to the Indians. They -professed to consider them as standing in the same relation to -themselves as the Canaanites of old did to the children of Israel; and, -therefore, in the name of God, they waged an exterminating war against -them. They had just fallen upon an Indian village of Tamaque’s tribe, -and slaughtered the inhabitants, without regard to age or sex. This -messenger had alone escaped to tell the dreadful tidings. His words -produced a deep sensation on these fierce warriors, just emerging into -civilization. The old instincts of their natures were evidently -reawakened; and it seemed as if a signal only were wanting to make them -rush forth, as in former days, with tomahawk and scalping-knife. - -Luten hastened to check the torrent of passion which threatened, in one -moment, to sweep away the fruits of all his labors. Standing, like a -venerable patriarch, among his rebellious household, he endeavored, by a -skillful blending of persuasion with parental authority, to restore them -to a sense of duty. Reminding them of their solemn vows, he conjured -them by that regard for plighted faith which is the red man’s boast, not -to forget or break them in this moment of passion. He pointed out the -high destiny they had to accomplish, in spreading light and knowledge -all through the wilderness, and leading the way to a great reformation -of the Indian race. Then, in a more solemn tone, he spoke of the world -to come; painting the happiness in store for those who persevere to the -end, and the uncontrollable miseries reserved for the unfaithful. His -earnest eloquence was perfectly adapted to their simple apprehensions, -yet eminently calculated to strike their imaginations by the wild -imagery with which he embellished it. Their stern natures relented as he -spoke, and he seemed to be on the point of regaining all his influence -over them, when another messenger arrived, and signified that he had -important news to communicate. - -He told of new outrages, more cruel, if possible, than the first; and -whilst every heart beat high with rage and horror, turned to Tamaque and -addressed him thus: - -“These griefs are common to us all; but the words I am now to speak will -fall more dismally on Tamaque’s soul than the howling of a famished -wolf. Yesterday you had a father and a sister. I saw that father’s gray -hairs red with blood; I saw that sister, when flying from the blazing -wigwam, driven back by the white men’s spears—and she returned no more. -Then I came, swift as a hunted deer, to sound the war-whoop in the ears -of Tamaque and his warriors.” - -Throughout the whole scene Tamaque had been sitting as impassive as a -statue. It was impossible to gather from his looks any hint of what was -passing in his mind; and when, at length, he rose, the fire that beamed -from his eye alone enabled me to anticipate his purpose. - -“Warriors!” he said, “we must listen to the song of peace no longer. The -white man’s words are love, but his embrace is death. Let us return, -without delay, to the customs of our fathers. Even now I hear their -voices, from the land of spirits, calling us to war and vengeance.” Then -turning toward me, he continued: “The stranger has come just in -time—seize him and drag him to the torture.” - -With savage yells some gathered round me, whilst others hastened to -prepare the stake, and others to collect the implements of torture. I -had seen the operation once in my life, and remembered it well. In that -case, the victim was stripped naked and tied with a grape vine to the -top of a pole, having a free range on the ground of ten or fifteen feet. -At the foot of the pole was a flaming fire of pitch-pine, and each -Indian held in his hand a small bundle of blazing reeds. The -death-signal being given he was attacked on all sides, and driven to the -pole for shelter; but, unable to endure the flames that scorched him -there, he again rushed forth and was again driven back by his -tormentors. When he became exhausted water was poured on him and a brief -respite given, that he might recover strength for new endurements. The -same scene was acted over again and again, until they had extracted the -last thrill of anguish from his scorched and lacerated body. - -Similar preparations were now making for me, and I watched them with -shuddering interest as the fire was kindled and the faggots distributed. -Just as they were about to drag me to the stake, however, Luten -interposed. But all his appeals and entreaties were unheeded; and when -at last he begged them, if they must have a victim, to take him and -spare his young friend, Tamaque rudely repulsed him, and ordered him to -be carried away to his tent. My last hope of escape was now -extinguished, when lo! a figure glided suddenly into the arena, -arresting the attention of all, as if she had been a messenger from -Heaven. Can the daughter control these wild spirits who have rebelled -against the authority of the father? She binds her white handkerchief -round my arm, and then whispers in the ear of Tamaque. The words, -whatever they are, act like a charm on him. His stern countenance -relaxes almost into a smile, and he stands for some moments absorbed in -meditation. Again she whispers a few earnest words; upon which he comes -forward, takes me by the arm, and leads me, in silence, to the outskirts -of the encampment. - -“Now go!” he cried, pointing toward the east; “you are indebted for your -freedom to one I love better than you. See that you make a good use of -it; for, if you should be retaken, and brought here again, not even -_her_ entreaties shall save you from the torture. Away! and here,” he -continued, handing me a red belt, “bear to the false-hearted cowards you -came from this token of the hatred and defiance of Tamaque and his -warriors.” He waved his hand to prevent my replying, and stalked away. - -I was now free, but by no means satisfied with the manner in which my -liberty had been procured. What meant this mysterious influence of a -fair young Christian girl over a haughty savage chieftain? What were -those whispered words which had wrought the sudden charm? Had she -yielded to some request, or given some pledge in order to make her -prayer effectual? My mind was racked with torments scarce less poignant -than those which just before had threatened to assail my body. I -resolved at all hazards to see the end of it; and, therefore, in -defiance of fire and faggot, concealed myself at a point close by, which -commanded a full view of the neighborhood. - -I had not been long in my hiding place when I saw a procession, with -Tamaque at its head, move from the camp in the direction of this -mountain. I conjectured at once that they were coming here to consult -the conjurer, and resolved to follow them. When they had descended the -face of the precipice to the spot where we are now sitting, I crept -cautiously forward on the rock above, and found myself in full hearing -of their consultation. - -“How often have I warned you,” said the conjurer, “against the teachings -of the white men. I told you they only wished to rob you of your courage -that they might destroy you the more easily; but you refused to listen -to me.” - -“Well, well,” said Tamaque, “that is past; there is no help for it now. -Let us talk of the future.” - -“Last year,” continued the conjurer, “when no game was to be found, and -when the corn all withered away, I told you the Great Spirit was angry -because you were forsaking the customs of your fathers; but you turned a -deaf ear to my words.” - -“I remember it all,” said Tamaque, “but go on, and tell us of the -future.” - -“They promised you,” persisted the conjurer, “that if you would worship -their God you should go to their heaven when you died. I told you that -your spirits and theirs could never live in peace in the same -spirit-land; but you would not believe me.” - -“Come, come, I am tired of this,” said Tamaque. - -“No forests, no rivers, no deer, no hunting and no war,” continued the -conjurer, “what would the Indian warrior do in the white man’s heaven?” - -“Cease your babbling!” cried Tamaque, in a tone no longer to be -disregarded. “If you can foretell our fortunes in this war speak; if -not, out on your boasted wisdom!” - -The conjurer seemed to feel that it was necessary to come to the point. -After a long pause, he asked: - -“What have you done with the white stranger that came to your camp last -evening?” - -The old impostor had no doubt seen me at the same time I had seen him as -I crossed the mountain, but he was determined to make a mystery of it. -Tamaque seemed puzzled. - -“How did you know of his coming?” he inquired. - -“Tamaque doubts the conjurer’s wisdom,” he replied. - -“No!” said Tamaque, “you would not tell me what I come to hear. Go on, -now, and I’ll believe you.” - -“Has the stranger been put to death?” - -“He is gone,” said Tamaque. - -“It was wrong,” said the conjurer; “he should have died at the stake. -The Great Spirit calls for a sacrifice. The missionary and his daughter -must die.” - -“No!” said Tamaque, “it is impossible.” - -“It must be so,” replied the conjurer; “they must die before sunset.” - -“It cannot be,” said Tamaque firmly; “command me to do any thing but -that.” - -“I command you to do that,” replied the conjurer, “or I will call down -confusion on your war-party.” - -“I tell you,” said Tamaque fiercely, “they shall not die. Say no more -about it.” - -“Obstinate man!” said the conjurer, “you dare not disobey me. They shall -die, and you shall kindle the fire beneath them.” - -Tamaque now sprang forward and seized the conjurer by the throat. -“Villain!” he exclaimed, “I warned you to speak of that no more. Name it -again, and I will toss you headlong down the mountain.” - -Finding that Tamaque could not be overawed, the wily conjurer now -changed his tactics. - -“You might safely spare them,” he said, “on one condition; but I dare -not name it.” - -“Go on,” said Tamaque, “you have nothing to fear, if you do not speak of -their death.” - -“The anger of Tamaque is dangerous,” continued the conjurer; “and who -can tell what words will rouse it?” - -“No, no!” said Tamaque mildly, “I will hear you patiently; and if you -require me even to leap down this dizzy precipice, I’ll obey you.” - -“Listen, then,” said the conjurer; “and if my words sound harsh in your -ears,” said the old hypocrite, “let not your anger be kindled. They -shall live if you choose, but then the white maiden must become -Tamaque’s wife.” - -I was looking over, at the moment, from the rock above, full at Tamaque. -He started convulsively; his whole frame shook with emotion; whilst a -gleam of joy absolutely lighted up his dark features. My own sensations -were not less violent, perhaps, though somewhat different in their -character. - -After a pause Tamaque asked, in a tone of affected indifference: - -“If I consent to this, do you promise success to our expedition?” - -“Yes,” said the conjurer, “you will conquer all your foes, and -reestablish the power and glory of the red man. Behold! a vision of the -future rises up before me. I see Tamaque great and powerful, the ruler -over many nations; and far off, for many generations, I see his -children’s children walking in his footsteps.” - -“Your words are good,” said Tamaque. - -“So will be your deeds,” said the conjurer. “Strike boldly, and fear -nothing.” - -“Tamaque knows no fear,” replied the haughty chief. “To-morrow he will -go forth with his warriors, and thus will he rush upon the foe.” As he -spoke he heaved from its resting place a huge fragment of rock, which -bounded down the mountain roaring and smoking, and crushing all before -it, until, with a loud plunge, it disappeared beneath the bubbling -waters. - -I had now heard and seen enough; and there was no time to be lost if I -wished to save _her_ from—from what? Confusion on the thought! My head -reeled, and I came near falling down amongst them. But I soon rallied, -and made all possible haste to reach the camp before Tamaque. - -Suddenly, as I emerged from a clump of trees yonder on the bank of the -creek, I saw her whom I sought close before me, kneeling on a mound of -earth,—doubtless her mother’s grave. I stood entranced, and listened, -in spite of myself, to the broken sentences which she uttered aloud. - -“And save, oh, merciful Father,” she murmured, “save his white hairs -from the dangers which surround us.” Her filial words here became -inaudible. The next sentence that reached my ears related to a different -person. “May thy powerful arm protect us from the cruel rage, and the -still more cruel love of that dreadful man!” My jealous ears drank in -these words with ecstasy. They were a balm to my wounded spirit; a -compensation for all my sufferings. Again she spoke aloud: “And him, the -stranger, who wanders, unprotected, through the wilderness; oh! guard -his steps from harm, and grant, in thine own good time, that—” her -voice now died away into a gentle whisper. When it rose again she was -saying, “And for me, in mercy, give thy unhappy child, here, in this -hallowed spot, a peaceful grave.” I began to feel that my listening, -however inadvertent, was little less than sacrilege; and, therefore, -quietly stole away out of hearing. - -As soon as I discovered that she had risen to her feet, I again drew -near. Great was her surprise and consternation at seeing me. - -“Oh! why do you linger here,” she cried. “You should, ere this, be far -on your way toward home. Fly instantly, and look not behind you; for, if -you should be taken by these cruel savages no human power can save you -from a dreadful doom.” - -“I know that well,” I replied; “but can you think me so careful of my -own life as to run away and leave you to their tender mercies?” - -“Fear nothing for me,” she said; “they do not rank me among their -enemies, and will not harm me.” - -“But although you may be safe from their hatred, have you nothing to -fear from their friendship?” said I. - -The tide of confusion mounted to her brow at these words, and she -trembled in every limb. But, quickly recovering herself, she said: “Come -what may, I share the fate of my father.” - -“But go,” said I, “bring your father quickly, and we will all escape -together.” - -“No,” said she, sadly, “he is old and feeble; his absence would soon be -noticed; they would certainly pursue us, and easily overtake us.” - -I could make no reply to this, for I knew that we could not take her -father with us, and I felt sure that she would not go without him. With -the dogged resolution of despair, therefore, I said: - -“Your own fidelity teaches me my duty. I shall remain in these woods to -watch over your safety. Seek not to change my purpose. Better endure all -the torments these fiends can inflict than the shame and remorse I -should suffer if I left you.” - -I spoke in a tone that could leave no doubt of my sincerity or firmness. -She evidently felt it so, and stood for some minutes with her eyes fixed -on the ground in silent meditation. Then, at length, raising her head, -she abruptly asked: - -“Can you paddle a canoe?” - -I replied that I could with considerable skill. - -“Then go down immediately to the mouth of the creek,” she continued; “I -will bring my father there, and it is possible that we may yet escape -across the river. It is worth the trial, at least, and is our only -hope.” - -I hastened to the place designated, where I found two canoes moored to -the shore. In a few minutes Mary appeared, almost dragging her father -along. When the old man understood our purpose he refused to get into -the boat. - -“No,” said he, “I cannot leave these poor children, whom I have so long -taught and prayed for. Deserted by their pastor, they would soon return -to their old habits, and the labor of long years would lose all its -fruits.” - -“But, sir,” I replied, “they have already withdrawn themselves from your -authority. You cannot safely remain amongst them, for they now regard -all white men as their enemies.” - -“I will stay,” he answered, “and bring them back to the fold from which -they are wandering, or else lay down my life among them.” - -“But your daughter,” I continued; “surely this is now no place for her. -Come! let us place her in safety, and then, if you choose, you can -return.” I saw that he hesitated; and so, taking him by the arm, I led -him, with gentle violence, into the canoe. - -“Are these the only canoes at the station?” I asked. - -Being answered in the affirmative, I directed Luten to hold fast to the -empty one, and then pushed off from the shore. My intention was to cut -off pursuit by carrying the empty canoe some distance into the stream -and then setting her adrift. The river was then about at its present -height, and dashed over these rapids with the same violence as now. It -was certain that no boat could drift through them without being swamped -or broken to pieces. - -Accordingly, when we had attained what I thought a sufficient distance -from the shore, I directed Luten to let go his hold. Scarcely had he -done so when a shriek from Mary, whose face was turned toward the shore, -was immediately followed by a plunge, and then another, into the water. - -“It is Tamaque and another Indian,” she exclaimed, “and they are -swimming for the empty canoe.” I cast a hasty glance behind me, and saw -all the peril of our position; but I had no time for making -observations. My business was to ply the paddle. - -“Now,” continued Mary, “they have almost reached it; and now they have -caught—but see! they have upset it in trying to climb in. No! it has -come right again; and now Tamaque has got in safely, and is dragging his -companion after him. But it is too late; they are almost at the falls, -and they cannot stem the current. Look! Merciful Heaven, they will go -over, and be drowned!” - -Obeying the gentler impulses of her nature, she thought only of their -danger, forgetting that _that_ was our only chance of escape. - -“Oh! how they do struggle for their lives,” she continued; “and now they -are standing still—no, they are moving—they are coming—faster and -faster—they are coming toward us!” - -I again looked back for a moment, and, truly, they were coming, and -evidently gaining on us. Luten meanwhile sat in the bottom of the canoe -in a fit of total abstraction. - -“I will not leave them, nor return from following after them,” he -muttered; “they have gone astray, but I will bring them back, and they -shall yet be the instruments, under God, of regenerating the whole -Indian race.” - -But the state of things was now becoming critical, and Mary cried out in -terror: - -“Oh, father, help!—take that other paddle and help, or we are lost.” - -The old man roused himself up, took the paddle, and went to work in the -bow of the canoe. But he was unskilled in the business, and did more -harm than good. I begged him to desist, but he only replied by -increasing his well meant exertions. At length, however, he rocked the -boat, and threw her out of her course so badly, that I was obliged to -command him, peremptorily, to sit down; and he was soon again lost in -meditation. - -Meanwhile our pursuers were rapidly gaining on us. Under the guidance of -her two powerful and well-trained workmen, their canoe bounded forward -at every sweep of the paddles like a race-horse. I now saw that it was -all over with us. We were still a long way from shore, and they were -almost upon us. Nor could it avail us any thing even if we should -succeed in landing first. They would capture us on the land if they did -not on the water. My heart sickened at the thought. To me captivity -would bring unutterable torments; and to my innocent and lovely -companion a fate still more deplorable. Was there any alternative? I -looked the whole subject steadily in the face for one minute, and then -my resolution was taken. With a single dexterous sweep of the paddle I -brought the head of the canoe directly down stream, and then urged her -forward toward the roaring cataract. Tamaque uttered a loud yell of rage -and disappointment; and, the same moment, his tomahawk whizzed by within -an inch of my head. But the current now drew us on with fearful -rapidity. Mary sat pale and silent, gazing anxiously in my face; whilst -her father continued unconscious of all that was passing. Now and then I -could hear his voice amid the tumult of the dashing breakers mournfully -bewailing the apostacy of his neophytes. - -We had now reached the very brink of the foaming precipice, when my eye -caught a narrow streak of blue water, which evidently descended in a -gradual slope. I directed the canoe toward it, and she went down, -plunging, I thought, entirely under; but she rose again filled with -water, but still afloat. I threw my hat to Mary; and, whilst I kept the -canoe steady in her course with one hand, I seized my hat in the other -and commenced bailing. In a few minutes all danger of sinking was -removed. We had now a free course before us, and an impassible barrier -(so it was deemed) between us and our pursuers. We felt that we were -safe;—all but Luten; to whom our danger and our safety seemed equally -indifferent. His thoughts were far away in the land of dreams, where he -had so long dwelt, and from which he would not yet depart. We spoke to -him, but he made no answer. At length his head began to sink slowly -down, and Mary hastened to support it. An ashy paleness now came over -his features; his breathing grew short and difficult, and his mutterings -became inaudible; except once, when the name of Tamaque trembled on his -lips. Then his eyes became fixed; his lips ceased to move; his hand -dropped heavily down at his side; and now,—the hot tears that rain from -the eyes of his dutiful child fall on the brow of death. - -It was now near sundown; and when we reached the nearest white -settlement it was near morning. There we buried Luten; and his daughter -being now an orphan, and without a protector in the world, why, of -course,—but I need not relate what followed. Suffice it to say that I -was no longer jealous of Tamaque, but even felt a pang of regret when I -heard, soon after, that he had fallen in battle. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE RECONCILIATION. - - - BY MISS L. VIRGINIA SMITH. - - - The midnight shadows deepen on, the earth is still and lone, - And starry lamps in heaven’s blue hall are fading one by one, - For cold gray clouds wreathe o’er them like a dim and misty veil, - And through their foldings peers the moon—a spirit wan and pale. - - As far away the gentle breeze is sighing mournfully - It seems a murmur from the shore of olden memory, - And while its cadence floats afar _thy voice_ I seem to hear— - Like music in some troubled dream it steals upon my ear. - - My heart beats faster as the sound fades out upon the night, - And pants to drink again that tone of rapture and delight; - At such an hour it cannot deem that voice is cold and strange, - In such an hour it will forget that hearts like thine can change. - - No—never, it shall _not_ be so—the thought is burning pain, - Which like the levin’s blighting fire comes crushing through my brain; - It cannot be our friendship’s bright and glowing dream is o’er, - It must not be that we _shall meet_ as we _have met_ no more. - - Have I offended?—then _forgive_—’twill be the nobler part— - And oh, _forget_ that I have wronged thy warm and generous heart, - For careless words though lightly said come keenly to the mind, - To chill its glowing depths with tones like winter’s frozen wind. - - Ah! “cast the shadow” from thy heart, and mine shall glow with thine - In purer flames, whose fairy gleams in rainbow beauty shine, - Its thoughts of thee shall brighten then though all around be sad, - Its every dream of thee be sweet—its every vision glad— - - * * * * * - - - - - UNHAPPY LOVE. - - - BY GEO. D. PRENTICE. - - - ’Tis vain, ’tis vain, these idle tears! - Thou art far distant now; - No more, oh never more my lips - May press thy pale, sweet brow; - And yet I cannot, cannot burst - The deep and holy spell that first - Bade my strong spirit bow - With all of passion’s hopes and fears - Before thee in our happier years. - - Those eves of love, those blessed eves— - Their memory still comes back - A glory and a benison - O’er life’s bewildering track, - Their light has vanished from our lot - Like meteor-gleams and left us—what? - The sigh, the tear, the rack! - And yet upon their visions blest - Still love can turn and sink to rest. - - I know thou lovest me, I know - Thine eyes with tears are dim, - I know that stricken love still chants - To thee its mournful hymn; - I know the shadows of love’s dream - In the deep waves of memory’s stream - Like soft star-shadows swim; - But oh! the fiend of wild unrest - Is raging in my tortured breast. - - Forgive me, gentle one, forgive - My burning dreams of thee; - Forgive me that I dare to let - Forbidden thoughts go free; - My torrent-passions madly sweep - On, darkly on, and will not sleep - But in death’s silent sea; - And I—a mouldering wreck—am still - The victim of their stormy will. - - Ah, dear one, suns will rise and set, - And moons will wax and wane, - The seasons come and go, but we - Must never meet again; - That thought, whene’er I hear thy name, - Is like a wild and raging flame - Within my heart and brain; - But none, save thee, shall ever know - The secret of my living wo. - - Oft at the sunset’s holy time, - Our spirits’ trysting hour, - I wander to commune with thee - Beneath the wildwood bower; - And o’er me there thy tone of love, - Like the low moaning of a dove, - Steals with a soothing power; - ’Tis gone—my voice in anguish calls, - But silence on the desert falls. - - I gaze on yon sweet moon as erst - We gazed on that dear night - When our deep, parting vows were said - Beneath its mournful light; - And then with tones, low, sweet and clear, - Thou breathest in my ravished ear - And risest on my sight— - I call thee, but the woods around - With mocking voice repeat the sound. - - I look on each memento dear, - The tress, the flower, the ring, - And these thy sweet and gentle form - Back to my spirit bring; - I seem to live past raptures o’er, - Our hands, our hearts, our lips once more - In one wild pressure cling— - It fades—I mourn the vision flown - And start to find myself alone. - - I look upon thy pictured face - ’Till from my straining eyes - My soul steals out to animate - The sweet but lifeless dyes; - The dark eyes wake, the dear lips speak, - Their breath is warm upon my cheek— - I clasp the living prize; - Alas! I wake to cold despair, - There’s but a painted mockery there. - - My youth is vanished from my life, - And ah! I feel that now - The lines of manhood’s fading prime - Are deepening on my brow; - My life is in its evening shade, - And soon its last pale flowers will fade - Upon the withering bough, - Alas! alas! that life should be - So fleeting and not passed with thee! - - Farewell, our dreams are idle now, - And tears are idler yet, - But oft beneath the midnight moon - My eyelids still are wet; - Oh! I could bear life’s every grief, - Its shade, its cloud, its withered leaf, - Its sun’s last darkened set, - Could I but know that we might love - As now in that bright world above. - - Farewell—farewell—yon gentle star - Is pure and bright like thee— - But lo! a dark cloud near it moves, - The type, alas, of me! - From the blue heavens the cloud will go, - But that unfading star will glow - Still beautiful and free; - And thus thy life, with fadeless ray, - May shine when I am passed away. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE SUNFLOWER. - - - A TRUE TALE OF THE NORTH-WEST. - - - BY MAJOR RICHARDSON. - - -Of all the tribes of Indians with whom it has been our lot to mix, and -these have not been a few, we know of none who can surpass in the native -dignity and nobleness of manhood the Saukie tribe. We, however, speak -not of them as they exist at the present day. Many years have elapsed -since fighting against Hull, Winchester, and Harrison, we numbered, as -co-operating with the division of the army to which we were attached, -three thousand fighting men of the élite of the warriors of the -principal tribes, headed by the indomitable and ever lamented Tecumseh, -whom, as a boy, then first attempting his _coup d’essai_ at arms, we -ever loved and revered, and with whom half an hour before his fall, we -shook the hand of cordiality, and separation—forever. We repeat, at -that period there were, varying slightly in number at intervals, not -less than three thousand with the eighth division of the British -army—and these were the choice warriors of the following tribes: -Shawanees, Delawares, Munsees, Hurons, Wyandots, Miamis, Chippewas, -Ottowas, Kickapoos, Foxes, Minouminies, Pottowattamies, Winnebagoes, -Loups, Sioux, and lastly, for we cannot recollect some two or three -others—the Saukies. Each tribe had its peculiar and distinctive -characteristics—but no one so markedly so as the last named people, and -next to them the Winnebagoes. We have remarked that we do not know what -the Indian tribes, even in their original hunting grounds have become -since so long abstinence from the pursuits of war and adventure, but -_then_, the Saukies were the noblest looking men of all we have ever -since beheld in any quarter of the globe we have visited. They were a -collective impersonation of the dignity of man, as sent first upon earth -by the will of God; nor were these characteristics of manly beauty -peculiar only to a few, but general to all. A Saukie warrior, arrived at -the full stage of manhood, was tall—generally from five feet eleven to -six feet in height, and of proportionate symmetry of person. Their -carriage was erect, dignified, graceful. Their look serene, imposing -without sternness. Their features bore the Roman impress, and seldom did -we look upon a Saukie, arrived at mature age, without the memory -adverting at once to the dignified senators of the forum of which we had -so recently been reading. There was a nobleness—a consciousness—a -native dignity about these people that always inspired us with a certain -degree of awe and respect; and so deeply was this sentiment implanted in -us at that very early period of a somewhat adventurous life, that our -_beau ideal_ of manly beauty has ever since continued to be a Saukie -warrior of the commencement of the present century. - -The period of occurrence of the incidents of our little tale was some -four or five years prior to the American declaration of war against -Great Britain, and when the North West Company of Canada, whose wealth, -acquired in the pursuit of that trade, was at one time great, held -various stockade forts in the heart of the Indian country. The -ambulating village of the Saukies was then situated on a branch of one -of those small streams on which the forts were usually built, and at a -distance of about forty miles from that which will come more immediately -under our notice. - -White Bear was one of the most honored of the Saukie chiefs, and even -among men whom we have just described as so eminently prepossessing, he -was remarkable. He was forty years of age, and possessed a majesty of -mien and carriage that won to him the respect of his tribe not more than -did his wisdom in the council, and his daring in war. He had but one -wife, and she was much younger than himself, but years had so little to -do with the estimate in which he was generally held by the squaws of his -tribe, and particularly by his wife, whose passion for him was ardent as -his own for her, that this disparity had never even been noticed. -Indeed, their friendship for each other was the remark of the whole -tribe. For an Indian, he took great pride in her beauty, and spent with -her many hours that ought to have been devoted to the chase. War for -some years past there had been none. - -Sunflower was tall and graceful. She had very black, soft, languishing -eyes—marked, yet delicate eyebrows. Her nose, like that of her tribe, -was Roman, but more delicately marked than that of the men, her teeth -were white and even, her mouth small, and her hair glossy as the raven’s -wing, and darker than the squirrel’s fur. The full and massive club into -which it was tastefully rolled and placed behind the back of her neck, -proved its fullness and redundance. She was elegantly formed. She had -never been a mother, and her nut-brown bosom had all the roundness of -contour of a Venus, and the smoothness of the Parian marble. Her hands -and feet, like those of all her race, were small, and yet there was a -development of her whole person that set all art to improve it at -defiance. Late at night she always bathed in the sweet waters of the -stream, and on its low banks combed the long and luxuriant hair that -overshadowed her person, and with the chewed root of the grape-vine, -added fragrance to her breath, even while she increased the dazzling -whiteness of the teeth she rubbed with it. To crown all the fascinations -of this Indian wife—this favored daughter of a race in which the -interesting and the beautiful are so rarely found, she had a voice whose -every note was laughing music. - -There was one in that camp, and of that tribe, who saw the happiness of -White Bear, not with envy, for his nature was too generous for so low a -passion, but with regret that destiny had not given to him the -beautiful, the enchanting Sunflower. He was consumed with the most -ardent love. He lived only in and for her—hung upon her look, fed upon -her glance, and yet he had never spoken to her. His soul melted away -with love for her. To look at her alone was enjoyment the greatest he -could taste. The chase was deserted, his very flute, in which he -excelled, and on which he often played to the great delight of the -admiring Indian girls, was neglected. Not so his dress. No young Saukie -bestowed more pains in decorating his person than did the tall and -gracefully formed Wawandah, and this not from any foolish love of -display, as because he wished to appear favorably in her eyes, should -she ever be induced to regard him. The savage equally with the -civilized, tries to win a woman as much by dress as by address. But in -vain Wawandah courted his toilet. The vermilion was applied to his cheek -and lips without the desired result—the Sunflower never once caught his -eye, or if she did, she was too much engaged in thinking of the White -Bear, to be conscious that any other of her tribe sought to win her -attention. - -Days, weeks passed on, with the same unvarying result. Wawandah was -sorely grieved at heart. He began to pine away. His soft and melancholy -eye became dull. He had no pleasure in the chase which took him far from -the encampment. Every step that he trod in pursuit led him farther from -the spot trodden by her, the very soles of whose feet he worshiped, and -he could not continue. Thus, when a stray buffalo would cross him, easy -to be killed, and offering himself as an unerring mark to his rifle, his -passion would so trouble his mind as to unnerve his arm. Then the ball -would pass unwounding by, and the half sneers of his companions arise -and bring the blush to his cheek; as they bade him tauntingly leave the -rifle to be handled by men, and go and amuse himself with the women. In -like manner he sought to avoid the war-dance, and the ball playing, and -the foot-race, for his mind was too painfully interested to engage -unrestrainedly in these amusements, and unless excellence was to be -obtained in whatever he undertook, Wawandah cared not to be a -competitor. Wawandah was beginning to lose caste not only with the -elders of the tribe but with the young men who were jealous of his -superiority, and so much was he talked of that the very women knew all -that was said by the warriors, and the Sunflower like the rest. It was -the first time Wawandah had ever come under the notice of her he so -fondly loved, and as he knew the cause, he secretly blessed the fate -which had, even under circumstances so humiliating to the pride of a -warrior, been the cause of her bestowing even the slightest attention -upon him. - -The White Bear had been the friend of the father of Wawandah, who for -ten long years, according to Indian computation, had slumbered in his -grave with the red stained pole at its head. Since he had taken the -Sunflower to his bosom, he had neglected the boy, for his own breast was -full of the natural selfishness of love, and he had not found time to -regard him as he would have done had he been free from the influence -that now exclusively governed him in all things. But when the Sunflower -told him that there was a youth in the village who, oppressed by some -secret care, had so degenerated in the tastes and pursuits of the young -warriors, as absolutely to have incurred their scorn, her husband -recollected the name, and determined as far as he could to comfort him, -and to restore to him the respect of his tribe; and straightway he sent -a young boy to the wigwam of Wawandah, who was then lying on the skin of -a grizzly bear, which he had killed before the spirit of guilty love had -entered into his heart, and the recollection of his skill and prowess in -obtaining which was the only circumstance that still preserved to him a -certain consideration among the elders of the tribe. Astonished, almost -dismayed at the message, Wawandah rose from his couch, and disguising -his feelings, said to the young messenger, “That it was good. He would -go to White Bear’s wigwam presently.” The boy departed, and Wawandah was -torn with emotion. What was the meaning of this message? Since the death -of his father, the Black Vulture, the White Bear had taken no other -notice of him than he had of the young warriors generally; then how was -it that he sent for him now, when almost shunned by the young men of his -tribe; he bowed submissively and uncomplainingly to the effects of the -passion that was preying upon his heart, rendering him regardless of all -things else. Why, he again asked himself, was this? Or had the White -Bear discovered his secret in the only way in which it could have -transpired—through his eyes—and sent for him to reprove and to -threaten. Still he was glad that he was sent for, no matter for what -reason, for there was a faint hope at his heart that the Sunflower might -be present at the interview in the wigwam, and he felt that it would be -pleasant to be condemned in her hearing for that which she alone had, -however innocently, occasioned. - -Still, with slow, and timid, and undecided step, he approached the tent -of the great chief. The latter motioned him to be seated. Wawandah, who, -on entering, had seen in a corner of the tent a muffled figure, which -his beating heart told him was the wife of the White Bear, silently -obeyed, and waited until the chief had finished his pipe. Wawandah now -and then turned his eyes furtively in the direction of the squaw who was -embroidering moccasins with the dyed quills of the porcupine, and could -perceive that she, too, occasionally glanced at him in the same furtive -manner. The heart of Wawandah was troubled yet full of gladness. To be -looked at with interest by the Sunflower had been the summit of his -highest ambition. - -“Wawandah,” said the White Bear, who had finished his pipe, and was now -emptying the bowl of its ashes, “the chief, your father, was a great -warrior in the tribe; and when, a year after his death, you slew the -white bear that was about to kill a young girl, all the tribe thought -that you too would become a great warrior. What says my son—why is -this?” - -“Ugh!” was the sole and assentient reply of the youth. - -“The braves say you cannot shoot, and that your arm is wide as that of a -squaw from the buffalo or the deer—that every papoose can beat you in -the race—that you cannot wrestle, and that the ball never rebounds from -your foot. Is this true? Are you no longer a warrior? Why is this, my -son?” - -Wawandah was silent for a moment, and then placing his palm over his -heart, he said in so mournful a tone, that the Sunflower suddenly -started and looked up. “Very sick here. Wawandah wishes only to -encounter another bear. The victory would not be the same.” - -As he uttered these words, his eyes beaming with melancholy tenderness -were turned upon the wife of the White Bear. It was just at that moment -she looked up. Their glances met. His dark and handsome features became -flushed with crimson, as he traced in hers he thought, pity, sorrow, and -a full understanding of his position. A thousand delicious thoughts -possessed his being. That look of commiseration had repaid him for every -insult he had endured. To be rewarded by another, he would have -subjected himself to the same a thousand fold. As for the Sunflower, she -could not tell wherefore, but it seemed to her as if a new light had -dawned upon her being. - -“My son,” said the chief, presenting his hand, “I pity you, for I see it -all. You love a squaw, who does not love you—and that I know is enough -to turn the rifle aside, and check the speed of the race. When the heart -is sick the body is sick also. I am old, Wawandah, but I know it— - -“See!” he continued, after a short pause, “there is one who ought to be -your sister. The White Bear owes her life to you. Without your arm his -wigwam would be as a desert. Taken from the fangs of one white bear, you -have preserved her for the arms of another.” - -The Sunflower and Wawandah looked this time fully, tenderly into each -other’s eyes—a new affinity had been created—a new tie mutually -acknowledged. It was the first time they had been made aware that she -was the young girl thus saved. They both colored deeply, and with a -consciousness that that information was fraught with good or evil, for -the future, to themselves. Both awaited with interest and impatience -what was to follow. - -“Wawandah,” pursued the chief, “I feel that I have wronged you by -neglect. But I will make amends for it. Once more you shall be a man—a -hunter—a warrior. You shall abandon your tent and live in mine. It is -large enough for us all. The Sunflower will be glad to receive him who -saved her life in the most daring manner. Her smiles will make you -forget your hopeless love, and when her hands have prepared the morning -meal, we shall go forth to the chase, for I, too, feel that my pretty -Sunflower too often dazzles my path with its brightness, and keeps me -from the tracks of the deer and buffalo.” - -“Oh, the friend of my father is too good,” replied Wawandah, with a -manner changed, from despair to life and hope, which, although unheeded -by the husband, was not lost upon his beautiful wife. “Wawandah is -thankful. He will sleep in the wigwam of the White Bear, and gain from -his goodness new courage to his heart, and strength to his arm, and -skill to his eye. He will go forth to the chase as before. He will -forget the love of the woman he cannot have, in the friendship of his -sister—in the child the Good Spirit allowed him to save for the friend -of his father. Wawandah will be happy, and the White Bear will make him -so.” - -The Sunflower rose from the spot where she was seated at her work, and -moving in all her gracefulness and dignity of carriage to her husband’s -side, leaned over him, and thanked him for his goodness in permitting -her to aid in soothing him to whom she owed her life and happiness with -him. - -“Wawandah,” said the husband of the Sunflower, “you may go; I wished to -give ease to your heart—not to pine away like a love-sick woman. You -live here. I am not quite old enough to be your father, for -five-and-twenty years have passed over your head, but I shall be every -thing else to you; nor is Sunflower old enough to be your mother, but -she shall be your sister, and her laughing eye shall make you glad. Go, -then, part with your wigwam, and let it be known throughout the tribe -the White Bear adopts you as his son.” - -From that hour Wawandah became a changed man. He lived in the wigwam of -the White Bear. The beautiful Sunflower was ever before his eyes. Her -presence inspired, her soft eye turned in gratitude upon him who had -preserved her life, infused animation, if not hope, into his being. He -had no other thought, no other desire than to be loved by the Sunflower -as by a sister, to be near her, to listen to her sweet voice, to mark -the expression of her beautiful eyes, to follow the graceful movements -of her tall form—all this he enjoyed, and he was happy. Sustained by -her approval, once more the buffalo and the elk fell beneath his -unerring rifle, and his honors graced the interior of the tent which the -Sunflower decorated with her own hands. Again he was foremost in the -race, and left his competitors behind when darting into the swollen -stream they buffeted against the strong current that essayed to check -their upward progress. In the wrestling-ring no one could equal his -dexterity and strength; and where once his foot touched the ball, no -opponent could bear from him his prize until it had reached the desired -goal. The women were often spectators of these sports, and approved the -manliness and activity of the handsome and modest-looking Wawandah, but -none more than his newly found sister, the peerless Sunflower of the -White Bear. - -“Strange!” she would muse to herself, as she saw him amidst the loud -plaudits of the aged and the young of the warriors, of the matron and of -the maid bear off every prize for which he contended—“strange, that -before he came to dwell within our wigwam, he was as a child, and even -now is a strong man, proud in his own power. It was disappointed love -made him weak and uncertain of aim in the chase, he said to the White -Bear. What, then, has made him strong, for no love warms him yet but the -love of his sister.” The Sunflower sighed; she thought of the eloquent -looks he had often cast upon herself, and she endeavored to give a new -direction to her thoughts. - -Often would the White Bear and Wawandah set out on a hunting excursion -of a couple of days, and return so laden with the meat of the buffalo -and the deer, that the horses they took with them for the purpose, could -with difficulty walk under the heavy burdens. Then would the children, -seeing them coming from a distance, clap their hands, and utter shouts -of rejoicing, until the whole encampment attracted by their cries, would -turn out and gathered together in small groups, await the arrival of the -hunters, to whom the word and hand of greeting were cordially given. The -Sunflower would watch all this from a distance, and in silence; and her -heart would become glad, for well she knew where the choicest of the -game killed by Wawandah’s hand would be laid—at his sister’s feet with -a look of such touching eloquence of prayer for its acceptance that the -very anticipation took from her loneliness in absence; and she was -always right, for never on one occasion did Wawandah fail, and when he -had given of the best to the wife of the White Bear, his soft and -beautiful eyes rendered more lustrous by the deep hectic overspreading -his brown cheek, would thank him with such expression of silent -eloquence, that her own heart would invariably flutter, and her own -cheek flush with as deep a crimson. And then, happy and contented and -rewarded for all his toil, Wawandah would bear the remainder of his game -to the tents of the chiefs, and distribute among the grateful wives of -these the remainder of the proceeds of his unequalled skill. No one was -now a greater favorite throughout the Saukie camp than the late despised -Wawandah, the son of the Black Vulture. - -Once in the middle of August the White Bear and Wawandah set out with -two others on an excursion, which was to last five days. Time had so -accustomed the Sunflower to the presence of her brother, and his absence -on similar occasions had so seldom exceeded a couple of days, that when -the fifth had arrived she was uneasy and unhappy; and her longing for -Wawandah’s return became such that she now, for the first time, became -aware of the full extent of her own feelings for him. She trembled to -admit the truth to herself, but it was in vain to conceal it. Guilt was -in her soul. She loved Wawandah. True, but she was resolved that while -she sought not to change the character of their existing relations, she -would allow them to go no further. - -It has already been shown that the Sunflower was in the habit of bathing -in the stream on which the encampment of the Saukies had been pitched. -This was about a mile up, and in a secluded nook or narrow bay, the -overhanging banks of which, closely studded with trees, formed a -complete shelter from the observation of the passing stranger. The -evening of the day previous to that on which the hunters were expected -back was exceedingly sultry, and the Sunflower had gone with another -Saukie—a daughter of one of the chiefs—to indulge in her favorite and -refreshing bath. After disporting themselves for some time in the -running and refreshing stream, they were preparing to resume their -dress, when both were startled by a low and sudden growl from the top of -the bank immediately above them. The Saukie maiden looked for a moment, -and then trembling in every limb, and yet without daring to utter a -word, pointed out to the Sunflower, on whose shoulder she leaned, two -glaring eyes which, without seeing more of the animal, they at once felt -to be those of a panther evidently fixed on themselves. The animal gave -another low growl, and by the crashing of the underwood amid which it -lay, they knew it was about to give its final spring. Filled with terror -the Sunflower uttered a loud scream and even as the animal sprang -downward from his lair the report of a rifle resounded, and the whizzing -ball was distinctly heard as it passed their ears. The water around the -gurgling spot where the panther leaped into the stream, was deeply -tinged with his blood. He had been wounded, but not so severely as to -prevent him from being an object of unabated terror. Not five seconds, -however, had elapsed, before another form came from the very spot whence -the panther had sprung. The beast, infuriated by its wound, was running -or rather bounding rapidly toward the Sunflower, who, paralyzed at the -danger, stood incapable of motion, and standing immersed up to her waist -in the stream, and with her long dark hair floating over its surface. -With a wild and savage cry, meant to divert his attention to himself, -Wawandah, for it was he, pursued the animal as rapidly as he could -through the interposing water. Startled by his unexpected appearance, -the Sunflower became, for the first time, conscious of her position, -when turning, she fled as fast as she could with a view to gain the -beach and turn the ascent to the hill. This act saved her from severe -laceration, if not death, for it afforded time for Wawandah to overtake -the monster. Seeing itself closely pursued, the latter turned to defend -itself, and before Wawandah could seize it by the back of the neck, with -a force against which it vainly struggled, it had severely wounded him -in the left shoulder. Infuriated with pain, and still more so at what he -knew to be the exposed position of the Sunflower, the latter, even while -the teeth of the panther were fastened in his shoulder, drew from his -side his deadly knife, and burying it to the handle in its heart, while -he worked furiously to enlarge the wound, at length contrived to leave -it lifeless floating on the surface of the stream. This done, his first -care was the safety of the Sunflower. He knew that while he continued -there she would not return for her clothes, which were lying on the -beach immediately under the point from which he had, on hearing the -scream, leaped into the river, and therefore he had no alternative than -to call out in clear and distinct tones that she might return without -fear, as the panther was dead and he himself about to ascend the bank on -the opposite side, to secure his rifle and await her coming, as, after -the danger she had so barely escaped, he was determined not to allow her -to be exposed, unprotected, to another. - -That evening it was made known in every part of the Saukie encampment by -the daughter of the chief, that but for the sudden appearance and prompt -action of the brave Wawandah, both herself and the Sunflower would have -been torn to pieces by an enormous and savage panther, whose eyes were -balls of fire, and whose teeth were like the wild boar’s tusk. Again -were the plaudits of the camp bestowed upon him, and the head chief -ordered a war dance to be performed in honor of the exploit. - -The dance was continued until late at night, but Wawandah did not mix in -it. Thoughts were passing in his mind that little disposed him to join -in festivities given in honor of himself. For the first time, that day -he had seen enough of the symmetry of form of the Sunflower to know that -she could no longer be as a mere sister to him. He felt that she must be -to him as a wife or he must die. Giving as a reason, and it was a true -one, that his arm pained him very much, he retired to his bear-skin -couch long before the war dance had terminated. - -The Sunflower sat at his side, and with a decoction of herbs which she -had boiled down to a thick gelatinous matter, ever and anon bathed the -wound, and with a look so eloquent with thankfulness for this second -serious service which he had rendered her, that Wawandah felt an -irrepressible fire kindling in his veins, while his eyes were absolutely -riveted on her own. - -“How came my brother so near me and so far away from the camp,” she -asked, desirous of turning his thoughts from an admiration that pained, -yet not displeased her, “and where has he left the White Bear and his -companions. Was it well to come back without them?” she concluded, half -reproachfully, for she began to feel the danger of her position. - -“It was well that Wawandah came,” he said, with more animation than he -had hitherto evinced. “But listen, my sister. An elk, with horns like -the branches of a great tree, had fallen beneath my rifle, when suddenly -a panther sprang from its lair. Determined to lay its skin at your feet, -I followed it. The chase was long; it lasted from daybreak to the -setting sun. I knew not where I was, or in what direction I was going. -Suddenly the panther crouched in a small thicket. I heard a cry. Oh, who -could mistake the birdlike voice of my sweet sister. The hair on the -crown of my head seemed to move. I felt my cheek white as that of a pale -face—my heart was sick. As the panther took his spring I fired. Oh, had -I been myself, I should have killed him dead, but fear took away my -skill and I was a woman, even as I had been for many moons before, until -the sister that I loved without hope brought comfort to my soul by -smiling upon me under the roof of her own wigwam.” - -The eyes of the Sunflower bent beneath the ardor of his gaze,—her -heaving bosom marked her emotion, and her hands dropped mechanically at -her side. Now, for the first time, she knew that it was through his -silent love for her that the generous and noble-hearted Wawandah had -incurred the odium of his tribe. - -“Yes,” pursued the youth, “now that the panther is dead, and the -Sunflower is safe, Wawandah is glad of the wound received in saving her. -His step had never dared to move toward the spot where she bathed, but -the Good Spirit led him, even in the guise of a panther, to behold that -which he had never seen but in his dreams.” - -He paused; leaning on his elbow, he had taken the small hand of the -Sunflower. He felt it tremble beneath the slight pressure of his. Then -he continued:— - -“The love that filled my heart like the devouring fire of the prairie, -before the good White Bear adopted me as his son, was nothing to what it -is now. The Sunflower must be Wawandah’s wife or she must see him die. -He will not live without her.” - -Never had the warrior awakened such interest in the bosom of the wife of -the White Bear. His beautiful eyes spoke a language she could not -resist. The deepening crimson of her cheek, the languor of her eye, and -the heaving of her bosom, were her only answer. - -“Then the Sunflower is Wawandah’s forever,” he exclaimed, as he caught -and pressed her to his heart, and imprinted the first kiss of love upon -her brow. - -Still she replied not. She felt as if an inevitable fate was impelling -both to their destruction; but there was sweetness in the thought. The -enormity of the ingratitude to the White Bear did not at first occur to -her. - -“We must fly,” she at length murmured. “The Sunflower is now the wife of -Wawandah, and she must seek another home. The White Bear will be here -to-morrow, and never can the guilty one he loves bear to look upon his -generous face again.” - -“The Sunflower shall look upon him no more—no more dazzle the White -Bear with the glare of her beauty,” answered the youth. “Far from this -Wawandah shall erect his tent, and alone. No one but his wife shall know -where he dwells, or share his solitude. He has no thought but of her. -While she gladdens his sight with her presence, he will ask no more of -the Spirit of Good. The camp is scarcely yet at rest. An hour before the -dawn we will depart; and when the sun rises its fairest flower will have -traveled far from the tent of the White Bear forever.” - -“The heart of the Sunflower is full of gladness,” said the latter. -“Never does she wish to behold the face of another warrior but Wawandah. -She loves him because he has so long loved herself. Ah, how much must -she love him, when she leaves the tent of the White Bear forever to fly -with him. It is very wicked this. The Good Spirit will punish her, but -her love for Wawandah is too great. She has not power over herself. She -would not stay if she could. And now it is too late.” - -At an hour before dawn Wawandah went stealthily forth. All was stillness -in the camp, and only here and there was to be seen the flickering of -some expiring fire, while the low growl of the dog, too vigilant to be -quite silent, and yet too lazy to bark outright, greeted him as he -passed outside the skirt of his encampment. Presently he arrived at an -open space or sort of oasis in the forest, where were tethered many -horses with great blocks of wood fastened to one of the fore fetlocks. -Selecting two of the best looking and best conditioned of these, he put -bridles upon them, and removing the unwieldy clogs, led them back to the -door of the wigwam of the White Bear. This time the dogs did not suffer -themselves to be disturbed. They seemed to recognize the horses, and to -know that he who led them was of the tribe to the masters of which they -belonged, and that the doubt they had in the first instance entertained -no longer had existence. Leaving the horses standing quietly at the -entrance, Wawandah went in. The Sunflower had put together every thing -that could be conveniently placed in two bundles, and then, having -thrown the rude saddles on the horses, Wawandah now fastened one to each -crupper. The Sunflower was dressed in leggings of blue and the moccasins -she was making when first Wawandah entered the tent. A man’s black hat, -with a white plume thrust through the band, was upon her head, and a -mantle of blue cloth, fastened by a large silver brooch, upon her -shoulders. Her linen was white as the snow, and altogether her great -beauty was adorned with the richest articles of her limited wardrobe, -and in a manner befitting the occasion. While Wawandah, too, decked -himself in his best and secured his faithful weapons and companions of -the chase, she cut from the long hair she loosened for the purpose, a -large tress, which she tied near the root with a blue ribbon, and -fastened it to a nail within the wigwam door. This was a token to the -White Bear that she still regarded even while she had deserted him for -ever. - -Wawandah pressed her again fondly to his heart. He was not jealous, but -glad that the heart of the Sunflower bled for what she knew the White -Bear would suffer at her loss. He raised her in his arms to the saddle -she had been accustomed to use. Then carefully closing the door, and -putting a stick over the wooden latch to secure it, he vaulted into the -other. He then turned his horse, followed by the Sunflower, in the -direction of the bathing ground, beyond which the course he intended to -take lay, and as they passed, a beam from the moon which had then risen, -glanced upon the form of the dead panther floating nearly on the spot -where he had killed it. - -The Sunflower gazed upon it with deep interest, for she felt that to -that hideous beast was to be ascribed the eventful step which she had -taken, and which was to decide the future misery or happiness of her -life. Presently the encircling arm of Wawandah, who had reined in her -horse, influenced by a nearly similar feeling, clasping her to his -heart, seemed to admonish her of the intensity of joy he, too, had -derived from the same cause. - -That embrace refreshed and invigorated them. Once more, at the gentle -bidding of Wawandah, the Sunflower put her horse into a gallop, and ere -the dawn of day the camp of the Saukies had been left far behind. - - - PART SECOND. - -At the distance of fifteen miles from the encampment of the Saukies, and -on the same stream, was a small post, belonging to the Canadian -North-West Company of that day. As was usual in that region, it was -surrounded with a stockade, as a protection against any sudden attack of -the Indians. The force within consisted principally of voyageurs, -trappers, hunters, and, in fine, of men of such avocations as were -connected with the fur trade, then in its highest stage of prosperity. -The gentleman in charge was a Mr. Hughes, for many years subsequently, -and even at this day, one of the British superintendents of Indian -affairs. Besides the buildings which composed the post, there was a good -deal of spare ground, which had been alloted for the security of horses -and cattle, embraced within the picketings. Around this place the ground -was denuded of trees, and nothing but a mass of shapeless stumps was to -be seen extending for nearly half a mile in every way, except toward the -front, which was bounded by the stream which divides it from the woods -on the opposite bank. - -One evening, late at night, an Indian was seen approaching and driving -before him a number of horses, tied by strings of bark, and so disposed -as to keep up the order of what is called the Indian file. Three stout -Canadians were sitting on a sort of elevated platform, which served as a -look-out over the stockade, one cutting with a great clasp knife a piece -of fat pork upon his bread, that served him as a substitute for a plate; -a second puffing a cloud of smoke from a long handled black stone pipe; -and the third lying on his back with his knees drawn up, and singing one -of those plaintive boat songs which were peculiar to the Canadian -voyageur of the commencement of the present century. - -“I say, Baptiste, cease that refrain of yours and listen,” said the man -who was eating his supper of pork, and who evidently was at that moment -on duty as look-out. “I am sure I hear the tramp of horses—and sure -enough it is them. See how they come, in file, like a string of dried -peaches. I’ll bet the best beaver I shoot or trap to-morrow, that -scoundrel Filou, the Chippewa, has been at his old work again and stolen -a lot.” - -Baptiste finished his singing, as directed, jumped to his feet, and -looked in the direction in which his companions had turned their gaze. -There was a mass of something moving, but whether men or horses the -night was too dark to enable him to distinguish with accuracy. - -“Parbleu!” said the man who was smoking, “we had better tell the master. -The Saukies are not over friendly to us, and it may be a party of them -stealing upon us, in the hope of catching us napping.” - -“Bah! Latour,” returned the man of the watch, “the Saukies don’t make so -much noise when they move. It’s horses’ hoofs we hear, and not the feet -of men. A bottle of whisky to a blanket it’s Filou with a fresh prize.” - -“The odds are certainly long you give,” said Le Marie, after he had -delivered himself of a prolonged puff; “but, sure enough, it is a gang -of horses, and that’s devilish like the Chippewa, who rides the first -and leads the remainder.” - -All doubt was soon at rest, by the well-known voice of the Chippewa -asking for admission for himself and horses into the stockade. - -“Comment!” said Le Marie, “do you take me for a blancbec, to suppose I -shall do any thing of the sort? You have stolen those horses, Filou, and -no good will ever come to us if we let them in here.” - -“Ask captin,” said the Chippewa, in a tone that denoted he expected his -application to be made known to that responsible officer. - -The moment was a critical one. The Saukie Indians, as has been before -stated, had manifested a hostile feeling toward the inmates of the post, -and the avoidance of offense had been strictly enjoined, as a matter of -policy, upon the people of the establishment. Filou, more than all the -others, knew of the position and means of defense of the stockade, and -therefore it became particularly a matter of precaution not to offend -him. - -“Take the rascal’s message to the chief, Baptiste, and know if he is to -be admitted or not.” - -In a few minutes Captain Hughes, in no very good humor, made his -appearance at the look-out, and seeing the large train of horses which -the rascal had stolen, told him, decidedly, that he himself might come -into the fort if he chose to leave his plunder behind him; but that the -latter must remain without. - -The Chippewa grumbled a good deal at this decision, told him that he had -lost a good horse, and finally decided on remaining without himself and -keeping watch over the animals. - -The night passed away, and it was about an hour before dawn when the -report of a rifle was heard, and soon afterward a second, from a greater -distance. Aroused from their slumbers, Captain Hughes and his people -instantly rose and repaired to the look-out, where the drowsy sentinel -was just awakening from his sleep, and were accosted from without by the -Chippewa, who told them, with an alarmed air, that the enemy were -stealing upon them, and earnestly craved admittance for himself and -horses. This request, after some little hesitation on the part of -Captain Hughes, was granted. His people were kept on the alert during -the remainder of the night, but nothing was to be seen that could -justify an alarm. Toward morning, however, Captain Hughes resolved to go -forth with a party and reconnoitre. He insisted that the Chippewa, who -was extremely unwilling to move, should accompany them, and point out -the direction whence the firing proceeded. In vain he pleaded that he -was tired and wanted rest. They compelled him to lead the way. - -Until the day began to dawn, every thing was dark in the extreme—so -much so, indeed, that the undenuded stumps which, scorched and blackened -by fire, had been left to complete their natural decay, were scarcely -visible; but as the mists of night cleared away, the opening of the -forest, about a mile distant from the stockade, was distinctly seen, and -all eyes were turned toward it, as though to a place of danger. - -“Hush!” said Le Marie, who the next after the Chippewa headed the party, -making a sign for them at the time to stop. “There is no enemy there,” -he said, “but one, and him I should very much like to put a bullet into. -Look! don’t you see that white bear?” - -The whole party looked attentively, and distinctly saw the skin of a -white bear, but its actions were so erratic that none could account for -the singular attitudes into which it appeared to throw itself. - -“I’ll soon stop his dancing,” said Le Marie, as he raised his ride, “and -if I don’t finish him, Baptiste, you can follow my shot on the instant.” - -“Stop!” said Captain Hughes, striking down the leveled rifle; “pretty -eyes for voyageurs and hunters, you have. Don’t you see that it is only -the loose skin of a white bear, and that there is some one waving it -toward us as a signal?” - -“Parbleu, so it is!” said Le Marie, doggedly, for he was annoyed, -priding himself, as he did, on his keenness of sight as a hunter, that -the captain should have noticed his mistake. - -As they drew nearer, they could make out, just within the skirt of the -wood, an Indian, reclining against a tree, and waving toward them, as a -signal, the skin of a grizzly bear. Close at his side, and leaning her -head upon her hands, was a woman. - -The party approached, still headed by the Chippewa. When they had -arrived within a few yards, the stranger Indian drew up his body, seated -as he was, to his full height, and looking indignantly at the Chippewa, -said: - -“That is the man who shot me. The eye of Wawandah is good, and he can -tell his enemy even in the dark.” - -“How is this?” asked Captain Hughes, turning to the horse stealer. “You, -then, fired the shot which you pretended to me was that of an enemy -approaching the fort.” - -The Chippewa for a moment was confused, but soon he replied, sullenly: - -“He came to steal my horses; he had taken two of them, and was going off -when I fired. He fired again, but his ball went into a stump at my side. -Was I right?” - -“Never come near the fort again,” said Captain Hughes, angrily, for he -was interested in the condition of the noble featured youth. “You are a -black-hearted villain. You steal horses in droves; and because another -deprives you of one or two, you take his life.” - -The eye of Wawandah brightened as he listened to the words of Captain -Hughes, which were, of course, spoken in Indian. “Wah!” he exclaimed, “I -did not steal—I only exchanged horses. Those I left were better than -those I was going to take. They were fresher than my own—I wanted them. -But,” he added, fiercely, “I am not going to die by his hand—he shall -not dance over my scalp. Sunflower,” he asked, after a moment’s pause, -“do you love me still, now that I am going to die and leave you without -a home?” - -Deep sobs came from the bosom of the unhappy and guilty woman. She bent -her head over him, and said, gently: - -“Oh, should I be here did I not love you, Wawandah?” - -“Good!” he answered, pressing her vehemently to his heart. “It is sweet -to me to hear the Sunflower say that she loves the dying Wawandah. The -white chief will take care of you when I am dead.” - -“If Wawandah dies, the Sunflower will die too. She cannot live without -him. Her heart is too full to live alone.” - -“No, no!” he replied. “The white chief will go with you to the White -Bear. He will say that I am very sorry for the wrong I have done him, -and that the last prayer of Wawandah, who has been so ungrateful to him, -is, that he will take back his wife—the sweetest flower of the Saukie -tribe.” - -The Sunflower raised her drooping head, and looked Wawandah steadily in -the face for some moments. She made no remark, but resumed the same -desponding attitude. - -Summoning all his remaining strength—for life was fast ebbing away—the -Indian now stretched himself to the utmost tension of his body, and, -shouting out the war-cry of his tribe, drew his knife and plunged it -into his heart—then fell back and expired. - -For some moments the Sunflower lay as one unconscious on the bleeding -body of the ill fated Wawandah; then raising herself up, she revealed -her face, the extreme paleness of which was visible even beneath the -dark hue of her skin. She asked the Chippewa to come near her, that she -might communicate to him a message for the White Bear, offering her -silver arm bands as the price of his service. - -The cupidity of the Chippewa, more than any remorse he felt, or desire -to assist the Sunflower, induced him to approach and receive the -trinkets and the message; but while he was busily engaged in securing -that which was on her left arm, the Sunflower suddenly drew the knife -from the body of her husband and plunged it into the heart of the -Chippewa, to whom she owed all the bitterness of her fate. He fell dead -at the feet of Wawandah, and before Captain Hughes, or any of his party, -had time to prevent her, or even to understand her intention, she raised -herself to her feet with the reeking knife in her hand, and killed -herself with a single and unfaltering blow. - -Deeply shocked and pained by this lamentable catastrophe, Captain Hughes -caused his men to cut litters with their axes and carry the bodies to -the fort. No one felt regret for the just punishment of the Chippewa; -but the fate of the unhappy lovers created a deep sympathy in the hearts -of all—the more so from the surpassing personal beauty of both. Two -graves were dug—one inside and the other on the outside of the -stockade. In the first was placed a rude coffin, lined with a buffalo -skin, which Captain Hughes had substituted for that of the grizzly bear, -were placed the bodies of Wawandah and the Sunflower. A sort of mound -was then raised over it, and at the head was stuck a short pole, the top -of which, for about twelve inches, was painted red. The Chippewa was -thrown unceremoniously, and without coffin, into the grave that had been -dug for him outside. - -Some time afterward Captain Hughes, having occasion to visit the -encampment of the Shawnees, on a subject connected with the differences -then existing between them and the North-West Company, took the -opportunity of communicating to the White Bear all that he knew relating -to the flight and death of the unfortunate Sunflower and Wawandah; -adding to the detail the account of the sepulchral rites he had caused -to be accorded to them. - -The chief, a good deal emaciated and of much sterner look than when last -introduced to the reader, at first heard him with grave and -imperturbable silence. But when he came to that part of his narrative -which described the remorse of Wawandah for the injury he had done him, -a tear, vainly sought to be hidden by a sudden motion of the head, stole -down his cheek. - -“Will my brother smoke?” he said abruptly, handing him his pipe, while -he, with the disengaged hand, pressed that of Captain Hughes with the -utmost cordiality. - -“Listen, my brother,” he said, after a pause. “You have done well to the -White Bear. His wigwam is empty without the Sunflower, who used to shed -light upon his hearth. Joy no more can enter it. The White Bear is alone -among the rest of his tribe, like a blasted pine in the midst of a green -forest; but it does good to his heart to hear the son of his friend—the -broken-hearted one that he took into his lodge to soothe and to -heal—was sorry that he stole the flower of his heart, and left but a -thorn in its place. The White Bear is sorry for them both; but they were -young and foolish, and dearly have they been punished. I forgive them, -brother,” again extending his hand, “and I love the white chief, who did -not leave their bodies to be devoured by the wolves, but buried them as -the White Bear would have them buried. I am glad too that you treated -the Chippewa as a dog, without any sign to mark where he lays. I feel -that many moons will not pass over me; but while they do, I will live -less unhappy at my loss, and ever love the white chief.” - -Thus terminated their interview; and Captain Hughes heard, not one month -later, of the death of the White Bear. - - * * * * * - - - - - THE WIFE’S LAST GIFT. - - - BY MRS. JULIA C. R. DORR. - - - In the late Hungarian struggle, Count Batthyany was taken - prisoner by the Austrians. He was sentenced to be hung, and his - wife sent him a dagger, that, by taking his own life, he might - escape the ignominy of such a death. - - I send a precious gift to thee, - My own, my honored love— - A gift that well I know thou’lt prize, - All gifts of earth above. - ’Tis meet and right that it should be - The rarest—’tis the last! - Alas! how o’er me rushes now - The memory of the past! - - Do you remember, love, the time - When first within mine ear - Thy deep voice breathed the earnest words - My soul rejoiced to hear? - I gave thee then my heart’s first love, - Its wealth of tenderness; - But ah! the gift I send thee now - Hath greater power to bless. - - And when, with claspéd hands, we stood - Before the altar-stone, - And tremblingly I vowed to be - Forever thine alone; - Then by the flushing of thy cheek, - And by thy kindling eye— - By the low tones that thrilled my heart, - And by thy bearing high— - - I knew, I knew the little hand - So fondly pressed in thine, - Not all the treasures of a world - Would tempt thee to resign. - But, love, upon Affection’s shrine - I lay an offering now, - Can weave a spell more potent far - Than even wifely vow! - - Now lift it from the sheltering folds - That hide it from thy sight— - Nay, dearest, start not to behold - This dagger sharp and bright! - Look thou upon it tranquilly— - Without one hurried breath— - ’Tis the last token of a love - That cannot yield to death. - - Is’t not a precious gift, beloved?— - ’Twill break thy heavy chain; - And prison-bolts, and dungeon-walls, - Shall bar thy way in vain! - The felon’s doom thou need’st not fear, - This talisman is thine: - “Freedom” and “Honor” on the blade— - In glowing letters shine! - - Oh! would that I might kneel, mine own, - By thy dear side once more, - And hold thy head upon my breast - Till life’s last pang were o’er! - I would not shrink nor falter, - When I saw thy life-blood flow; - But deathless love should give me strength - Calmly to let thee go! - - It may not be! A shadow lies - Darkly upon our way; - I may not hear thy last, low sigh, - Nor o’er thy still form pray. - Oh, God of love, and might, and power! - Shall blood be shed in vain?— - Upon our mountains and our vales - It hath been poured like rain; - - Our streams are darkened by its flow— - It taints the very air; - What marvel if our spirits sink - In anguish and despair? - Look Thou upon us! Thou, whose word - Can set the prisoner free!— - So shall the tyrant’s sword no more - Hang over Hungary! - - * * * * * - - - - - I DREAMED. - - - BY WM. M. BRIGGS. - - - I had a dream of sunny hours, - That glided fast away; - I had a dream of starry flowers, - Unwet with tears of falling showers, - Untouched by dark decay; - I foolish dreamt of sunset skies - That slept unchanged amid their gorgeous dies. - - I dreamt me of a little boat - Went sailing down a stream, - With stray bright leaves and flowers afloat, - And many a sunbeam’s dusty mote - And painted pebble’s gleam— - I dreamt the barque’s bright goal was won - And still the drifting flowers, the stream flowed on. - - I dreamed still that I sad awoke - Upon a desert shore; - The cold, gray morning slowly broke, - An unseen sighing came—it spoke— - “Thus is it evermore, - Thus is it with thy hopes and fears— - Flowers fade, skies darken, and the goal is tears!” - - * * * * * - - - - - MINNIE DE LA CROIX: - - - OR THE CROWN OF JEWELS. - - - BY ANGELE DE V. HULL. - - -In a large, old-fashioned house, at the pleasant country place of ——, -dwelt a happy and united family, consisting of a father and five -daughters. Through the wide, long hall merry voices were ever heard, and -round and round twinkling feet went dancing on the pleasant gallery that -ran on all sides, that there might be nothing to stop these -light-hearted creatures in their course. Each had her neat, -sweet-looking chamber, wherein, at times, she might retire to while away -leisure hours with some cherished book, or with rapid pen convey to -paper her pure and fresh thoughts—thoughts that were too sacred to be -spoken—that wove themselves into dreams of delight, that were never, -never to be realized. Happy, happy days! when they could weave these -bright fancies, and dared to turn away from reality. The past had but -its pleasures—the present its more rational yet constant enjoyment, and -the future was hid by the rose-colored cloud that floated over its -blessed anticipations. - -Mr. de la Croix looked upon his daughters as his crown of jewels, and -the homestead as the humble and unworthy casket that contained it. They -were a host within themselves to drive away dull care, and left him by -the most exemplary of wives to perpetuate her fondly cherished memory. -Dearly loved they to dwell upon her virtues, her unfailing benevolence, -her undying love for them all, and that holy piety that burned like a -precious light throughout her life. Sacred to them were the paths her -footsteps trod, the flowers she loved, and the trees her hand had -planted; and they strove with all their might of youth and inexperience -to supply her place to the husband she had loved and taught them to -love. - -“Where are you all—Blanche, Lisa, Kate, Rose and Minnie,” cried Mr. de -la Croix, one morning, coming out of his room. “Who is ready to sew on a -button for me?” - -“I, papa,” “and I,” answered the five, hurrying on their dressing-gowns -and opening their doors. - -“I am first,” said Rose, coming forward with her thimble and needle. “Go -back, every one of you!” and she pushed them playfully away. - -“And what a shame that papa has to call us up for such a thing. Minnie, -this is your week—naughty girl! and you must be scolded for -negligence,” said Lisa, shaking her dignified head at the culprit. - -Minnie ran behind her father, peeped into his face as she poked hers -under his arm, and raised her saucy eyes to his. She was the youngest, -and consequently a privileged imp, depending upon every one else to mend -and darn when her turn came. - -“Go away, you wild girl,” said her father, smiling. “Rose is the most -industrious of you all, for she is dressed before any of you.” - -“Rose is housekeeper, and had to be up, papa; don’t inflate her with -praise she does not deserve. I have been up an hour.” - -“An hour! and what were you doing, Miss?” - -“_Je flanais_—there’s French for you, in good earnest; and I heard the -first bird that sang this morning,” answered Minnie, with a gay laugh. -“I was making reflections of the most profound nature when you disturbed -me—and thus the world has lost a lesson.” - -“And I have been reading La Bruyère before my dressing glass,” said -Blanche, complacently, as soon as the mirth that followed Minnie’s -speech had subsided. - -“Well, I have been at work already,” added Lisa, as she drew herself up. -Lisa was the tall one, and had the air of a princess. - -“Oh, Lisa! _you_ remind one of the old lady who sat in her rocking chair -and did nothing, - - ‘From morning till night, - But darn, darn, darn;’” - -and Kate’s merry black eyes danced about from one to the other. “Now, -_I_ have been writing verses.” - -“Yes, be an authoress—scribbler, and have a mania for dirt, disorder -and ink-stands. Pshaw! look at your fingers,” said Lisa, pointing to -them. - -“I’ll wash them—I’ll wash them!” cried Kate, “without mumbling over -ugly spots, like Lady Macbeth. My little nail brush will do more than -all her perfumes.” - -And running to her room she went to work to verify her word. - -Soon they all met at breakfast, and Lisa presided at the cheerful board, -like the mother bird, while the rest chatted around her. She was not the -eldest but the most thoughtful, and to her all came for assistance and -advice. Her long fingers could fashion dresses, collars, ruffs, bonnets, -if necessary, and her ingenuity trampled upon impossibilities with every -new pattern that appeared. So, while Blanche busied her fine head with -metaphysics, piano, harp and guitar, the three others learned from both -to be agreeable and useful members of society. - -Society they cared little for. Blanche had been a belle par excellence -until she became tired and disgusted with admiration and lovers, whose -name was legion. Lisa never liked one or the other. She contemplated -balls and beaux at a distance, and called them absurdities, though -nothing pleased her like dressing her sister, and seeing her courted and -flattered, night after night and day after day. - -As for Kate, she had a touch of the romantic; she liked to sing and -dance at home, loved to laugh and be merry with those of her own age, -but thought that home the fairest and best place in the world. So, after -a winter of dissipation, she foreswore the beaumonde, and vowed its -votaries a heartless set. - -Rose’s large, soft, dark eyes never wandered farther than the fences -that bounded her father’s enclosures. With something of eccentricity she -loved to steal off and enjoy a lonely hour at the close of each day, and -her piety became a proverb. Nothing could move her out of the reach of -the household gods, and at eighteen she was a child at heart and in -manner. - -Minnie was the imp! Minnie loved the world, and longed for a debut, as -the minor “pants for twenty-one.” For her all hands must work—for her -all hands must stop; and thus they were all at home, a bird’s nest of -different nestlings, ready to take wing and fly when the parent bird has -ceased to control their movements. - -“Come, daughters, sing and play,” said Mr. de la Croix, as he sat in his -arm chair, at the wide hall door. “What are you all about, eternally -sewing and reading? Give the old house some life, will you?” - -Blanche rose and seated herself at the piano, running her little white -hands skillfully over the keys. Kate pulled the harp out of the corner, -and soon a loud, clear voice swelled melodiously through the air. Then -came a chorus of fresh young notes, and the soft strains of the piano, -with the harp’s wild, sweeping music, mingled together, while the father -sat listening to his crown of jewels, full of rapture and pride. - -“Give us that trio in Guillaume Tell, sister,” said Rose, when they had -finished, and little Minnie glided into Blanche’s seat, while the three -grouped around her to comply. Then the chairs were drawn together, and -the five tongues rattled like magpies to the half bewildered Mr. de la -Croix, until he called for his candle and went to his apartment, -followed by Kate, singing, - - He called for his fife, he called for his wife, - And he called for his fiddlers three—e-e. - -“Minnie!” said Lisa, holding up a dress with a wide rent in it, “is it -‘the weakness of my eyes that shapes this monstrous apparition,’ or is -it a reality?” - -“There, now!” cried the girl, snatching the dress from her, “you are on -one of your poking expeditions. I didn’t intend you should see this, -sister Lisa, for Rose promised to mend it for me.” - -“And has Rose nothing to do for herself, that she is to waste time on -your carelessness?” returned Lisa, gravely. “It is not two weeks since -we made this for you, and now it is ruined.” - -“Give it to me,” said Rose, quietly; “I did promise to mend it, and -would have done so before, but had the house to attend to; and the -keeping it and providing for it is any thing but a sinecure. Get me a -piece out of the scrap basket, Minnie.” - -“That is the way you all combine to spoil Minnie,” said Blanche, raising -her head from her book. “She will never be fit for any thing.” - -“Ay!” said the other, with an arch look and pointing to the volume, now -closed, “and who makes pretty things for Miss Blanche, while she sits in -her room poring over dull maxims and writing them off?” - -“And how am I to teach you if I do not learn something myself?” asked -Blanche, with a serious expression on her fair souvenir-like face. - -“Don’t teach me any of your old cynic Rochefoucauld’s scandal. I hate -him, for he never says a good thing of the human heart, and places my -own motives so often before my eyes that I take him for a reflector of -my inward-self, and blush.” And Minnie covered her face in mock -confusion. - -“So much the better, then,” said Rose; “for St. Paul tells us to know -ourselves, and I vote that we treat you to a double dose of ‘les -maximes’ every day.” - -“Is Daniel come?” said Minnie, bending low and performing a salaam -before her sister, who was seized with a fit of laughter that prevented -her replying. - -“I hope that you will keep your absurd ideas to yourself, Minnie,” -observed Lisa, who now began to rip away at the torn skirt. “You are -talking treason when you begin to abuse La Rochefoucauld.” - -“Treason or no treason, then,” cried she springing out of her seat, “the -whole world may come and listen to me, if my head were the penalty. So, -I am off to the library. No, I wont go there, either, lest the old -gentleman’s ghost jump at me; but I’ll go and practice the ‘Bamboula,’ -and sister Blanche may dance a Congo polka to it.” - -“Sister Blanche leaves polkas to giddy girls, but is, nevertheless, -delighted to hear them speak of practicing. You were as lazy as a sloth -over that ‘Sueia’ of Strakosch’s, and do not know it yet.” - -“Pshaw! _ça viendra_, as papa says when you all talk gravely over Rose -and me. I am a perfect pattern of industry with regard to my music, am I -not, Lisa?” - -“You certainly do pummel away unmercifully at the poor piano,” said -Lisa; “but half the practicing consists of imitations of Mrs. this, or -Miss that, in style, position or banging.” - -“And don’t people go about and give imitations of different lions? I’m -sure I only endeavor to carve out a distinguished name for myself.” - -“Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious?” quoted Lisa, turning with a smile -from the willful thing that would never hear reason. - -“Pray, what fame is to arise from your imitation of Mr. Gamut’s elbows? -Or from Lucy Grey’s symphonies?” asked Kate. - -“Kate! Kate! did you not laugh yesterday when I played for you until the -tears rolled down your face? And didn’t you vow that Mr. Gamut himself -sat at the piano?” said Minnie. - -“Indeed I did. More shame for me!” exclaimed Kate, laughing anew. “But -your imitations, as you call them, are more than human risibilities -could resist. I call Rose to witness in this case!” - -“Don’t call me to witness any more of Minnie’s pranks,” said Rose. “I -cannot encourage them.” - -“I’ll force you, then,” cried Minnie, seizing Kate around the waist. -“Now look at Mr. and Mrs. Dobbs waltz together.” And round she spun, -pulling Kate after her, until Lisa and Blanche were adding their peals -of laughter to Rose’s hearty amusement. Away they went until Minnie -whirled her sister out of the room, and soon after sat down to the -Bamboula in sober earnest. - -Thus ended all attempts at controlling Minnie, and her task seemed that -of creating merriment wherever she went and turning all reproof into a -mockery. Indeed, she laughed too constantly, and there were times when -Lisa shook her head gravely at this perpetual merriment. A woman’s -duties begin so sternly and so positively from the hour she marries—the -bridal wreath so quickly withers into one of cares and fears, that the -sight of a creature like Minnie, full of thoughtlessness and glee, -saddened the heart that knew something of them all; and poor Lisa, with -her responsibilities, vainly warned her young sister to laugh less and -reflect more. - -“I wish that you were married, Blanche,” said she one day, as they sat -together. “We see so few strangers at home, and seem so much like -equals, that Minnie will fly into the face of every thing and every body -without ever being curbed into tranquillity.” - -“And what good would my marrying do, in the name of wonder?” said -Blanche with a stare. - -“A vast deal, particularly if you were to bestow yourself upon a man -like Mr. Stuart, for instance.” - -Lisa went on with her work, and the deep blush that suffused her -sister’s fair face was unperceived. - -“Lisa!” said Blanche, after a pause, and her voice faltered; “Lisa! -would you wish me marry?” - -“Not unless you are confident of being happy, dear Blanche,” was her -reply, and she looked up. - -Once more the bright color mounted over the cheeks of her companion, and -the tears stood in her eyes. She held out her hand, and Lisa pressed it -affectionately as she remarked her unusual emotion. - -“My dear sister! what is it that affects you thus?” - -“Because, Lisa—I _have_ had thoughts of marrying, not for Minnie’s -sake—but—for my own.” She covered her face and burst into tears. Lisa -rose and clasped her in her arms, soothing her with pet names and kind -words. - -“Dear Blanche—sweet dove! tell me all about it? Is it really so? and -have you promised—” - -“I have promised nothing, Lisa,” replied Blanche, raising her head and -leading her to a _causeuse_. “Sit down; and now that I can speak, listen -and advise me.” Lisa obeyed, and turned her earnest sympathizing eyes -upon her sister with a look that invited confidence, such as Blanche was -about to give,—a pure and unrestrained avowal of her feelings. - -“You know, Lisa, that I met Mr. Stuart frequently at my aunt’s last -winter. He is a great favorite with her, and the only one among her -young men acquaintances whose actual intimacy she solicits. Whenever he -came we were left together, naturally enough, while my aunt and uncle -busied themselves, one with her housekeeping and the other with his -papers. There was always a congeniality of tastes between us that led to -an absence of any thing like ceremony, and something like confidence -arose in our intercourse. There were books discussed that both had read, -and many that I had never seen, which I was to like because he did. -Wherever we went in the evenings he went. He was always there to draw my -arm through his, and offer me the conventional attentions that became so -delightful at length. We never spoke of love, Lisa; we never talked -sentiment _at_ one another, but it was impossible to deny that—that—” - -“You loved one another,” said Lisa, seriously. She put on no arch looks, -affected no jests—this was a grave subject to her. - -“But we never said so, Lisa,” said Blanche, quickly. “We never said so; -it was enough for us to be together. One morning I received a note from -Helen Clarke, begging me go to her as she was very ill. My aunt’s -carriage took me to Evergreen, and I remained a week absent. On my -return I found that _he_ had been summoned to his mother’s dying bed, -and had hurried off an hour after the letter came, taking time only to -see my aunt and bid her adieu. ‘He asked earnestly after you, Blanche,’ -said she, smiling; ‘and your absence grieved him deeply, my love. But he -left a message expressive of it all, and ended it with, Tell her, my -dear Mrs. Bliss, that I will return as soon as I can, and she must not -forget me.’ I could not forget him, Lisa; but I despise a love-sick girl -as I do the plague; so I came home, determined to be happy again among -you all. I would have been ungrateful, indeed, to mope at home where we -all love one another—to pine for a stranger, while I had still all that -made life so dear. Of course, he never wrote to me—my aunt heard -occasionally from him, and the letter announcing his return, affected me -deeply. Would he still be the same, or was there a change?” - -“And there was none,” said Lisa, in a low voice. “I know that now, -Blanche, though I did not dream of this before. Blind creature that I -was, not to have felt that we must part after all!” - -“I have read in his looks that there is no change, Lisa,” said her -sister, growing pale. “I know that he will tell me so this very day, for -he begged me to remain at home this evening to see him. But, Lisa, if -you do not like him—if it grieves you too much to have me give up my -home for his, say so at once, and I will never leave you.” Her lips -quivered and her hand shook, but the voice was steady, and she looked at -Lisa with her calm, clear eyes until she felt those fond arms once more -thrown around her. - -“Dear, generous Blanche!” murmured the sister; “did you think I could be -so selfish? Love on, dear girl, and be happy; God knows you deserve it!” - -And soon after there was a wedding and a departure. Forth from the -bird’s-nest went the first fledgling, and the rest sorrowed at home -until Time with its kind hand closed the wound at their hearts. There -were gleams of sunshine in the sweet, fond letters that came with their -tales of happiness and renewed assurances that Blanche loved her old -homestead better than ever; with playful threats of jealousy from -Kenneth himself, as he added his postscript now to one, and now to the -other. - -They were a long time gone, but all was repaid when Blanche returned and -placed her first born in his grandsire’s arms. Poor baby! he was -well-nigh crushed to death as the four aunts flew at him, but he grew -used to the danger in time, and thus spared his mother a world of -nursing and petting. - -It was impossible not to love Kenneth Stuart—impossible not to admire -him. He had all that high integrity, that unflinching honesty that a -woman loves to lean on. Nothing could be more gentle in manner or more -firm in purpose. He could be grave or gay whenever he was called upon; -and his affection for his wife made him court that of her family that he -might further minister to her happiness, so they all learned to love as -well as reverence him, calling on him for advice or sympathy as on one -another. He had none of that childish jealousy of their mutual -fondness—none of that selfish longing to have her forget old ties for -him. It pleased him to see that same unrestrained intercourse pervade -their family meetings, to know that he had not stepped in to shadow the -light of “days gone by;” and thus they dared once more to boast of their -sunny hours and eternal spring. Mr. de la Croix sat in the old -arm-chair, and listened to the pleasant voices of his children as of -yore. Lisa went about her household duties with a firmer tread, Rose -went from one to the other with her gentle cares, Kate flitted here and -there, her merry eyes wandering around to read the wants of each and -all, while Minnie skipped about and played tricks as usual, as -incorrigible as ever, in spite of Blanche’s matronly admonitions. - -“Brother Ken, may I have the dark-haired, dark-eyed cousin that Blanche -talks so much about?” said she, seating herself at his feet. “I am -thinking very seriously of the married state. I look at you and sister -and conjugate the verb, _j’aime_, _tu aimes_, _nous aimons_, _etc._ I -walk about with little Ernest, and practice baby songs, besides helping -Lisa to fuss about house, and darned a most unnatural and unfatherly -hole in papa’s socks this morning. I am perfectly recommendable, I -assure you,” and she turned up her saucy face and looked at him with an -attempt at gravity that was, as Kate said, “too absurd.” - -“Young ladies of fourteen must not think of marriage,” replied Kenneth, -with one of his peculiar smiles. “I have destined Paul to Kate, as Lisa -and Rose eschew yokes, etc.” - -“To Kate!” exclaimed Minnie, with a pout. “And am I to be sacrificed -because I am fourteen? Unhappy me!” - -“Don’t rave, Minnie,” cried Kate, with a gay laugh. “I’ll resign in your -favor if you say so. My time has not come yet, nor my hero.” - -“But he _may_ come with this Louis le Desire, Kate, and in spite of your -Arcadian dreams of shepherds and piping swains, you may succumb,” said -Minnie, shaking her little hand at her sister. - -“Have I lived to be told this?” cried Kate. “Of all people in the world, -do _I_ love piping swains?” - -“To be sure you do, or you wouldn’t admire all those little china -monsters under green trees and reclining on rocks that Miss Bobson -crowds upon her tables. I’ve seen you gaze at them with an eye of love -and inspiration, ten minutes at a time.” - -“Yes, to keep serious while you sympathized with her about the tarnished -officer that hangs over the mantle-piece.” - -“Unnatural girl!” cried Minnie. “Is it possible that you laugh at the -sorrows of others? While I listen with ready tears to the account of his -loss at sea, you are making light of this sacred wo. You shall never -deceive Miss Bobson again, Kate, for I shall warn her against the deceit -of young ladies who have a passion for her porcelain, and draw her in a -retired place the very next time she unbosoms the locket containing -curls of ancient hair.” - -“Minnie! Minnie!” cried Blanche, reproachfully, “is nothing sacred to -you?” - -“Nothing about Miss Bobson, of course,” was the reply of the heedless -girl. “Do you wish to impose on me to pity her mawkishness?” - -“To pity her age, Minnie, and her loneliness, if nothing else,” said -Kenneth, gravely. “And also to _respect_ her years.” - -“Mercy on me! what have I done? Laughed at a ridiculous old maid, and -drawn Kate into the snare. This is a mountain and a mole-hill, indeed.” - -“Well, leave her out then, Minnie,” said Blanche, “and let us reprove -you a little for laughing at everybody and every thing. I heard you this -morning crying like Mrs. Simms, and you are too old now—” - -“Too old!” cried Minnie, passionately. “Would to God that I might remain -a child then, if I am to cease laughing as I grow older.” - -“Laugh as long as you can, dear girl, but not so much at others. I want -you to think more, Minnie; the world is not a paradise, and you must -grow more reasonable to bear a further knowledge of it.” - -“Pshaw! you have all thought for me until now, continue to do so until I -get Paul, the expected, to do it forever. Come, Rose, for a race down -the avenue in this lovely moonlight. I want some animation after these -severe lectures.” And off they ran together, while the rest shook their -heads in concert. - -“She is too volatile,” said Kenneth, gently, “but she will be tamed down -in time. You must not scold her for venialities like Miss Bobson again. -Now please, dear Lisa, spoil me a little and get my candle, for I must -write a letter to this very Cousin Paul of mine, before I sleep.” - -And Paul Linden came. He was, as Blanche said, a handsome fellow, with -dark eyes, and hair like the raven’s wing, a beautiful mouth and teeth, -and the finest whiskers in the world. He was a frank, open, -generous-hearted creature, full of kindly impulses, but impetuous and -excitable, and much beloved by Mr. and Mrs. Stuart. This visit was one -they had long wished for, as more than probably it was preparatory to -his permanent settlement near them. - -It was impossible not to feel flattered at the welcome extended him on -his arrival at Mr. de la Croix’s, and before night, he was as much at -home as though he had known them for years. - -“I am bewildered with this paradise of houris, Kenneth,” said he, as -they paced the long piazza. “Since my poor mother’s death, which took -place, as you know, before I left college, I have never felt so -completely domesticated among women, and the charm their society affords -me is perfectly indescribable. How happy you are to have so pleasant a -home.” - -“Happy, indeed, Paul! They are a lovely group, and I consider myself -peculiarly fortunate in being able to keep my Blanche here and preserve -it entire. It would be a shame to break it up.” - -“Blanche is a jewel in herself,” said Paul, affectionately. “I had no -idea that there could be four more like her. What a lovely girl her -sister Kate is! I think she is _my_ favorite, Kenneth, if I may have -one.” - -And Kenneth thought the preference reciprocal, but kept his counsel -until a better time, for Minnie’s voice was heard in the hall singing to -the baby, and he smiled as he remembered how she pretended to practice -nursery songs. - -“Very well done, Minnie,” said he, as they paused at the door, and -watched her graceful frolicks with Ernest. “You are really growing quite -recommendable.” - -“Now, brother Kenneth, if you do tell that!” cried she, blushing, “I -never will speak to you again!” - -“I shall not tell, then,” was the reply; “but in return for my -discretion, you must go and ask Kate if she sewed the tassel on my -smoking-cap as she promised.” - -“To be sure I did,” said a pleasant voice, and Kate, tripping out of the -parlor with the cap in hand, looked prettier than ever. - -“Ah, thank you, dear Kate! now do keep Paul in a good humor while I go -off to smoke my cigar. It would be ill-mannered to leave him alone.” - -Kate smiled, and the walk on the piazza was changed for one down the -avenue. It must have been a pleasant one, for the bell rang for tea, and -they were still there watching the pale moon rise, and wondering within -themselves how often they would enjoy the same exercise with the same -pleasure. - -They did not wonder long. Every evening there was a challenge from Paul -Linden to some one, for a walk, and somehow or other they were all tired -but Kate, and all too busy but Kate. It was not very long, then, before -the silent leaves were witnesses to a plighting of faith between those -two, and heard (if leaves _can_ hear,) what Paul Linden thought, the -softest music on earth—the low tones that told him the loss of sweet -Kate de la Croix’s heart of hearts. - -The leaves saw a strange ring glitter on her fair hand, and they were -discreet—but not so the sisters. Minnie spied the little symbol of -their united faith, and poor Kate told her secret amid tears and sobs. -Even _she_ was unhappy that night, as she remembered the burst of grief -that followed its disclosure, and another bird went from the nest almost -as soon as the wedding was over. - -Mr. de la Croix smoked an unusual number of cigars the evening his -daughter left, and the sisters tried to be cheerful; but there was not -one that went to bed that night without going into Kate’s empty room to -weep afresh. Lisa had to threaten to turn it into a rag-chamber before -they could accustom themselves to pass it without entering and mourning -its occupant as one never to return. - -“Don’t be forever crying over Kate,” she would say; “she is coming back, -and you had better wait till then and be happy.” - -“But we miss her so, Lisa,” said Rose, as her large eyes filled. - -“So do I, but you do not see me going about crying over an old glove or -a scrap of writing as you do. And you cannot say that I love her less -than the rest of her sisters.” - -“Moreover, my dear girls,” said Kenneth, taking his seat among them, and -lifting little Ernest on his knee, “your spirits affect your father’s. -He feels the loss of his child, and you must all try to speak of her -return and not of her departure. I know how much you feel Kate’s -absence, but you must begin to look upon your separation as a thing that -is to come one day. It is in the course of nature. There are three more -to leave their home; how can you expect that all can be as fortunate as -Blanche and Kate, who remain with you, as of yore. Paul’s business will -probably detain him a year, but he will return to settle here with us, -and we must look at the bright side of things as long as we can. I have -been saying all this to Blanche who ought to be as reasonable as Lisa; -and now I am come to beg you for your own sakes to bear inevitable -trials with the fortitude that is so precious when you once attain it. -Minnie wants scolding, I am afraid,” continued he, as he stroked her -head fondly. “Why do you not play on the piano and sing as usual? The -sound of music will enliven us all, and the mechanical exercise of those -little fingers will occupy your mind after a while, particularly if you -set to work with those _études_ of Moschelles, of whose difficulty I -have heard so much.” And he smiled so encouragingly that Minnie flew off -to mind him, and soon after Mr. de la Croix come out of his room, saying -he was glad to hear the piano going again. Minnie was rewarded fully -when she saw him take his old seat and doze while she played; and she -told Kenneth in confidence, that she was much obliged to him for the -scolding, but he must not tell Lisa, because she might take advantage of -it. And there came that night a long letter from Kate, that helped to -comfort them all. Poor Kate! her return was destined to be a sad one, -for on the route, her beautiful little girl, her darling Blanche, was -taken sick, and drooped so rapidly, that when she reached home, there -was no longer any hope. - -Silently they folded her in their arms, and noiselessly they bent their -steps to her own old room, and placed the little sufferer upon its bed. -Its soft eyes turned lovingly to its stricken mother, who sat beside it -in mute agony, as once more they all stood together and mourned over -her. Poor, wretched mother! so young to be so sorrowed! How full of -anguish was the appealing look she cast upon her father, as he gazed -with all a parent’s suffering upon his bright, merry-hearted Kate. - -All that human skill could do was done—all that tender watchfulness -could effect; but the angels had gathered round, and were beckoning that -little spirit away. Paler grew the pale cheek—dim the sweet, loving -eyes; and the young mother bent over her beautiful child, in misery such -as they know only who have laid these treasures in the grave. - -“Oh God of heaven!” was her mournful cry, “thou hast taken the sunshine -of my life! Darker and darker grows the world to me, as those loved eyes -grow dim. Thou hast crushed me to the earth, oh God! raise me with faith -in thy unerring wisdom, that I may not doubt thy justice! Oh, my -treasured one! Oh, my more than life—what is life to me?” - -Her husband turned and placed his hand in hers. She bowed her head upon -it, as though to seek forgiveness, and once more raised it to look upon -her darling. To the last those eyes had turned to her with a long, -lingering look, but now Lisa was closing them in their eternal sleep, -and the angels were bearing that pure, sinless one in triumph to their -home. - -With a loud, piercing cry, the childless mother fell back, and the -sisters no longer restraining their grief, filled the house with their -cries. Kenneth bore her out of the room, and returned for Paul, who -stood gazing at his dead infant as one stupefied. - -“Go to your wife, Paul,” said he; “go to poor Kate; your love alone can -soften this heavy blow;” and he remained to bend and kiss the now -stiffening form of the lovely little creature. “I will send Blanche to -you, Lisa; you must not perform the last sad task alone. Alas! poor -Kate! how my heart bleeds for you!” - -He then sought Mr. de la Croix, who was wildly walking about the garden, -muttering to himself in his grief for the grandchild he had never known, -and the mother—his darling Kate. Kenneth remained to soothe him, and -after persuading him to take some rest, returned to the house. - -The little corpse was already in its grave-clothes, looking like -sculptured marble as it lay extended on the couch. The long, shining -hair was parted on the pure brow, and fell around its head like a shower -of gold. Pale tea-roses were on its breast, and in those white, clasped -hands, emblems of its purity and fragility. Lisa and Blanche were -weeping silently over their lost pet, and Minnie’s screams, mingled with -the more subdued cries of Rose, came mournfully through the air. This -was the first sorrow of their womanhood, and the old homestead seemed -desolate indeed, now that the iron had entered one young, fresh heart -with its bleeding wound, its horrid void. - -Kate came again to look upon her child. With Paul’s arm around her, she -stood once more beside its still cold form. Raising her hands, she -uttered a low moan that pierced the hearts of those around her. - -“Oh, blessed babe!—my darling, my loved one! I see you for the last -time! You that I have borne, that I have watched and cherished with more -than a mother’s care; you that have given me so much happiness, so much -pride; here is all that is left to me, and _that_ must go into the cold -earth to be seen no more! Those little arms that were folded around my -neck; those little hands that clasped mine so lovingly, are mine no -more! Those lips that never refused to kiss me, will meet mine no more! -Oh God, no more! Why, ah why was I thus smitten to the dust? Why was she -so surely mine—so tended and so watched? Why is she torn from the -mother that idolized her?” - -“That she might be spared your trials, my dear child,” said a voice; and -they all made room, as a venerable-looking old man came and stood beside -her. “That she might wear that crown of glory which even your care could -not give her, and which she now treasures as you treasured _her_.” - -Kate bowed her head and wept. In her grief she could not remember this, -and she listened in silence as holy words were spoken to her, and -promises held out that she might grow strong in faith. Her piety came to -her as a blessing, and she leaned, poor, broken reed, upon the cross her -Saviour bore, until her spirit, fainting from its weight of wo, could -bear to look upward and say, “His will be done.” - -The loved and the cherished was laid in her last resting-place, and her -mother left to mourn and miss the care of her life. Affection and -sympathy were given her, and no one seemed ever impatient with her -constant grief. But she made an effort to be cheerful once more, and -mingling in the usual pursuits of the family, found it easier than she -had expected. Her husband’s unvarying gentleness, his watchful kindness -were sources of much comfort to her bruised spirit, and she strove, -poor, grieved one! to struggle _with_ her grief. Time passed, though the -wound was fresh and often bled, Kate had learned, for the sake of -others, to appear happy and composed because she prayed for strength. -But who could tell the fierce strife that was working in her heart? Who -could dream of the hours passed in silent suffering, when sleep refused -to visit her alone of that quiet crowd? When through the darkness she -gazed, her spirit beckoning back the child, whose every look was -treasured, whose very cry came upon her troubled soul; when she tortured -herself into the conviction that it might have been saved; that she -herself, poor, devoted creature, had not been the watchful nurse beside -its sick bed. Oh! if these bitter thoughts _are_ sent us as -temptations—as trials of our faith in the mercy and justice of the -Almighty, how often we are tried, how often in danger of falling! - -And Kate struggled with a mighty strength against these terrible -remembrances, going on as usual with her daily occupations, missing at -each moment the beloved object of her care, but walking boldly on, not -daring to look behind, lest her courage should fail her. - -And thus she toiled and received her reward, as days went by, and she -was able to look to Heaven alone as the haven for all who were wrecked -upon the world’s wild coast. All seemed grateful to her for her -resignation—all were kind and considerate; and she remembered that -there was between herself and that “better land” a powerful link that -nothing could destroy. - -“I do not think that Rose is looking well, father,” said she one day, as -she went into his room with her work, and seated herself at his side. “I -wish you would observe her.” - -Mr. de la Croix laid down his book with a look of alarm. Was another one -of his crown of jewels to lose its brightness? - -“I do not say that she is positively ill,” said Kate, “but there is a -languor about her—an indifference to her usual enjoyments that I do not -like. She requires change.” - -“But what can be the matter with her, my dear child?” said her father, -looking bewildered. “There must be a cause.” - -“A cause that she is not probably aware of herself, but we cannot hope -that Rose’s health will continue forever in the same perfect state, and -as her disposition is different from the rest of us, her life has been a -more sedentary one through that very difference. You know she rarely if -ever goes out.” - -“True, very true, my dear, I am glad you reminded me of this. Rose must -have a change, and, strange to tell, this very day I received a letter -from your Aunt Bliss, begging that I would let her have one of the girls -this summer to accompany her.” - -“But she goes to Europe, father!” exclaimed Kate. - -“And that is the very thing for Rose, hard as it is to send her so far; -but it will improve her in every thing. Send her here, my love, and tell -Lisa to come with her.” - -What surprised them all was Rose’s willingness to go; and they all -agreed that she felt the necessity of being roused from her unusual -state, to be thrown more on her own resources. Kate’s clear judgment had -found out the evil, and proposed the remedy; and Rose’s eyes filled as -she thought of her sister’s watchfulness in the midst of her grief. - -The preparations for her departure were of great assistance to Kate, who -busied herself diligently, and gave herself no time for thought. She -accompanied her father and Rose to meet her Aunt Bliss, and as the -steamer was detained a few days, remained to see her off. - -It was a sad parting, for Rose had never been from home before; but she, -timid bird, must try her wings like the rest, and though her flight was -long, it would be a happy one; and when Kate and her father reached -home, part of the sisters’ grief for Rose was lost in the delight of -seeing her look so well—so much more like her former self. - -The old homestead resumed its quiet tone, and its occupants their usual -habits, more reconciled to their changes, more fit to play their part in -the battle of life. No longer looking upon their hoard of bliss as -secure, no longer expecting - - Amidst the scene to find, - Some spot to real happiness consigned, - -they endeavor to prepare themselves to breast the storm, should sorrow -come again upon the little band. - -All but Minnie, her grief was violent and willful, refusing all comfort, -rejecting the means of softening it while it lasted; but there was no -change in her light volatile disposition; and Kate, poor Kate! wise from -sad experience, lectured in vain. - -“Where is Blanche?” said Lisa, coming in from the garden with her bonnet -on. “Do you know Minnie?” - -“Do I know? Yes; she’s hid in the moon, if you can’t find her; for that -is where Ariosto says every thing is hid that is lost.” - -“Pshaw, Minnie! do not be foolish. Where is Blanche?” - -“Tell me what you want with her, and I will take a broomstick and ride -after her then?” said the wild girl. “I must be paid for so much trouble -before I undertake it.” - -“I would you could promise to stay in the clouds a while and freeze your -spirits into reason. But my wants are no secret or I’d never tell you, -madcap Minnie. Go and find Blanche, and ask her for the key of the -silver closet.” - -“And that is all! I’m sorry I promised now, as the contempt I feel for -the errand makes it disgraceful. But here I go, being honor itself about -keeping promises.” - -“Excepting those you make to become better and wiser,” rejoined Lisa, as -she ran off. In an instant she was back. - -“Lord bless us! She is in the library listening to Kenneth read Cosmos. -I wish he’d put _me_ to sleep sometimes, as I am sure he often does his -wife.” - -“I wish he would!” said Lisa, “and he would oblige others besides -myself. Go and ask Kate to come down in the store-room and help me.” - -“And what do you want with Kate in the store-room, Miss Lisa?” said -Minnie, as she tied the key she held to the string of her bonnet. “There -must be something going on that I cannot guess.” - -“I want her to make an Italian cream for dinner, while I busy myself -with something else that does not concern you.” - -“On the principle of ‘_Faut être deux pour avoir du plaisir_,’ I -presume,” said Minnie. “How affecting! But something is in the wind, -Lisa, or you would not fuss over creams, etc. Is any one expected to -dinner?” - -“I give you permission to expect as many persons as you like,” replied -she, with provoking gravity. “Tell me their names, and I will prepare -the banquet.” - -“I never saw such a mysterious old oracle as you are! Getting out more -plate, more napkins, and steeping gelatin with so much solemnity, as -though we never did have company in our lives before, then preserving -such a dark cloud of silence on the subject! Kate! who is coming here -to-day—tell me, and don’t be foolish about it?” cried Minnie. “Sister -is enveloped in mystery and wont let me know.” - -“Kate does not know herself,” said Lisa, smiling; “but may be she can -guess.” - -“This is Rose’s birth-day,” said Kate, after a pause, “and—” - -“And I forgot it!” exclaimed Minnie, as she burst into a flood of tears. -“The first one she ever passed away from home!” - -“And the last, I trust,” said Kate, tenderly. “Poor, dear Rose! I wonder -where she is now!” - -“Enjoying herself very much, I suppose,” said Lisa, crushing a lump of -sugar into her bowl of eggs, “and wishing we were all with her. She -would be surprised at the idea of your crying about her, I dare say.” - -Minnie made a step forward, and threw down a cup that was too delicate -for such rough usage. - -“There!” said her sister, “you have your day’s work before you. I never -saw such a careless girl.” - -“Never mind,” said Minnie, collecting the fragments, and smiling through -her tears, “this will do to place among - - The broken teacups, - Wisely kept for show, - -that _you_ keep on the shelf there. I’ll cement it for you.” - -“Thank you! I wish you could mend some of your bad habits as easily as -you promise to patch broken china. It would keep you busy for life.” - -“Alas, poor Minnie!” said the girl, “how unjust the world is! What can I -do?” - -“Go and see that Sampson puts the dining-room in extra trim, and fill -the finger-bowls,” said Lisa. - -“Dear sister! I am not Dalilah, and cannot manage the strong hero of -antiquity,” said Minnie, with affected humility. “But I will crown the -bowls with orange leaves, and perform any other lowly task with much -pleasure.” And she left the room singing a light song, that ever and -anon fell sweetly on the ears of that united household as they paused to -catch the tones of the young, rich voice. - -“Mr. Selby and his nephew dine with us,” said Lisa, as she and Kate -compounded their dessert together, “and as the latter is about to sail -for Europe, papa has promised him letters for Uncle Bliss and Rose.” - -“Indeed!” said Kate. “That will be very pleasant for them to see any one -that can give such direct news of us. Do you remember to have seen young -Mr. Selby, Lisa?” - -“When he was a little boy, I saw him once at his uncle’s, but he has -been at college for years past. He is now on a farewell visit, and will -not return for some time, of course. I hope he will be like old Mr. -Selby, for he is one of the kindest and most agreeable men I ever knew.” - -“Yes, he is universally beloved. Paul esteems him highly, and often goes -to him for advice.” - -And Kate thought Paul’s opinion sufficient to determine the importance -of the universe. - -Minnie had her own ideas, and very soon found herself in merry -conversation with Harry Selby, who devoted himself to his pretty -neighbor at dinner with a zeal that made his uncle laugh. - -“What is that, Miss Minnie? What did you say then?” asked he across the -table. - -“I was wondering, sir, if Mr. Selby will return a true hearted American, -after seeing all the splendor and beauty of the old world,” replied -Minnie, glancing at him with her bright eyes. - -“Of course he will,” said the uncle. “Do you think now that any of the -English blondes, the French brunettes, or the Italian signoras, will -ever drive your saucy face out of his mind?” - -Minnie blushed—so did Harry; but she parried the attack. - -“Oh, he can easily forget _me_, for this is our first meeting, and will -be the last; but there must be many persons whom he could not under any -circumstances so wrong—yourself, for instance.” - -Mr. Selby laughed. “And so you think that my ugly phiz will be the one -to haunt a young fellow on his travels. Do him justice, Minnie, and give -him credit for a dash of sentiment at least. Do you think him insensible -to the charm of dark eyes and all that?” - -“By no means, sir; but it would be impertinent on so short an -acquaintance to attempt to fathom so mysterious a thing as a human -heart, such as I suppose belongs to Mr. Selby.” And Minnie blushed again -as a pair of large, brown eyes met hers with an unequivocal glance of -admiration. - -The owner of said orbs began something like a compliment; but there was -an unnecessary tinkling of the ice in Minnie’s glass, and she did not -appear to hear it. Besides, at that particular moment, Paul leant -forward, and asked for some information about a planing machine; and the -conversation turning on inch-boards, weather-boards, and thousands of -feet of lumber, the ladies rose and left the table to adjourn to the -parlor. - -Harry soon followed them—what cared he for planing-mills? And Blanche -made room for him by Minnie, the place he evidently wanted, for he never -left it until his uncle called to her for some music, and a “good old -song.” - -Unfortunately for him, young ladies play too well now-a-days to require -a book before them, and as there were no leaves to be turned, Harry -stood at a distance, admiring the rapid little fingers as they flew over -the ivory. - -“Who taught you?” exclaimed he, as she ended Rosellen’s pretty -variations from Don Pasquale, “who taught you?” - -She pointed to Kate, who nodded her head with a proud smile. - -“Is it possible! When I get to Paris, I shall boast of my countrywoman, -Mrs. Linden, for I am confident—” - -“But the song of Minnie, the song!” interrupted Mr. Selby senior. “I -asked for a song, young lady.” - -“I know it, sir, but I will leave that to the rest, as I can only boast -of a few notes as yet.” And Minnie rose and gave her place to Blanche. - -“Minnie does not like to show off unless she is sure of creating a -sensation,” said Mr. Linden, laughing as she took her seat beside him. -“If you did but know, Mr. Selby, what a wonderful debut she is prepared -to make; all the young ladies will hide their diminished heads next year -at her first Mazourka, and never dance again. Wont they, Minnie?” - -“You flatter me,” said she, smiling good humoredly. “I only intend to be -_one_ of the stars—not the bright particular one, for I have only my -wits to help me out.” - -“And they will be all sufficient,” said old Mr. Selby, patting her -cheek. “I’m sure of my little pet’s entire success in the great world of -fashion. How many ball-dresses is Rose to bring across the wide ocean?” - -“Oh, she has carte blanche,” returned she, “and I will send for you as -soon as they are unpacked, that you may determine my first costume.” - -But the evening wore away, and the family separated at an early hour, as -the letters must be written to Rose for the next morning. Each had a -volume to say, and Minnie’s exceeded the third page, as she had promised -such faithful accounts of home to the wanderer, even the dogs were -immortalized that night, for an affecting account of Ponto’s regret for -his mistress drew tears from the writer’s own eyes. - -“Lord bless us! what a correspondence,” exclaimed Mr. de la Croix, as -the letters were thrown on the table. “Poor Rose will never get through -it.” - -“There’s a postscript from Kenneth, and myself, of course,” said Paul, -as he threw down a pretty envelope. “An endless communication from -Minnie, six pages between Blanche and Kate, two from Lisa, she being too -sensible to waste time, and a well filled sheet from you, sir. Rose will -have work and instruction for a week when all this reaches her. Did you -have a good pen, Minnie?” - -“To be sure I did,” replied she, looking up. - -“Then I rejoice, for Rose’s sake, your calligraphy being at times very -Egyptian. However, Harry Selby will take great pleasure in assisting her -to decipher it, I dare say; and I feel much relieved on her account.” - -Minnie pulled his hair for him at this declaration, and vowed revenge. -Rose could read her writing very well, though others might be dull -enough to suspect the contrary. - -There was a charm about Minnie that was irresistible—it was her -unvarying good humor, her sweet, even temper. Even while asserting her -willful but childish dislike of reproof it was impossible to be angry -with her. Nothing like an angry retort ever passed her lips; as -ineffectual as a reprimand was to her wild spirit, she took it -smilingly, and disarmed displeasure with her winning ways. No wonder -that her sisters loved her; no wonder they feared for her as years -passed, and she was yet untamed. Impulsive, obedient to these impulses, -and inconstant in her tastes, Minnie de la Croix, at the age of -seventeen, was no wiser than a child of ten. If she offended she was -wretched until she had been forgiven, and as ready to pardon as she was -averse to wound. Her life had been one of sunshine and love; but she was -growing up to womanhood, and dreamed not of its perils and its -pains—saw nothing but smiles and fair promises in the world before her. - -Rose’s account of young Selby’s arrival in Paris was satisfactory to all -parties. “He came to see us,” wrote she, “as soon as he arrived, taking -time only, as I suppose, to make himself look remarkably handsome under -a French valet’s hands. He greeted me most affectionately, and I verily -believe would have kissed me upon slight encouragement. He gave me news -of my dear home, of my dearest father and sisters; and if he had been as -ugly as a Chinese, I should have thought him an Adonis. He tells me that -you are all in perfect health, and describes my Minnie as something very -lovely. Very bewitching, he said, and so very pretty. My resemblance to -her seemed to delight him; but as I am neither of the two epithets -bestowed upon her, I am afraid it will wear off. We were at the Opera -last evening, and, of course, he joined us; but there was no time to -talk when Jenny Lind was singing, and I could not have heard him if he -had attempted it, I was so absorbed; but he had too much taste for such -a mistake. We spend this evening at the American Minister’s, where I am -to see a whole cage of French lions; and what is better, some of my own -dear countrymen. I am delighted with the grace and ease of the Parisian -ladies—it is impossible to resist their fascination of manner, the very -lifting of their veils is a tableau in itself. Minnie’s numberless -dresses for next winter I shall choose under the surveillance of one of -our new acquaintances, one of the presiding goddesses of fashion, whose -taste is so infallible, that, if she were to have her bonnet bent by -accident, bent bonnets would suddenly become the rage.” - -We cannot give all Rose’s letter, as it was a long one, but must hurry -over her return, and bring her home in time for Minnie’s ball, as the -whole house called it. The dear absentee arrived in the midst of the -preparations, at the time appointed. Mr. de la Croix wished to celebrate -her happy return among them with Minnie’s debut, and there was no end to -the joy of the sisters as they all met together once more in the room -wherein Rose’s boxes and trunks had been carried. Mr. Linden was there -with a hammer, which he swung over their heads, as he called out where -he was to begin, and the door opened to admit Mr. de la Croix, Kenneth, -and Harry Selby’s uncle. Minnie had promised, he said, that he should -choose her costume upon this great occasion, and here he was, to do his -duty conscientiously. - -He was gladly welcomed, and Paul fell to work on a large _caisse_, -according to Rose’s directions. The lid flew off and revealed a very -mysterious covering of white paper, which they proceeded to remove, and -Lisa’s nice hands were called upon to take out the beautiful dresses -that lay so lightly one upon the other. - -“Beautiful!” they cried, as a blue tarlatan of the most delicate shade -was held up. “Exquisite! Who is this for?” - -“For Lisa,” said Rose, displaying its beauties; “and I have the most -unexceptionable bouquets of pink moss roses for the looping of the -skirt, sleeves, and one for the bosom. Now that white dress is for -Blanche—my Lady Blanche—and the two rose-colored for Minnie and -myself. All have flowers to trim alike. You will find Kate’s in the -other box—there was no room for it in this one.” - -“Here is another white one,” said Minnie, who had danced around the room -in a perfect glee. “Whose is it?” - -“That is yours also, Minnie,” answered Rose, with an affectionate smile. -“You will want more than one ball-dress, my little debutante. Then—here -Paul! Paul! to your duty—open this box. Mr. Selby! you have something -to do with this, sir.” - -All eyes turned to him as he came forward with a queer smile from the -window at which he and Mr. de la Croix sat looking on, and enjoying the -scene of gayety and confusion that passed before them. - -“What have I to do with boxes, my pretty Rose,” inquired he. “I sent for -no coats or pantaloons?” - -“But you sent for the contents of this box, Mr. Selby,” said she, -nodding her head significantly. “What they are, I know not; but Harry -asked me to let it come on with my baggage, as it was yours, and to be -opened at Oakwood. So here it is, and as _I_ have some curiosity about -it, I call upon this self-constituted carpenter to gratify it.” - -Down went Paul’s hammer and chisel, and the nails gave way. More white -paper—and many little tape-strings running across, busied Lisa’s -fingers for some minutes. At length she drew out a dress so beautiful -that even Mr. de la Croix came forward. It was of a most delicate -texture, white, and embroidered around the skirt in palms of silver. -Nothing could be more exquisite, and Lisa drew forth gloves and slippers -to correspond. There was still a small box lying within, but as every -one was exclaiming over the shining robe, she deferred taking it out -until it was time. - -“Now, Mr. Selby! Mr. Selby! what did you want with this dress? Tell us -quickly—are you going to be married?” - -“Not unless Minnie will have me, for it is hers,” said he, covering her -with the lovely thing, and looking half ashamed as she uttered a scream -of delight. - -“I see a letter there for me—hush child! hush! don’t mention it, that’s -a good girl—I’m quite rewarded by your pleasure; let us read Mr. -Harry’s communication.” He broke the seal and began reading it aloud. - -“My dear uncle, Madame de Rosiere went to the modiste’s with me, and -chose these articles as you requested; being as perfect in taste and -dress as she is in wit, it must be a gem, almost worthy of the fair -creature for whom it is destined. (Hem! Harry is eloquent.) As I knew -where Miss de la Croix had _her_ dresses made, Madame de R. went with me -there, and arranged it all with the ingenuity of a Frenchwoman—that -this was to be made and packed with the rest, though in a separate box, -and sent to Mr. Bliss’s hotel, when I asked him to take charge of it -according to your orders. It gave me the greatest pleasure to attend to -your commission, I do assure you, and I must thank you for it. How I -long to see your favorite in a costume that seems to my poor eyes, one -that will robe her like an angel of light. (Hurrah for the boy! he is -really a gone case.) In the small box you will find a—” here Mr. Selby -muttered the rest to himself, and ended with “your affectionate nephew, -etc.” - -The old gentleman then took out of a satin case a fan so superior to any -Minnie’s unpracticed eyes had ever seen, that her admiration knew no -bounds. On the slender gold ring that passed through the handle was her -name in full, and to a chain of fine workmanship was attached a ruby for -her taper finger. - -“Minnie is a spoiled child,” said her father, taking the costly bauble -and examining the pretty painting upon it, an acquisition in itself. It -represented a young girl in the first bloom of youth with her arm around -the neck of a beautiful greyhound, that looked up wistfully in her face. -The attitude was full of grace, not unlike Minnie’s own, and Rose smiled -as she remarked that Mr. Selby had chosen an emblem of fidelity for her -little sister’s study during ball-room scenes. - -“More probably as an example,” said his uncle, with a meaning smile. -“Harry can never be classed among that portion of his sex, ‘to one thing -constant never,’ and he, in my humble opinion, would love to communicate -some of the same spirit to others.” A sly glance at Minnie accompanied -these last words; but she was examining her fan very closely, and did -not perceive it. At length she went and laid her hand upon his arm, -looking up at him with a grateful expression. - -“You have been so very kind to me—so thoughtful of my enjoyment in the -world, that I cannot thank you in words. Some of these days, like the -mouse proved to the lion, I may find a way to serve you, but until then -you must believe how deeply I feel all this attention. Now come and -choose my costume for to-morrow night—shall I come out in all the -splendor of my white and silver?” - -“No, my dear,” said Mr. Selby, kindly. “You must be like Rose to-morrow, -and wear the other when my sister gets my old-fashioned house in -readiness for another party, where you will receive the guests as your -own. Now let me kiss that soft cheek, and run away to my business in -town.” - -“And not see all _my_ presents, Mr. Selby!” exclaimed Rose. “They cannot -equal yours, but I have some very choice specimens of porcelain, besides -collars, capes, etc. Now look at this transparent lamp-shade, with the -angels’ heads; and see these vases. Here is a coffee-cup for papa, one -for Paul and Kenneth, with their initials, and here is an inkstand for -my darling Kate.” - -“And what is for Lisa and Blanche?” asked he, admiring each as she -presented them. - -“The lamp is for my industrious queen bee, Lisa, the vases for Blanche, -and things innumerable for the rest. You do not care about seeing the -‘dry goods,’ I know, but wait until I show you some of my own work. I -have embroidered three vests for my three pets—papa and ‘the brothers,’ -besides a scarf for my friend, Mr. Selby.” - -He was delighted at the idea of being remembered by her while in a -distant land, and Rose was forced to send him away to get rid of his -thanks. - -They hurried over the rest of the unpacking, as many preparations were -needed for the next day’s fête, and were soon running about from one -room to the other, laughing and singing as in days gone by. - - [_Conclusion in our next._ - - * * * * * - - - - - THEODORA. - - - A BALLAD OF THE WOODS. - - - BY GEO. CANNING HILL. - - -With her raven tresses falling loosely down her neck of snow, -And her cheek all flushed with crimson, like the morning’s richest glow, -From a covert, Theodora, like a loosened sheaf of light, -Burst, with wild and ringing laughter, in upon my wildered sight. - -Like a golden dream she came to me, and like a dream she fled, -Crushing crystal dews beneath her, as the diamonds in their bed; -And a spirit seemed to linger round the covert whence she came, -As a glow is oft reflected from the brightness of a flame. - -Far within the solemn forest disappeared her sylphide form, -As the gentle star of even pales before presaging storm; -Every songster’s notes were silent, all the wild-flowers wore a blush, -And throughout the wood’s dark mazes was a calm and holy hush. - -Such a gush of richest melody as then bestirred the air, -In my soul awakened echoes that had long been slumb’ring there; -’Twas a harmony angelic, that her spirit caught at birth, -And she poured it out in mellow floods, as one of common worth. - -Straight she hied her to a fountain, that lay sleeping in the glen— -’Twas a fountain hidden deeply from the common gaze of men; -Greenest mosses grew about it, walling up its crystal wealth, -Save a silver ribbon that escaped its velvet lip by stealth. - -On its smooth and argent surface fell the tears that Dryads wept; -In its deep, unruffled bosom sweetest dreams serenely slept; -Not a human face could ever have intruded on the calm -That was reigning all around it, like the fragrance from a balm. - -As she drew, unguarded, nigh it, gently seemed the waters stirred; -For the music of her voice was as the warbling of a bird: -And the sheet of liquid crystal, that was slipping o’er the rim, -For a moment fairly quavered, ere it parted from the brim. - -Coming nearer, then she spied it—this sweet mirror hidden there— -All set round with greenest mosses, and arbuscles fresh and rare; -And she clapped her hands delighted, as she hastened to its side, -And she shouted with a melody that thrilled its mimic tide. - -Then she sat her down beside it, and with hand pressed to her zone, -Thus a moment sat she silent, in her wonderment alone; -Raven ringlets trembled slightly, lustrous eyes beamed wondrous bright, -As she gazed upon the crystal that lay sleeping in her sight. - -Bending downward yet more lowly, till the wave her tresses swept, -She essayed to look beyond the brink, where Heaven’s cerulean slept; -But she started as she caught the face so beautiful and fair -That was looking up into her own from out the lakelet there. - -Throughout all her wildered senses sped a feeling of affright; -Yet the tremor was well tempered with a sweet, unknown delight: -And she gazed into the large blue eyes that met her from below, -And she thought they peered from out a world beneath the waters’ flow. - -Then a blush of richest crimson mounted up unto her cheek, -And a smile enwreathed her parted lips, as if she fain would speak; -But yet while she looked still steadfastly, the face below it smiled, -And Theodora clasped her hands, with seeming transport wild. - -Every day thereafter went she, as a nun within her cell, -To the little crystal cloister there imbedded in the dell: -And as every time she looked within, she saw an angel-face— -Upon each reflected feature read the words of truth and grace. - - * * * * * - - - - - PEDRO DE PADILH. - - - BY J. M. LEGARE. - - - (_Continued from page 236._) - - SPAIN, AND TERCERA. } - AD. 1583. } - -After the battle in which De Haye, the maître-de-camp was killed, and -the Portuguese ran away to a man, leaving the French to maintain the -honor of the day and their ultimate position on a hill near at hand, the -Spanish army unbuckled their armor and sat down to stretch their limbs -beside the fires at which their suppers were cooking; and if any one in -camp lost appetite that evening, it was not because of the numberless -gaping wounds witnessing to Heaven against him from the field behind. A -mile or so above, a few scattered lights showed where the remnant of De -Chaste’s army held ground, and awaited the morrow with little fear but -much hunger, sending to perdition the viceroy and entire Portuguese -nation the last thing before dropping to sleep: midway between these two -rows of fires, was neither life nor light save such as a crescent moon -gave, and as much as lingered in some poor wretch with more vitality -than was best for him. In which middle space the Damon and Pythias of -this story, Hilo and Carlo, prowled about, turning over the stiff -carcasses in search of valuables, for nothing of convertible worth came -amiss to the pair, whose personal property was staked nightly at dice. -Occasionally an apparent corpse tossed about his arms and legs -convulsively, or prayed in a husky whisper for a little water, for life -and mercy’s sake a single draught; but in either case the Walloon, like -a rough angel of mercy as he was, put an end to their anguish promptly, -saying with a grin to Hilo—“You know it’s for his good I do it: if he -drank any thing it might keep him alive till somebody who aint his -friend comes round. It would be a heap harder to die after making up his -mind he was to live again, wouldn’t it?” - -To which Hilo replied with some contempt: the boy was ferocious, as has -been elsewhere said, only on provocation— - -“You’re fitter for a hangman than a soldier, serjeant.” - -A truth Wolfang took for a compliment. - -“Hey?” cried that cidevant free-captain suddenly, “here’s one of our -officers, let’s turn him over. A hole in the back of his casque by -Lucifer; it served him right for turning his back on the enemy.” - -Hilo may have recognized the whereabouts sufficiently to make a -tolerably fair guess before the other added: - -“Oh—oh—the maître-de-camp, De Haye!” But if he did he held his peace, -and assisted in ridding the dead cavalier of a few personals. - -The Walloon was thick-skulled, but his long service in villany had -increased his cunning as a matter of course, and a duller man than he, -acquainted with Señor de Ladron’s peculiarities, might have jumped to a -like conclusion. - -“Bah! he wasn’t a coward after all. The arquebuse that sent this ball -was behind him while he faced the Dons. The man you owe a grudge to had -better keep awake, Hilo, my lad.” - -“You’re a fool,” Hilo returned. “Hold your tongue. Do you wish to bring -the Spaniards upon us with your noise?” - -To which the other answered sullenly—“You talk as if I wasn’t more than -your slave. You’d better mind what you’re about. I aint going to stand -it always, even if—here now, what’s to be done with these papers?” - -“What is that shining in your hand?” - -“A locket, or something of the sort, he had in his breast. Hang it, you -want every thing!” - -“A locket!” cried his comrade quickly. “Give it here.” Which the other -did unwillingly, and the other pocketed after holding it up to the -light. Hilo’s mood up to this moment had been none of the sweetest, as -the captain could testify, but some virtue existed in the appropriation -which was quite irresistible. - -“Come, old fellow,” he cried to the serjeant, in high good-humor, “I was -rather sharp with you just now, wasn’t I? You know I’m quick and all -that, and musn’t mind me. Here’s a handful of ducats for your locket, as -you found it; I fancy the thing, and don’t grudge paying for it.” - -A gift the captain took with a growl half of resentment, for _he_ had -not found a charm for himself, and could not so easily forget an offense -as his master. - -It was wonderful what a dog to fetch and carry that uncouth animal was -to Hilo; how he followed him about, drew dagger in his service, and -exposed his life any time rather than suffer the latter to embark alone -in a perilous venture, a thing his youthful friend was much given to. It -would have been an unanswerable proof of the existence in all men of -some good trait, some capacity to love a brother, for a worse rogue than -the captain would be difficult to select. But, unhappily, this -Netherlandish Damon had sounder, if less sentimental, reasons for -sticking by his Pythias. Hilo, a wonderfully precocious youth, had -fallen in with the honest captain some three or four years back, and -dexterously turned to his personal advantage a comfortable sum brought -over from Peru by the other. “I like the boy, he’s full of pluck. I’ll -school him into the ways of the world, look ye,” the captain used to -say, at the very time his protégé was scheming to possess his ingots. - -“I knew his father in Peru very well, a man of money. He lent me a -helping hand once, and I don’t mind turning about and lending the boy -any thing I have,” he spoke later. And so, not because of the helping -hand, as the captain wished understood—which, to be sure, was Carlo’s -beginning in life, the elder De Ladron having taken him into temporary -partnership in the matter of a forced _repartimiénto_ which turned out -golden—but because he had entire reliance in the magnitude of the -senior’s estate, he made over to Hilo the bulk of his possessions, on -conditions legally witnessed, of a fourfold return immediately on the -other’s receiving his own. No doubt Hilo acted in good faith, less from -inclination possibly than necessity, his money affairs having become -rather intricate about that time, and there could be no question of the -repayment of the full amount—the original was no trifle—at the season -specified. - -But when was that to arrive? A question Carlo asked himself with growing -dissatisfaction not long after the last ducat had slipped through his -debtor’s fingers. Hilo was in no hurry to marry the girl, and since -signing the captain’s bond, had bestowed his affections elsewhere, as -people say. A French countess, black-eyed and brisk, took his fancy much -more than the blonde his betrothed, and during the stay of the French -embassage at Madrid, the young gentleman was on good -behavior—ostensibly at least. Of all her gallants none excited his -jealousy so much as a cavalier who had accompanied the count -unofficially, and stood high in his daughter’s favor. - -Don Hilo’s way of removing an obstacle of this sort, was admirably -illustrative of his sense of wrong, although sometimes, as in this -instance, liable to miscarry. He first picked a quarrel with De Haye, -and that gentleman refusing point-blank to fight so disreputable a -party, was waylaid and killed by proxy in the person of Villenos, who -was of much the same figure, and, as it chanced that night, similarly -attired. The eclat of this mistake, added to the departure of the lady, -took him to France, where information of De Haye’s joining the -commandant induced him to enlist under the same knight’s pennon, in -pursuance of his vengeful purpose, and the young blood-hound was of -course nothing molified by the remonstrance of his enemy to De Chaste on -shipboard, which Carlo repeated with some little exaggeration, to be -expected from the mouth of so affectionate a friend. - -The heavy, cunning, ex-free-captain was brow-beaten and domineered over -by his former protégé in a truly surprising manner to one not in the -secret. It was wonderful how much he bore, how assiduously followed at -the heels of his junior when off duty, uneasy at losing sight of the -latter. The truth was, the captain having gambled and squandered himself -into poverty again, looked to the money to be derived from Hilo’s -fortune for a means of reputable living, as he said. - -“I was an honest soldier till I met that Hilo!” was his lament years -after, while awaiting the hour of his execution. And it was the obduracy -of the same young gentleman, aided by his own failure to win the -heiress, which had reduced him to the necessity of relying upon Hilo’s -attaining his twenty-fifth year and sole right of property; a fib, by -the way, of the party interested, which the captain was by this time too -near gone not to catch at with proverbial eagerness. - -“If I can only keep him in sight,” he used to think fifty times a day -with an oath, “until I get back my ducats, I’ll take pay for my dog’s -life;” and at nights he would wake muttering the words and feeling the -edge of his weapon, when Hilo would exclaim—“Can’t you leave off -grinding your tusks in that savage fashion, you Dutch boar!” - -The captain saw how a little misadventure in the shape of his dear young -friend’s decease, might deprive him of all chance of restoration, and no -mother could be more precious of her charge: Hilo might involve himself -in difficulties and be slain in a brawl; it was this worthy soul’s chief -business to guard against such a mishap, or extricate him when fairly -in: or he might fly into an ungovernable rage and harm himself, or tempt -the captain into doing so; so the latter eschewed all cause of -contention, and humbled himself where humility became a necessity. For -Carlo’s phlegmatic temperament was incapable of fear, and nothing would -have gratified him more than a bout with the young gentleman—who, -seeing his advantage, or from mere recklessness, tried his ability to -bear and forbear to the utmost limit. - -“Wait till I get my ducats back!” Wolfang consoled himself with -muttering under his breath on such occasions, champing his jaws and -keeping his fingers stalwortly from his dagger-hilt. - -The pair were standing over the body of the maître-de-camp, Carlo with -the papers in his hand taken from the breast of the dead lieutenant’s -doublet, when Hilo cried: - -“Hark! the camp is in motion yonder above. Come, Wolf, stir your clumsy -legs before we are missed.” - -And Wolfang trotting after his master thrust the crumpled missives into -his own doublet—“It’s no use to throw away any thing in the dark,” he -said; “I did a note of hand once so, and somebody else got the good of -it; one of these days I’ll find time to spell it out”—where they -remained many days, now and then taken out and returned, without much -progress made in their elucidation, for the warlike captain was not much -of a scholar, and found opportunity for only cursory examinations. - -A destination very different was the captain’s pocket, it may be -remarked, from that designed by the writer, Don Pedro, who, about the -time Carlo pocketed the letters, was conversing with Señor Inique as to -their efficiency in De Haye’s hands. - -No man is absolutely penitent at the start; some fear for character, -personal safety, or the like, is the prime mover, after which—it may be -moments or years after—enters in a godly sorrow for sin committed. Sift -your motives, exemplary reader, and satisfy yourself for once, your -conscience is not the tender prompter to your most virtuous deeds you -imagine: something to the effect, what it, or the world, or the church, -or your wife at home will think, has its due influence. Human nature is -not to be taken to task on this account; we are all more selfish than we -choose to admit even to ourselves, or there would be an end straightway -of all murders, thefts and villanies great and small and of every kind; -and there is so little native good in us it is best not to cavil at the -source of any redeeming trait, whatever it may be. - -So Don Augustino after ten years’ penitence of fear, made confession for -the first time of the same; not with the best conclusion or purpose in -view, it may be objected, but the honest knight’s expressions of opinion -were scarcely adapted to producing a better feeling at the beginning. -Sir Pedro thought as much himself when he reviewed the conversation, and -his after arguments were such as the mild expression of his fine gray -eyes lent effect to, a thing they very seldom did when his speech was -pointed with sarcasm. The soldier was first molified, then thoroughly -subdued, and in the end inclined to adopt the counsel of his ancient -companion-in-arms, who now, as always, took the shortest available -course to the doing away of a bad deed by substitution of a good. Not -that all this ripening of virtue in the veteran sinner’s breast was much -hastened by the knight’s eloquence; it was mainly by the inexplicably -swift thaw after the ice has been broken through with throes of -dissolution, and something the knight’s words may have done at the -beginning to aid the breaking up, something at the end to temper the -freshet. What he saw when he entered the inner cabin of Inique’s ship, -of that blank face and imbecility, I have nothing to relate; let the -door remain shut upon him as it was in Inique’s time, and all likeness -and constraint of the unhappy inmate be left to the imagination. - -Entire restitution of name and property on one side, and public avowal -of his paternity on the other, was what the straight-forward adviser -urged, and Inique consented ultimately to perform. Avowed penitence -strangely humbled the misshapen pride of the man. Once he said: - -“You were right, Padilh; I was a coward from first to last. I begin to -perceive there are two sorts of courage, one infinitely superior to the -other, and God alone knows how much braver than I this poor boy might -have proved.” - -The main obstacle now to be overcome was the will of the supposititious -Hilo, whose rage at finding himself heir to nothing would be likely to -exceed all bounds. - -“It must be opened gently,” said the knight. “The boy has an ill name -for violence, and some gain must be shown as an equivalent for so much -pecuniary loss; which last, I fear, will be the chief occasion of regret -with him.” - -“I have some little property of my own remaining,” answered the other, -“and would gladly relinquish it in his favor, but for the claims of my -other child. As for me, I am sick of this world’s honors—” - -“Pooh!” cried Padilh cheeringly, “is this your new-found bravery? Look -how you retreat before the enemy, and hope to shelter yourself behind a -wall with monks. And as for your blue-eyed daughter, have no concern at -all, for by this time I am sure that motherless countess of mine would -stand a siege rather than surrender her unconditionally: we have more -than we want in property and less in children, so you and I can each -satisfy the other’s need and our own pleasure, which will be stealing a -march at the start.” - -The man of care and crime was sensibly touched by this offer. - -“Many thanks!” was all he said, but he took his associate by the hand -with a grasp that would make you or I wince. - -“I think with you; he must be appealed to indirectly at first, that his -suspicions may not be awakened too soon,” Don Pedro said shortly after, -in answer to Inique. “In the French camp is a gentleman whose honor is -unquestionable, and who entertains such friendship for me, he would not -hesitate to undertake the service. If you do not oppose the design, I -will write him a short narrative of the events, leaving the manner and -time of communication to his judgment to determine. Until his jealousy -of your present purpose is overruled, we may scarcely hope to meet the -wretched boy in person, and I can see no better way of gaining our end.” - -“Let it be so, I oppose nothing honorable,” replied the maître-de-camp. - -“I am not referring to my old scale of honor,” he added presently, with -something like a blush. There is hope for the man, thought Padilh -thereupon; which was true enough. - -The knight wrote the letter in accordance with this agreement, a brief -recapitulation of the events of Inique’s life and his own, many of which -De Haye already knew, urging that cavalier to use his discretion in -acquainting the false Hilo de Ladron with so much of the truth as would -suffice to induce an interview, by assuring him of no harm being plotted -against his person, but rather some gain intended. Which letter Don -Pedro contrived to have placed in De Haye’s hands the night before the -battle in which the latter fell by the arquebuse of the boy whose cause -he had at heart; for very nearly the last thought of this generous -fellow, forgetting the enmity of Hilo, and perhaps rather careless of -his rivalry even when disencumbered of the Señorita Inique, was that, -after the day’s work was over, he would play the ambassador to what -purpose he might: but it was Capt. Carlo that returned to camp with the -letter instead. - -The gallant captain hurrying back with his gay companion, found -preparations making for a night attack, which were, however, -countermanded before the column began the descent. The men had had their -fill of fighting for the day, and turned in again wondering and -grumbling at the useless disturbance. Meanwhile the commandant and the -viceroy were discoursing of what had best be done, in the former’s tent. -Senhor de Torrevedros, after the battle, had arrived with about a -thousand of his countrymen, and one fourth or so the number of cows. - -“The viceroy has brought milk for his babies at last,” the French -soldiers said sarcastically; and the officer on duty who announced the -arrival to De Chaste, prefixed an epithet to the count’s title by no -means delicate or complimentary. - -“In the devil’s name, sir count,” the commander exclaimed, with a red -spot in either sallow cheek, “do you fetch these cattle to mount your -cuirassiers or feed our troops?” - -“Neither, at present, Senhor Commander,” the unabashed viceroy replied; -“for in neither way could they so much benefit you as in their present -condition.” - -“Speak your mind freely, we are friends here, sir count,” the commandant -answered coldly. - -“Our valor is too well known to be questioned—second only to that of -the French nation,” the count said braggartly, lifting his plumed cap by -way of salute; “and I bring you, Senhor Commander, what no man may cavil -at, a thousand men brave as lions and pledged to fall in defense of -their king’s honor.” - -At which speech a sarcastic smile passed round the group of attentive -officers. - -“Bah!” cried one to his comrade, “the fellow’s talk sickens me. Let’s go -to sleep again, there will be nothing but gabble to-night.” And the two -strode away. “Stay,” whispered the more curious, “we must hear the end -of this bull story.” - -Regardless of all which the viceroy continued. - -“Yet, sir, on the word of a knight, these long-horned cows you affect to -despise are more to be relied on as allies than twice the number of men -I bring.” - -“Doubtless,” the veteran rejoined, stroking his grizzled beard. - -“I understand your double meaning, Senhor de Chaste,” Torrevedros said, -slightly disconcerted. “But had you been present at a former descent of -the Spaniards, when we routed five hundred infantry by driving half the -number of wild cows upon them, you would not scoff at my design.” - -“What! prove ourselves boors, and go to battle behind a herd of cattle -with goads for lances!” here broke in the commandant with great -indignation. “By St. Dennis and the devil, sir count, sir viceroy, you -make my old blood boil to hear you talk. And I tell you once for all -before these gentlemen here present, whose scornful laughter, as you may -see, is only restrained by their good-breeding, that your offer in no -respect suits the style of warfare practiced by knights and Frenchmen, -although it may serve the purpose of cowards and Portuguese.” - -“Take care! sir commandant,” cried the governor threateningly, stung to -anger; “take care what you say in the hearing of a knight of that -nation.” - -“I have said my say,” the sturdy soldier answered shortly, turning his -back on the speaker and stalking into his tent, where the other followed -him after some consideration. - -There the two commanders conversed at length, and with rather more -harmony than the beginning promised; for De Chaste was not apt to bear a -grudge long, and the smooth Portuguese would have kissed the other’s -shoes if no other way offered for saving his precious life and limbs. -The former, apart from his chivalric prejudices, and weighing the -proposal simply as an expediency, refused to permit the employment of -the horned reinforcement. - -“They might as readily be turned against our battalions,” he justly -remarked, “as Philip of Macedon’s elephants were, in some battle I’ve -forgotten the name of.” - -The commandant probably meant Pyrrhus, but his vocation being arms, not -letters, he need not be undervalued by recent graduates who know better. -One thing was now clear, the French had only themselves to look to, -since the long expected recruits of the viceroy turned out to be a herd -of cows, and a night attack was secretly ordered, which recalled the -captain and Hilo to camp, but which the return of the count and his -expostulations caused to be abandoned. - -“You can learn nothing of the force and real position of the enemy, what -obstacles lie between, nor who can guide you,” urged the alarmed -governor plausibly; “and as for my men, I know not one who will be -bribed or forced into a position so perilous.” Which appeared so -truthful that the fiery Frenchman, with as bad a grace as any of his -subordinates, betook himself to bed again after personally making the -round of the Portuguese camp. All these swore by all the saints to stand -to their posts. They were terrible fellows, fire-eaters and the like, at -their own showing; but the commander was scarce asleep when Torrevedros -reappeared with a confused air and the information that the entire -division had stolen off and dispersed. Where the French general -consigned his allies need not be repeated to polite ears, and I think -his confessor, if he had one, should by no means have ordered a severe -penance for what he said under provocation so grievous. A council of the -chief cavaliers was immediately called. Alas! the most chivalric of them -all lay at the foot of the hill without a word to offer. - -The count spoke first, and strongly advised retreat to a higher -mountain, by which the approaches to the interior might be readily -defended, and an abundance of ammunition and provisions could be carried -there, with cannon enough to maintain the position. - -“Rather let us throw ourselves into the fortress of Angra,” cried -Duvick, “Where, with our handful of Frenchmen, we can defy the whole -Spanish army, backed by every Portuguese in the Azores.” - -This speech drew a murmur of assent from the council, but the viceroy -answered with his usual treacherous suavity. - -“There is nothing to fear from my countrymen on that score, Messires.” - -“No, by the Mass!” cried half a dozen voices, with some sardonic -laughter; and the count turned to the commandant again, biting his lip -with suppressed rage. - -“Do as you please, Senhor de Chaste,” he said, with as much calmness as -he could assume. “You are all masters here, I perceive, but I warn you -fairly beforehand, that the walls of Angra are no better than a -nut-shell, and the cannon of the marquis will bring them down upon your -hot heads in less than twelve hours. Moreover, the place can contain not -more than two hundred soldiers, as Heaven is my witness.” - -Which was as great a fib as ever knight told, but quite as excusable as -many, you ladies, are in the habit of telling by proxy at all hours of -the day and at your front doors. I cannot see, for my part, how the -Count de Torrevedros could possibly have acted otherwise under the -circumstances, which approached as nearly as any military predicament -may a civil, the not at home of mesdames out of toilette. In short, the -count had that same night sent the keys of Angra by a trusty messenger -to the Marquis of Santa Cruz, with his complimentary offer of services; -an errand which the astute ambassador acquitted himself of to -admiration, by leaving out the count and assuming the credit: and at the -same moment the viceroy was giving his disinterested advice, no less a -personage than Don Augustino Inique was marching in with five hundred -men through the wide-open gates of the fortress. - -This the commandant learned by daybreak the next morning, at which early -hour he was pushing for the mountains in accordance with the advice of -Torrevedros, who had gone ahead, as people say taking French leave. At -the village of Nostre Dame Dager de Loup, they heard further that the -governor had put off in a boat from the coast; and the French army, -debarred from the sea on one side and Angra on the other, and now openly -deserted by the Portuguese, occupied the little town and began -immediately to throw up intrenchments before the arrival of the -Spaniards. - -“We must not think longer how best to live, but most honorably to die,” -De Chaste answered a few of his young officers who grumbled at the want -of necessary stores. A fine, heroic answer, which stopped the mouths of -those high-spirited gentlemen, but was less efficient in the case of the -soldiery. It must be confessed the estimable pair Hilo and the serjeant -were not a little responsible for this discontent; hard work agreed with -neither of their constitutions, and before nightfall they had found -opportunity to exchange their views on the subject. - -“I’d as lief be a galley-slave and be done with it,” the serjeant -muttered to Hilo, who was helping him lift a load of sand out of the -ditch. - -“Captain,” returned the other, “you speak my mind; and things are -getting in such a state here the sooner we draw our necks out of the -noose the better.” - -“Good,” replied Carlo, “but how is that to be done, look you? The -marquis will hang us up for spies if we go over to them, and the count -they say has gone off in the last boat on this coast.” - -“But what if most of these Frenchmen went out with us?” - -“That alters the case,” cried the captain with his old grin. - -And somewhere about midnight the commandant was roused by an uproar -round the officers’ quarters, which shewed what willing soil the -ringleaders had found to sow sedition in. - -“Kill your captains! I’ll begin with mine,” the serjeant was roaring -with a volley of oaths, and menacing Captain Curzon with his halbert. -The fellow had found drink somewhere, and was raging like a worried -bull, his prominent bloodshot eyes sustaining the resemblance. - -Curzon parried the thrust and would have cut him down, when the voice of -the commandant overtopped the clamor. - -“What!” he exclaimed, “do you plot to follow our Portuguese allies! Go, -every man of you who chooses; we want none but brave men here, and will -bear with no others.” - -“That may do for you to prate about, general mine,” answered Señor de -Ladron scoffingly, the seditious talents of that young gentleman causing -him to be chosen captain of the insurgents, “but it wont deceive men -with their eyes open, hark ye! We all know you’re only waiting a chance -to escape with your brave officers, and leave us to pull an oar apiece -in the Spanish galleys. Ha, ha! M. de Chaste! Begone while you’re -allowed, for you see you’re outwitted.” - -“Insolent dog, to your quarters!” the knight cried, advancing upon the -speaker and striking him with his sheathed sword. - -But Hilo, instead of falling back, foaming with rage, seized a halbert -with both hands, and was as promptly fastened on by a dozen embracing -arms. - -“No, by St. Dennis! the general shan’t be harmed!” as many more voices -exclaimed. “Only we’ll be ahead of him and go first.” - -“Friends,” answered De Chaste, with some indignation in his voice, “you -hurt me more by your suspicions than if you ran a sword through my body; -and I take Heaven to witness, I will be the last man to quit this -island, and will die rather than abandon any of you to the mercy of the -marquis, whose countrymen gave such instance of their treatment of the -French last year in the Floridas. Let fifty or a hundred of you surround -my house yonder, and insure my stay: it will be time enough to dishonor -yourselves and nation when I set the example.” - -Which the mutineers did for the present, despite the taunts of their -leader-elect, who, struggling furiously with his captors, had all the -while been calling to the others to fall upon the officers, or loose him -and he would give them example. The commandant was a favorite with the -troops. - -“We will wait until to-morrow,” they agreed among themselves, “and -general or no general, he is a dead man if he lifts a finger to betray -us.” - -Señor Hilo de Ladron, for his part, came to the conclusion, after this -failure, that the French camp was no place for him, and communicated his -views to his faithful Damon. - -“I’d like to have split his head open, he hadn’t so much as a cap on to -save it,” he said to Wolfang, “and then we might have done as we pleased -with the rest. But, hang it, you’re such a liar, the men only half -believed the story from the first, and letting him talk upset their -resolution altogether. It’s his turn now, and we must get out of this -hornet’s nest before daylight.” - -“Where to go?” the captain asked. - -“If you are born to be drowned, you can stay behind, you wont be safe -otherwise,” Hilo answered indifferently. “I’m for the mountains at -first, and who knows but I may find it to my interest in the end to -visit the marquis with the count for sponsor.” - -“Oh, if you keep such good company,” the captain returned, with a -grotesque bow and grin showing his comprehension of Hilo’s plans, “I’m -your excellency’s humble servant!” And in an hour’s time these fast -friends had slipped through the line of sentries, scaled the -breast-work, and sat down to wait for light a mile or two from camp. - -The impossibility of hearing ordinary discourse at that distance will -cause the finale of this story to be very different from what it might -have been under more favorable circumstances. For a herald, or courier, -or valet, had just then arrived from the camp of the marquis, at the -intrenchments, bringing a letter to the Commandant de Chaste, who -presently sent through the village to find Don Hilo, as we all know now, -without success. - - [_To be continued._ - - * * * * * - - - - - CHARLOTTE CORDAY. - - - BY MRS. ELIZABETH J. EAMES. - - - “Among the victims put to death by Marat was a young man of - noble and imposing mien, renowned for virtue and bravery, and - said to be the betrothed of the martyred Charlotte Corday.” - - This clearly chiseled face— - So full of tender beauty and meek thought— - This head of classic grace, - These delicate limbs, in sculptured pureness wrought, - These fingers, fairy small, could _these_ belong to thee— - Once merriest girl in France, the proud, the fond, the free? - - Methinks thy slender form - Seems with a proud, commanding air to rise; - And wondrous power to charm - Dwells in the midnight of those thoughtful eyes: - While on thy curved lip, and lofty marble brow - Sitteth the high resolve, that suits thy purpose now! - - Did not thy woman’s heart - Thrill with emotions never felt before? - Didst thou not shrink, and start - To stain thy fair hand with the purple gore? - Hadst thou no chilling fear, O, self-devoted maid! - Of the dark doom that soon must fall upon thy head? - - Yes! for _one_ moment thou - Didst struggle with youth’s natural dread of death! - One moment didst thou bow - Thy woman’s heart—then, with firm step, free breath, - Didst thou approach the bath of the terrific man - With whom the fearful “Reign of Terror” first began! - - How deep the avenging steel, - With fatal aim, pierced through his guilty breast! - While ’mid the mortal chill - His starting eye the demon-soul expressed!— - Until it closed forever, and the blood - Made dark the waters where the ruthless monster stood! - - So, ’neath this fragile form - Dwelt the _resolve_ that made thy country free— - And this fair, feeble arm - Performed a deed of immortality! - But, oh! _thy_ strength, _true love_! for _him_ ’twas done— - Well didst thou avenge the death of thy heart’s cherished one! - - * * * * * - - - - - SONNET. - - - TO ARABELLA, SLEEPING. - - - BY R. T. CONRAD. - - - When the world wearieth, then the sun doth set, - And the dew kisseth sweet _good-night_ to earth; - When the soul fainteth, and would fain forget, - Then sleep, the shadow of God’s smile, comes forth, - Gently, with downy darkness, and the dew - Of thoughts from Heaven, and with the quickening rest - That lightly slumbers—star thoughts beaming through - The dreamy dimness on the rippling breast. - Soft be that dew upon thy breast to-night! - Gentle thy dreams as zephyr to the flower! - Pure as the prayer that riseth as I write, - To hover round thee through the midnight hour! - Till Morning wake—as if for thee alone— - And meet a brow as bright—’tis lovelier than his own! - - * * * * * - - - - - NETTLES ON THE GRAVE. - - - BY R. PENN SMITH. - - -Strolling through a cemetery, I beheld within one of the enclosures a -widow who had buried her only child there, some two years before. I -accosted her, and tendered my assistance. “Thank you,” she replied, “my -task is done. I have been pulling up the nettles and thistles that have -overgrown little Willie’s grave, and have planted mnemonies, heart’s -ease, and early spring flowers in their place, as more fitting emblems -of my child; and though they may fail to delight him, they will remind -me that there is a spring time even in the grave, and that Willie will -not be neglected by _Him_ who bids these simple flowers revive. But is -it not strange how rank nettles and all offensive weeds grow over the -human grave—even a child’s grave?” - -“I remember you mourned grievously at losing him, but trust time has -assuaged affliction.” - -“Its poignancy is blunted, but memory is constantly hovering around my -child. Duty and reason have taught me resignation; still I seldom behold -a boy of his age, but fancy pictures to me how he would have appeared in -the various stages of his progress toward manhood. And then again I see -him like his father—and myself a proud and happy mother in old age. -True, you may call it an idle, baseless dream; and so it is, but I -cannot help indulging in it.” - -“Dream on! the best of life is a dream.” - -We walked a few steps, and paused before an inclosure where reposed the -remains of a worthy man, with nothing more than his unobtrusive name -inscribed upon a marble slab to designate his resting-place. He was -respected for his integrity and energy; beloved for his utility and -benevolence. Here was no lying inscription, making the grave gorgeous, -as if monumental mendacity might deceive Divinity. His record was -elsewhere, traced by unseen fingers. - -“There are no nettles on that good man’s grave,” said the widow. “I knew -him well; weeds would wither there; nothing but flowers should cover his -ashes.” - -A few young men at the time were idly passing. They paused, when one -tearing a weed from the pathway, hurled it among the flowers, -exclaiming, “Let him rot there with weeds for his covering.” The -slumbering dust thus spurned had long sustained the ingrate who now -voided his venom upon the benefactor who had fed him until there was no -longer faith in hope. The widow sighed; “And this is on the grave of the -good and just!” - -“Had Willie lived, he might have been such a man, and such would have -been his harvest.” - -In the next tomb a brave soldier mingled his ashes with the red earth of -Adam. In his early career he was placed in a position where daring -energies alone could command success. He succeeded, and was rewarded by -a nation’s approbation. No subsequent opportunity occurred to acquire -peculiar distinction; and when he died, a shaft was erected -commemorating the most remarkable action of his life. His tomb attracted -the attention of some visiters who read his epitaph. “Characteristic of -the age!” exclaimed one, throwing a pebble at the inscription, “to swell -a corporal to the dimensions of a Cæsar. It was the only action of a -protracted life, worthy of record, and here it is emblazoned for the -pride of posterity.” Had the thoughtless scoffer of the unconscious dead -occupied his position, which gained renown, history possibly might have -perpetuated disgrace, instead of a tombstone record of gallant -services—the patriot’s sole reward. - -“You knew the soldier?” - -“For years, and well. A brave and worthy man. The current of his useful -life flowed smoothly on, without being ruffled by the breath of -calumny.” - -“And yet nettles cover his grave already!” - -“Such might have been your child’s destiny—but that matters little; -praise or scorn are now alike to the old soldier.” - -We passed to a spot where a gay party was leaning on a railing. A young -woman had plucked some of the gayest flowers from the enclosure, and was -laughing with her merry companions. As we approached, she threw the -bouquet already soiled and torn, on the grave; and they went their way -with some idle jest upon their lips. The widow paused, and struggled to -suppress her emotion. - -“Did you know the tenant of this grave?” - -“From his childhood. He loved that woman, and struggled to acquire -wealth to make her happy. He succeeded, and when she discovered that he -was completely within her toils, she deceived and left him hopeless. -There are men whose hearts retain the simplicity of childhood through -life; and such was his. Without reproaching her, or breathing her name -to any one, he suddenly shrunk as a blighted plant, and withered day by -day, until he died. Like the fabled statuary, he was enamored of the -creature his own mind had fashioned, and in the credulity of his nature, -he made her wealthy, trusting that time would infuse truth and vitality -into the unreal vision of his youthful imagination. The world of love is -a paradise of shadows! The man beside her is now her husband; the wealth -they revel in, this grave bequeathed them.” - -“The fool! to die heart-broken—for a dream. But great men have at times -died broken-hearted. I should not call him fool. It is a common death -among good men.” - -“Great men! But women, sir, have pined away to death.” - -“In poetry, the bill of mortality is a long one; in real life the -patients seldom die, unless they chance to be both vain and poor. Did a -rich widow ever grieve to death for the loss of the noblest husband? -Wealth is a potent antidote to the malady, and teaches resignation; -while poverty, with the first blow of his iron sledge, will make his -cold anvil smoke with the heart’s blood, for he is buried who for years -had withstood the blow.” - -“That woman did not cast nettles on his grave.” - -“No nettles, but faded roses which she tore from it—blooming when she -came there. Better cast stones and nettles than those withered flowers. -Your boy has escaped this poor man’s destiny—the worst of deaths! His -was the happiest! he died—smiling—on his fond mother’s bosom! But -there is a grave around which weeds grow more luxuriantly, than about -the sepulchre where mortal dust reposes. Daily watchfulness is required -to prevent the bright creations therein buried, from being so over-run -until nothing is seen to designate the beautiful tomb, where we had -carefully embalmed them, as if in amber.” - -“What grave, sir, do you refer to?” - -“The human mind. A mighty grave wherein we daily bury crushed hopes and -brilliant ephemerons, too fragile to survive the chill atmosphere of a -solitary day. Keep the weeds from growing there and smothering their -memories. They are the progeny of the soul, and should not be allowed to -perish. Shall the joyous and beautiful creations of childhood be -forgotten in age; must the noble aspirations of the vigor of manhood -pass away without even an epitaph, because crushed in their vigor! -Rather contemplate them hourly; plant flowers beside them, though they -bloom but briefly and fade, they will send forth perfume even in decay, -and inevitably revive in due season, bearing refreshing fruit; and old -age, with palsied hand, will readily gather up the long account of his -stewardship, and as he glances over the lengthened scroll that must -become a record in the archives of eternity, may rejoice that he hath -not been an ingrate and idler in the heat of the harvest-field, but hath -diligently labored to make the entrusted talent yield the expected -usage. Tear up the weeds that are incessantly growing there, ere he who -was placed little lower than the angels, becomes an empty cenotaph—a -stranger’s grave—mouldering and mingling with his mother earth unheeded -and unknown.” - - * * * * * - - - - - FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS FROM UNFAMILIAR SOURCES. - - - BY A STUDENT. - - -Many of our readers have undoubtedly been asked during the past month -for information touching the whereabouts of some trite quotation, the -locality of which the whole neighborhood has not been able accurately to -decide. We have often thought it would be a commendable service if some -industrious student would make a complete collection of the every day -sayings, and print them side by side with the author’s names. As no one, -however, has seen fit to pioneer in the attempt, we here make a -beginning, confident that the plan is worthy to be carried out more -fully. At some future period, if no one else seems willing to continue -the undertaking, we hope to find leisure and opportunity for other -specimens in “Graham.” Meantime, here are a few of the more common -_lines_ in “everybody’s _mouth_.” - - No line which dying he could wish to blot. - -It stands thus in the original: - - Not one immoral, one corrupted thought, - One line which dying he could wish to blot. - LORD LYTTLETON. _Prologue to Thomson’s Coriolanus._ - - To err is human, to forgive divine. - POPE. _Essay on Criticism._ - - The perilous edge of battle. - MILTON. _Paradise Lost, Book First._ - - God made the country and man made the town. - COWPER. _The Task._ - - No pent up Utica contracts your powers, - But the whole boundless continent is yours. - J. M. SEWALL. _Epilogue to Cato, 1778._ - - And thereby hangs a tale. - SHAKSPEARE. _As You Like It._ - - And man the hermit sighed till woman smiled. - CAMPBELL. _Pleasures of Hope._ - - And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art. - POPE. _Essay on Criticism._ - - He whistled as he went for want of thought. - DRYDEN. _Cymon and Iphigenia._ - - The feast of reason and the flow of soul. - POPE. _Satires. To Mr. Fortescue._ - - Woman, last at the cross and earliest at the grave. - E. S. BARRETT. _Woman: A Poem._ - - When Greek meets Greek then comes the tug of war. - NAT LEE. _Play of Alexander the Great._ - - Music has charms to soothe a savage breast. - CONGREVE. _The Mourning Bride._ - - The old man eloquent. - MILTON. _Tenth Sonnet._ - - One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. - SHAKSPEARE. _Troilus and Cressida._ - - Great wits to madness surely are allied, - DRYDEN. _Absalom and Achitophel._ - - Even in our ashes live their wonted fires. - GRAY. _The Elegy._ - - God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. - STERNE. _Sentimental Journey._ - - The devil may cite scripture for his purpose. - SHAKSPEARE. _The Merchant of Venice._ - - She walks the waters like a thing of life. - BYRON. _The Island._ - - Thoughts that breathe and words that burn. - GRAY. _The Progress of Poesy._ - - On the light fantastic toe. - MILTON. _l’Allegro._ - - Give ample room and verge enough. - GRAY. _The Bard._ - - A little learning is a dangerous thing. - POPE. _Essay on Criticism._ - - And even his failings leaned to virtue’s side. - GOLDSMITH. _The Deserted Village._ - - O wad some power the giftie gie us - To see oursel’ as others see us. - BURNS. _Address to a Louse._ - - Brevity is the soul of wit. - SHAKSPEARE. _Hamlet._ - - Westward the course of empire takes its way. - BISHOP BERKLEY. - - Hills peep o’er hills and Alps on Alps arise. - POPE. _Essay on Criticism._ - - The observed of all observers. - SHAKSPEARE. _Hamlet._ - - And made a sunshine in a shady place. - SPENSER. _Fairy Queen._ - - A breath can make them as a breath has made. - GOLDSMITH. _The Deserted Village._ - - Heaven lies about us in our infancy. - WORDSWORTH. _Ode on Immortality._ - - Man wants but little here below, - Nor wants that little long. - GOLDSMITH. _Edwin and Angelina._ - - Just as the twig is bent the tree’s inclined. - POPE. _Moral Essays._ - - Throw physic to the dogs. - SHAKSPEARE. _Macbeth._ - - Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased. - _Ditto._ - - My way of life is fallen into the sere, the yellow leaf. - _Ditto._ - - I’ll make assurance doubly sure. - _Ditto._ - - Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields were won. - GOLDSMITH. _Deserted Village._ - - Domestic happiness, the only bliss - Of Paradise that has survived the fall. - COWPER. _The Task._ - - Let who may make the laws of a people, allow me to - write their ballads, and I’ll guide them at my will. - SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. - - For winter lingering chills the lap of May. - GOLDSMITH. _The Traveler._ - - Rolled darkling down the torrent of his fate. - DR. JOHNSON. _Vanity of Human Wishes._ - - The man forget not, though in rags he lies, - And know the mortal through a crown’s disguise. - AKENSIDE. _Epistle to Curio._ - - Whatever is, is right. - POPE. _Essay on Man._ - - The proper study of mankind is man. - _Ditto._ - - Man never is but always to be blest. - _Ditto._ - - Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw. - _Ditto._ - - And to party gave up what was meant for mankind. - GOLDSMITH. _Retaliation._ - - Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage. - JOHNSON. _Vanity of Human Wishes._ - - Rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm. - ADDISON. _Lines to the Duke of Marlboro._ - Also POPE. _The Dunciad._ - - To teach the young idea how to shoot. - THOMSON. _The Seasons. Spring._ - - ’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view. - CAMPBELL. _Pleasures of Hope._ - - Or like the snow-fall in the river, - A moment white, then melts forever. - BURNS. _Tam O’Shanter._ - - Nothing extenuate, nor set down ought in malice. - SHAKSPEARE. _Othello._ - - Exhausted worlds and then imagined new. - DR. JOHNSON. _Prologue at the opening of the_ - _Drury-Lane Theatre, 1747._ - - Assume a virtue though you have it not. - SHAKSPEARE. _Hamlet._ - - Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. - BURNS. _Tam O’Shanter._ - - Curses not loud but deep. - SHAKSPEARE. _Macbeth._ - - Who shall decide when doctors disagree. - POPE. _Epistle to Bathurst._ - - By strangers honored and by strangers mourned. - POPE. _Elegy on an Unfortunate Lady._ - - Where ignorance is bliss - ’Tis folly to be wise. - GRAY. _Ode on Eton College._ - - And swift expires a driveller and show. - DR. JOHNSON. _Vanity of Human Wishes._ - - Order is Heaven’s first law. - POPE. _Essay on Man._ - - Honor and shame from no condition rise. - _Ditto._ - - An honest man’s the noblest work of God. - _Ditto._ - - Plays round the head but comes not to the heart. - _Ditto._ - - But looks through nature up to nature’s God. - _Ditto._ - - With all my imperfections on my head. - SHAKSPEARE. _Hamlet._ - - The undiscovered country, from whose bourn - No traveler returns. - _Ditto._ - - Lay not that flattering unction to your soul. - _Ditto._ - - The time is out of joint. - _Ditto._ - - A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn. - POPE. _Moral Essays._ - - Who never mentions hell to ears polite. - POPE. _The Epistles._ - - From seeming evil still educing good. - THOMSON. _Hymn._ - - There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, - Rough hew them how we will. - SHAKSPEARE. _Hamlet._ - - On her white breast a cross of gold she wore, - Which Jews might kiss and infidels adore. - POPE. _Rape of the Lock._ - - At every word a reputation dies. - _Ditto._ - - And wretches hang that jurymen may dine. - _Ditto._ - - In wit a man; simplicity a child. - POPE. _Epitaph on Gay._ - - The mob of gentlemen who write with ease. - POPE. _Imitations of Horace._ - - Even Palinurus nodded at the helm. - POPE. _The Dunciad._ - - I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came. - POPE. _Prologue to the Satires._ - - Wit that can creep and pride that licks the dust. - _Ditto._ - - Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne. - _Ditto._ - - Damns with faint praise. - _Ditto._ - - To point a moral or adorn a tale. - DR. JOHNSON. _Vanity of Human Wishes._ - - Good wine needs no bush. - SHAKSPEARE. _As You Like It._ - - A little round fat oily man of God. - THOMSON. _The Castle of Indolence._ - - None but the brave deserve the fair. - DRYDEN. _Alexander’s Feast._ - - Doubtless the pleasure is as great - Of being cheated, as to cheat. - BUTLER. _Hudibras, canto 3, part 2, lines 1 and 2._ - - And bid the devil take the hindmost. - DO. _Canto 2, part 1, line 633._ - - And count the chickens ere they’re hatched. - DO. _Canto 3, part 2, line 924._ - - He that complies against his will - Is of his own opinion still. - DO. _Canto 3, part 3, lines 547-8._ - - And look before you, ere you leap. - DO. _Canto 2, part 2, line 503._ - - * * * * * - - - - - TWO CRAYON SKETCHES. - - - FROM LIFE STUDIES. - - - BY ENNA DUVAL. - - - 1.—“CHILD’S PLAY.” - - Napoleon!—years ago, and that great word, - Compact of human breath in hate and dread - And exultation, skied us overhead— - An atmosphere whose lightning was the sword - Scathing the cedars of the world. - — - That name consumed the silence of the snows - In Alpine keeping, holy and cloud-hid! - The mimic eagles dared what Nature’s did - And over-rushed her mountainous repose - In search of eyries; and the Egyptian river - Mingled the same word with its grand—“For Ever.” - ELIZABETH BARRETT. - - ’Tis but a child’s play, friend, pass on, nor wait— - Take heed, that childish play foretells the future fate. - ANON. - - -It was a beautiful summer afternoon. The high trees cast long shadows on -the grass, and the glorious golden sunlight beamed richly over the -landscape. In a thickly wooded park, whose long, winding walks were -bordered by the rhododendron, and overshadowed by forest-trees, were -several young girls. They were simply dressed, and quite young, at the -season of early girlhood—thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen might have -been their ages—certainly not older. They were all graceful, delicate -little creatures—American girls and women almost always are, as -foreigners have remarked. Two or three only, however, were decidedly -pretty. - -“I am tired of walking,” said one; “let’s stop here a little while, and -play something.” - -The girl had well chosen the spot, for it was beautiful enough to have -tempted the faërys—if any there be—to make of it, a play-ground. The -wood skirted a stream, rising from its shores in little undulating -hills, and the owner had availed himself of this, in arranging the walks -in his wood, so that by slightly assisting Nature, these walks seemed -terraced. The place selected, was where one of the walks widened a -little—the hilly terrace rose gently behind it, forming a turfy bank -that served for seats, and forest-trees crested the little summit of -this hill. Beneath the walk, the ground-swell shaded by trees, sloped -down to the stream-side, and between the foliage could be seen the -glittering wavelets, dancing along in the golden atmosphere shed around -them by the glorious setting sun. - -Had these little rambling girls been a shadow older, or breathing a more -poetic imaginative atmosphere than their sunny American home, they might -have sat and dreamed romances, out of “old Poesy’s Myths,” and fancied -that, - - “That spring head of crystal waters, - Babbled to them stories of her lovely daughters, - The beauteous blue-bells and the lilies fair.” - -But no! the influences of their associations in their home-lives, -rendered their imaginations—for imaginations they had—less dreamy, -less poetical. - -This work-day atmosphere in which we striving, success-seeking Americans -live and breathe, deprives even our childhood’s day-dreams of romance -and poësy, and who can say whether it be well or not? The mysterious -voice of the Past says, “All that is permitted is needed,” therefore, -let this American Judaic spirit roll on, the Nineteenth Century needs -it, to perform her part of the world’s development. - -If we return to our little wood-ramblers and listen to their gossip, we -shall see how tangible and real were the subjects of their day-dreams, -though quite as improbable, apparently, as the old imaginings of -Enchantment and Faëry Land. - -“Oh,” lisped a little coquettish thing, the pet evidently of the group, -whose light, floating ringlets threw faint shadows over her round, white -shoulders, “let’s play that I’m a duchess, and you are all come to visit -me at my ducal palace. These are my grounds, and some of you shall be my -ladies.” Thereupon the little witch threw her faëry form on the turfy -bank, in a languishing position, and prepared to take upon her little -self, all the state and dignity of a duchess. - -“Not I for one,” said the tallest of the group, although the rest seemed -half disposed to enter into the proposed play. “If there’s to be any -duchess playing, I’ll be the titled lady. Yes, I will be your princess, -and hold here my regal court.” - -If princesses have a divine right to beauty, the girl might have been -one of the most royal. She had, for so young a girl, a presence and -bearing remarkable for dignity, and her form gave promise of fine -development. Her head was well placed on a beautiful neck and drooping -shoulders. Her rich, dark hair was cut short and brushed back from a low -Medicean brow, and it clustered in thick, close curls around the back of -her well-shaped head and white neck. Although her brow was low, and her -chin almost voluptuously full, her keen, black eyes, arched eye-brows, -that in some moods almost met over a nose that was delicate and handsome -in shape, and whose nostrils trembled and dilated with every shadow of -feeling, and a mouth well shaped, but firm in expression, all told that -the girl had a haughty, imperious spirit, one such as a princess might -have; and she carried herself as though she would have said, as Marie -Antoinette did, when some one remarked her erect bearing, - -“Were I not a queen, I suppose, people would call me insolent.” - -“Duchess and princess indeed!” exclaimed one of the girls, -contemptuously. “How absurd to talk such nonsense. Who ever heard of -such duchesses and princesses as you’d make?” - -“And why not, mademoiselle?” asked the would-be princess. - -“Now Caro is grand,” laughed one of the girls; “don’t you take notice, -girls, she always calls us mademoiselles, when she wants to take state?” - -But the girl repeated her question, haughtily, without heeding the saucy -interruption. Her manner seemed to intimidate the other, and pleased -with her apparent victory, she continued, drawing herself up to her full -height, and looking even more stately. - -“Yes, I will be a princess. Why should I not be? My grandmother was a -queen, and my great uncle an emperor. I will give you all grand titles, -too. You, Lina, I will make a countess, for you are too little and -delicate, pet-bird, to be a duchess—that sounds too matronly for you; -but as for you, Mademoiselle Helen, you shall only be a simple maid of -honor, and may be, lady of the bed-chamber after awhile, if you stop -sneering at my rank.” - -“Oh Caro and Lina,” said Helen, impatiently, “don’t be so silly; it is -ridiculous. You are always spoiling our walks with these foolish -make-believes.” - -“What do you mean, Mademoiselle Helen?” asked Caro, with flashing eyes, -and nostrils dilating with unrepressed indignation. - -“I mean just what I say, Caro; that you always make yourself absurd and -disagreeable by wanting us to play such vain, silly plays; and you do -Lina no good either, for her little head is filled now with nothing else -but nonsensical notions that will give her a great deal of trouble. I am -a year or two older than you, Miss, and can see the folly of all this; -but even if I were not, I hope I should not be such a silly little fool -as to try to imagine I was something grander than I was not, and what is -more, never will be.” - -Caro’s face grew crimson, and she bit her full, red lip until the rich -blood nearly started from it while she listened to this irritating -speech. When it was concluded, she threw up her head and exclaimed in a -voice choked with passion, - -“This comes of associating with plebians.” - -“Plebians, indeed!” said Helen, indignantly. - -“Yes, plebians, mademoiselle,” answered Caro, looking steadily and -haughtily at her. “You are a plebian when compared with me, for my -grandmother was a crowned queen, and my uncle the great Emperor -Napoleon; am I not, then, a princess of most regal descent? And you, -Lina, darling,” she continued, putting her arm patronizingly around the -little creature, “I only hope I may be as my grandmother was, a throned -queen, then I would do more than put grand notions in your head. I would -put great titles to your name, and brave retinues to back them.” - -“Madame, your mother, most royal princess,” said the annoying Helen, -with provoking coolness, “has the misfortune, however, at present, to be -the instructress of the daughter of a plebian country lawyer.” - -“It is a misfortune, mademoiselle,” answered Caro. - -The girls drew together a little frightened; they knew a crisis was -coming, for many times before had they witnessed similar “passages at -arms,” between the two girls, but never such a threatening one. - -“Never mind Caro,” said little Lina, “let’s leave Helen; she’s always so -cross, and says such ill-bred things. We’ll go and play by ourselves. -You _shall_ be our queen, and I will be your little countess, or any -thing you want me to be. The girls will go with us, too; wont you, -girls?” - -“Ha! ha!” laughed the now irritated Helen, for she saw that most of the -girls were disposed to take Caro’s part. “This is amusing, truly, to see -the daughter of a plain American country store-keeper playing countess, -and the granddaughter of a French inn-keeper taking state and royal airs -over simple republicans.” - -Helen’s tantalizing expressions might have caused one thing royal—a -“battle royal”—for, although they were little young ladies, they were -sometimes apt to forget the rules of good breeding daily enjoined upon -them—but fortunately they were interrupted. Some ladies joined -them—mothers and elder sisters of the girls; for this park-like wood -was a favorite afternoon resort for the inhabitants of the little -village of B——. The angry retort trembled on Caro’s tongue, and -frowning glances were exchanged between them; for awhile their quarrel -was suspended—but only for awhile; the next day would be sure to renew -the scene. After a little talk with the ladies, Caro and Lina withdrew -to another part of the grounds, followed by their adherents, which we -must confess, comprised the greater number of the school; and the sturdy -little republican, Helen, was in the minority, for only two or three of -the older girls espoused her cause. As they left, one of the remaining -girls whispered to Helen, with a merry laugh, - -“See, Caro and Lina are going off to hold their Court. Had we not better -set up a rival one? We will elect you lady president, or cabinet -officer’s lady, or senator’s wife. You would not, I suppose, take any -less republican title from us, and, of course, it would be hardly safe -or proper to send you ministress plenipotentiary to adjust difficulties -between the two governments.” - -Helen laughed contemptuously, as if she thought the whole affair too -childish to be noticed. But her little heart was not much, if any, -better than Caro’s and Lina’s. Like theirs it swelled with anger and -pride, and although she was a good, sensible girl, she many times -permitted her temper and a spirit of envious rivalry that had -unconsciously sprung up between her and Caro, to master her, and make -her forget the gentle courtesy and good-breeding which should -characterize every woman, whether republican or aristocrat—because she -is a woman. - - - 2.—“FORTUNE’S PRANKS.” - - Napoleon! he hath come again—borne home - Upon the popular ebbing heart—a sea - Which gathers its own wrecks perpetually, - Majestically moaning. Give him room! - Room for the dead in Paris! welcome solemn! - And grave deep, ’neath the cannon moulded column! - ——Napoleon! the recovered name - Shakes the old casements of the world! and we - Look out upon the passing pageantry, - Attesting that the Dead makes good his claim - To a Gaul grave—another kingdom won— - The last—of few spans—by Napoleon! - I think this nation’s tears poured thus together, - Nobler than shouts! - This funeral grander than crownings— - This grave stronger than thrones. - ELIZABETH BARRETT. - -There’s a lady—a prince’s daughter; she is proud and she is noble; -And she treads the crimsoned carpet, and she breathes the perfumed air; -And a kingly blood sends glances up her princely eye to trouble, -And the shadow of a monarch’s crown is sweeping in her hair. - ELIZABETH BARRETT. - -Carriages rolled through the crowded streets of Paris, and a gay crowd -thronged to the residence of the republican prince—the new French -president. A stately levee was to be held, and Josephine’s grandson -inherited Napoleon’s popularity! Time had avenged _her_ wrongs, and -Fortune, which had played such curious, elfish pranks with this great -family, had set them once more aloft, but at their head she placed with -strange justice the representative of the dethroned, divorced empress. - -It was a brilliant sight. Ladies were there in gorgeous costume, -glittering with diamonds, and gentlemen in full court-dress decked with -orders. Near the President stood a group of beautiful women—the women -of his family—his cousins, once, twice, and thrice removed. Among them -was a lady who attracted the admiring gaze of more than one passer-by. -She had a majestic presence, though still quite young—in the first -flush of early womanhood. Her face was as beautiful as her form, which -was faultless in its proportions. She had a clear, rich skin—eyes by -turns flashing and serene, under “_level fronting eye-lids_”—a -beautiful mouth, with the full lips gently and sweetly parted, and a -Napoleonesque chin, that told her Buonaparte descent, with a lovely -dimple denting its centre. Her thick, glossy hair was dressed with -classical severity, for they told her, her head was like the Princess -Pauline’s, and made her bind it with a broad coronet, woven of her own -rich hair. She was beautiful enough to have inspired another Canova to -sculpture her also as a Venus. - -A buzz was heard, while the Russian Ambassador presented a gentleman and -lady with much consideration to the president. The young cousin of the -president started, and a brilliant flush crimsoned her cheek—whose only -fault, if fault it could be, was its delicate pallor—as she looked at -the lady newly presented, and heard her title—the Countess O——. - -The countess was a fair young creature with a delicate sylph-like -figure, and her hair fell in soft, brown ringlets, as if wishing to -burst from the confinement of the jeweled comb and costly bandeau, in -order to shade her timid beauty. Many remarked the purity and simplicity -of her style, and low murmurs told the inquiring stranger, that though -bearing a foreign name and title, she was said to be an American. - -The crowd increased, and the circle around the president gradually -separated, making room for the throng of _nobodys_ who wished to be -presented. The hum of conversation grew louder, and though the new -president exacted much ceremony, it was plain to be seen that etiquette -did not forbid the merry laugh, nor the sparkling _repartée_. - -A little group of ladies and gentlemen stood near a window, laughing and -chatting with all that sprightliness with which the French people of -society know so well how to enliven conversation. Some of the company -passed by, promenading. A lady of the group at the window, lifted her -arm—it must have been unconsciously, certainly it was done gracefully, -and in so doing, entangled her magnificent diamond bracelet in the -costly lace _berthé_ of a lady passing by. - -The owner of the offending bracelet was the cousin of the President, the -lady of the _berthé_ the fair Russian countess. The first bent over as -if to disentangle the sparkling clasp from the delicate meshes of the -lace, and her manner, repulsed all offers of assistance from those -standing by. It seemed a difficult task, however, and she had quite time -enough to say more than the mere apologies required, and surely she did -say more than those standing near them heard, for the mere “Pardonnez -moi Madame je vous prie,” could not have caused the slight start which -the pretty little countess gave, nor the delicate flush that tinged her -fair temples, when the French lady’s glowing cheek rested near hers, in -bending down to disentangle her ornament. - -“Lina,” said the president’s cousin, in a low, laughing tone, that -gurgled up like the melody of foam-bells in a stream, “who would have -thought when Helen Morris used to laugh at us in America, that our -childish imaginings would come true? Why, darling, you are not only a -countess, but you are wedded to the first and oldest blood of Europe; -and I, dear one—yes, I—if not an acknowledged princess, will yet be a -queen.” - -The bracelet was disengaged—the _berthé_ released. The French lady made -a low courtesy to the countess, with her eyes bent upon the ground—and -they parted. - -Fortune is a capricious goddess, and surely the wildest, most improbable -romances ever imagined, could not surpass, scarcely equal, the strange -reverses the blind goddess of the wheel has brought to the family of the -great “World-Actor of the Nineteenth Century,” NAPOLEON. - - * * * * * - - - - - QUAIL AND QUAIL SHOOTING. - - -BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF FRANK FORESTER’S “FIELD SPORTS,” “FISH - AND FISHING,” ETC. - - -[Illustration: THE AMERICAN QUAIL, OR VIRGINIA PARTRIDGE. -(_Ortyx Virginianus._ _Perdix Virginianus._)] - -November is upon us—hearty, brown, healthful November, harbinger of his -best joys to the ardent sportsman, and best beloved to him of all the -months of the great annual cycle; November, with its clear, bracing, -western breezes; its sun, less burning, but how far more beautiful than -that of fierce July, as tempered now and softened by the rich, golden -haze of Indian summer, quenching his torrent rays in its mellow, liquid -lustre, and robing the distant hills with wreaths of purple light, half -mist, half shrouded sunshine; November, with its wheat and buckwheat -stubbles, golden or bloody red; with its sere maize leaves rustling in -the breeze, whence the quail pipes incessant; with its gay woodlands -flaunting in their many-colored garb of glory; with its waters more -clearly calm, more brilliantly transparent than those of any other -season; November, when the farmer’s toils have rendered their reward, -and his reaped harvests glut his teeming garners, so that he too, like -the pent denizen of swarming cities, may take his leisure with his gun -“in the wide vale, or by the deep wood-side,” and enjoy the rapture of -those sylvan sports which he may not participate in sweltering July, in -which they are, alas! permitted by ill-considered legislation, in every -other state, save thine, honest and honorable Massachusetts.[2] - -In truth there is no period of the whole year so well adapted, both by -the seasonable climate, and the state of the country, shorn of its -crops, and not now to be injured by the sportsman’s steady stride, or -the gallop of his high-bred setters, both by the abundance of game in -the cleared stubbles and the sere woodlands, and by the aptitude of the -brisk, bracing weather for the endurance of fatigue, and the enjoyment -of manful exercise, as this our favorite November. - -In this month, the beautiful Ruffed Grouse, that mountain-loving, and -man-shunning hermit, steals down from his wild haunts among the giant -rhododendrons, and evergreen rock-calmias, to nearer woodskirts, and -cedar-brakes margining the red buckwheat stubbles, to be found there by -the staunch dogs, and brought to bag by the quick death-shot, “at morn -and dewy eve,” without the toil and torture, often most vain and vapid, -of scaling miles on miles of mountain-ledges, struggling through -thickets of impenetrable verdure among the close-set stems of hemlock, -pine, or juniper, only to hear the startled rush of an unseen pinion, -and to pause, breathless, panting, and outdone, to curse, while you -gather breath for a renewed effort, the bird which haunts such covert, -and the covert which gives shelter to such birds. - -In this month, if no untimely frost, or envious snow flurry come, -premature, to chase him to the sunny swamps of Carolina and the -rice-fields of Georgia, the plump, white-fronted, pink-legged autumn -Woodcock, flaps up from the alder-brake with his shrill whistle, and -soars away, away, on a swift and powerful wing above the russet -tree-tops, to be arrested only by the instinctive eye and rapid finger -of the genuine sportsman; and no longer as in faint July to be bullied -and bungled to death by every German city pot-hunter, or every pottering -rustic school-boy, equipped and primed for murder, on his Saturday’s -half holyday. - -In this month, the brown-jacketed American hare, which our folk _will_ -persist in calling _Rabbit_—though it neither lives in warrens, nor -burrows habitually under ground, and though it breeds not every month in -the year, which are the true distinctive characteristics of the -Rabbit—is in his prime of conditions, the leverets of the season, plump -and well grown; and the old bucks and does, recruited after the breeding -season, in high health and strength, and now legitimate food for -gunpowder, legitimate quarry for the chase of the merry beagles. - -In this month especially, the Quail, the best-loved and choicest object -of the true sportsman’s ambition; the bird which alone affords more -brilliant and exciting sport than all the rest beside; the bravest on -the wing, and the best on the board; the swiftest and strongest flyer of -any feathered game; the most baffling to find, the most troublesome to -follow up, and when followed up and found, the most difficult to kill in -style; the beautiful American Quail is in his highest force and feather; -and in this month, according to the laws of all the States, even the -most rigorous and stringent in preservation, killable legitimately under -statute. - -In New York, generally, the close-time for the Quail ends with October, -and he may not be slain until the first day of November; in New Jersey, -_ortygicide_ commences on the 25th of October, in Massachusetts and -Connecticut on some day between the 15th of the past and the first of -the present month; in Pennsylvania, Delaware and Maryland, where they -are something more forward, as breeding earlier in the season than in -the Eastern States, on the first of October; and in Canada West, where -they are exceedingly abundant, on the first of September; which is, for -many reasons, entirely too early, as hereafter I shall endeavor to -demonstrate. - -In my own opinion, the first of November, and even the middle of -October, are too late for the termination of the Quail’s close-time, -inasmuch as five-sevenths of the broods in ordinarily forward seasons -are full-grown and strong on the wing, as well as all the crops off the -ground, by the first of October; and although the late, second, or third -broods may be undersized, they are still well able to take care of -themselves in case the parent birds are killed; whereas, on account of -their immature size, they are safe from the legitimate shot; and, on -account of their unsaleability in market to the restaurant, from the -poaching pot-shot also. - -I should, therefore, myself, be strongly inclined to advocate the -adoption of one common day, and that day the first of October, for the -close-time of all our upland game; the English Snipe alone excepted. -Touching the reasons for postponing the day of Woodcock-shooting, a -notice will be found in our July number, and an extended discussion in -my Field Sports, vol. I. pp. 169 to 200. Of the Quail, in regard to this -point, I have said enough here, unless this; that, in my opinion, there -is far more need to protect them from the trap during the wintry snows, -than from the gun in the early autumn; the latter cannot possibly at any -time exterminate the race; the former not only easily _may_, but -actually _does_ all but annihilate the breed, whenever the snow falls -and lies deep during any weeks of December, during the whole of which -month the pursuit and sale of this charming little bird is legal. - -Could I have my way, the close-time for Quail should end on the last day -of September; and the shooting season end on the twenty-fourth day of -December; before which date snow now rarely lies continuously in New -Jersey, Southern New York, or Pennsylvania. Why I would anticipate the -termination of the close-time, in reference to the Ruffed Grouse, I -shall state at length, when I come to treat of that noble bird, in our -December issue; to which month I have attributed it, because it is then -that it _is_, though in my opinion, _it ought not to be_, most -frequently seen on our tables. While on the topic of preservation, I -will mention a fact, which certainly is not widely, much less generally -known, among farmers; namely, that this merry and domestic little bird -is one of his best friends and assistants in the cultivation of his -lands. During nine or ten months of the year he subsists entirely on the -seeds of many of the most troublesome and noxious weeds and grasses, -which infest the fields, more especially those of the ragwort, the dock, -and the briar. It is believed, I might almost say ascertained, that he -never plucks any kind of grain, even his own loved buckwheat when ripe, -from the stalk, but only gleans the fallen seeds from the stubbles after -harvest, so that while he in nothing deteriorates the harvest to be -ingathered, he tends in the highest degree to the preservation of clean -and unweeded fields and farms; indeed, when it is taken into -consideration that each individual Quail consumes daily nearly two gills -of weed-seed, it will be at once evident that a few bevies of these -little birds, carefully and assiduously preserved on a farm, will do -more toward keeping it free of weeds, than the daily annual labor of a -dozen farm-servants. This preservation will not be counteracted or -injured by a moderate and judicious use of the gun in the autumnal -months; for the bevies need thinning, especially of the cock-birds, -which invariably outnumber the hens, and which, if unable to pair, from -a want of mates, form into little squads or companies of males, which -remain barren, and become the deadly enemies of the young cocks of the -following year, beating them off and dispersing them; though, strange to -say, they will themselves never mate again, nor do aught, after -remaining unpaired during one season, to propagate their species. The -use of the trap, on the contrary, destroying whole bevies at a swoop, -where the gun, even in the most skillful hands, rarely much more than -decimates them, may, in a single winter’s day, if many traps be set, -destroy the whole stocking of a large farm for years, if not forever. I -have myself invariably remarked, since my attention was first called to -the fact, that those farms which are best stocked with Quail, are -invariably the cleanest of weeds; and a right good sportsman, and good -friend of mine, working on the same base _per contra_, says that, in -driving his shooting-cart and dogs through a country, he has never found -it worth his while to stop and beat a district full of weedy and dirty -farms, as such never contain Quail. - -If this may lead our farmers to consider that every live Quail does far -more good on the farm, than the shilling earned by his capture in the -_omnivorous_ trap; and therefore to prohibit their sons and farm-boys -from exterminating them at their utmost need, when food is scarce, and -shelter hard to find, my words will not have been altogether wasted, nor -my object unattained. - -Were I a farmer, I would hang it over my kitchen fireplace, inscribed in -goodly capitals—“Spare the Quail! If you would have clean fields and -goodly crops, spare the Quail! So shall you spare your labor.” - -And now, in a few words, we will on to their nomenclature, their -distinctive marks, their regions of inhabitation, seasons, haunts, and -habits; and last, not least, how, when, and where lawfully, honorably, -sportsmanly, and gnostically, you may and shall, kill them. - -I will not, however, here pause long to discuss the point, whether they -ought to be termed Quail or Partridge. Scientifically and practically -they are neither, but a connecting link between the two _subgenera_. -True Partridge, nor true Quail, very _perdix_, nor very _coturnix_, -exists at all anywhere in America. Our bird, an intermediate bird -between the two, named by the naturalists _Ortyx_, which is the Greek -term for true Quail, is peculiar to America, of which but one species, -that before us, is found in the United States, except on the Pacific -coast and in California, where there are many other beautiful varieties. -Our bird is known everywhere East, and everywhere North-west of -Pennsylvania, and in Canada, as the Quail—everywhere South as the -Partridge. In size, plumage, flight, habits, and cry, it more closely -resembles the European Quail; in some structural points, especially the -shape and solidity of the bill, the European Partridge. On the whole, I -deem it properly termed AMERICAN QUAIL; but whether of the two it shall -be called, matters little, as no other bird on this continent can clash -with it, so long as we avoid the ridicule of calling one bird by two -different terms, on the opposite sides of one river—the Delaware. The -stupid blunder of calling the Ruffed Grouse, Pheasant, and Partridge, in -the South and East, is a totally different kind of misnomer; as that -bird bears no resemblance, however distant, to either of the two -species, and has a very good English name of his own, _videlicet_, -“Ruffed or Tippeted Grouse,” by which alone he is known to men of brains -or of sportsmanship. With regard to our Quail, it is different, as he -has no distinctive English name of his own; but is, even by naturalists, -indiscriminately known as Quail and Partridge. The former is certainly -the truer appellation, as he approximates more closely to that -sub-genus. We wish much that this question could be settled; which we -fear, now, that it never can be, from the want of any sporting -_authority_, in the country, to pass judgment. The “Spirit of the -Times,” though still as well supported and as racy as ever, has, I -regret to say, ceased to be an authority, and has become a mere arena -wherein for every scribbler to discuss and support his own undigested -and crude notions without consideration or examination; and wherein -those who know the least, invariably fancying themselves to know the -most, vituperate with all the spite of partisan personality, every -person who having learned more by reading, examination of authorities, -and experience than they, ventures to express an opinion differing from -their old-time prejudices, and the established misnomers of provincial -or sectional vulgarism. - -But to resume, the American Quail, or “Partridge of the South,” is too -well known throughout the whole of America, from the waters of the -Kennebec on the East, and the Great Lakes on the North—beyond which -latter, except on the South-western peninsula of Canada West, lying -between Lakes Erie, St. Clair, and Huron, they are scarcely to be -found—is too well known, almost to the extreme South, to need -description. Their beauty, their familiar cry, their domestic habits -during the winter, when they become half civilized, feeding in the -barn-yards, and often roosting under the cattle-sheds with the poultry, -render them familiar to all men, women, boys and fools throughout the -regions, which they inhabit. It is stated by ornithologists, that they -abound from Nova Scotia and the northern parts of Canada to Florida and -the Great Osage villages; but this is incorrect, as they rarely are seen -eastward of Massachusetts; _never_ in Nova Scotia, or Canada East; and -range so far as Texas, and the edges of the great American salt desert. -The adult male bird differs from the hen in having its chaps and a -remarkable gorget on the throat and lower neck, pure white, bordered -with jetty black; which parts, in the young male and the adult female, -are bright reddish-yellow; the upper parts of both are beautifully -dashed and freckled with chestnut and mahogany-brown, black, yellow, -gray, and pure white; the under parts pure white, longitudinally dashed -with brownish red, and transversely streaked with black arrow-headed -marks. The colors of the male are all brighter, and more definite, than -in the female. - -Everywhere eastward of the Delaware the Quail is resident, never -rambling far from the haunts in which he is bred. Everywhere to the -westward he is in the later autumn migratory, moving constantly on foot, -and never flying except when flushed or compelled to cross streams and -water-courses, from the west eastward; the farther west, the more marked -is this peculiarity. - -The Quail pairs early in March; begins to lay early in May, in a nest -made on the surface of the ground, usually at the bottom of a tussock or -tuft of grass, her eggs being pure white, and from ten to thirty-two in -number, though about fourteen is probably the average of the bevies. The -period of incubation is about four weeks, the young birds run the -instant they clip the shell, and fly readily before they have been -hatched a fortnight. So soon as the first brood is well on the wing, the -cock takes charge of it, and the hen proceeds to lay and hatch a second, -the male bird and first brood remaining in the close vicinity, and the -parents, I doubt not, attending the labor of incubation and attending -the young. This I have long suspected; but I saw so many proofs of it, -in company of my friend and fellow sportsman, “Dinks,” while shooting -together near Fort Malden, in Canada West—where we found, in many -instances, two distinct bevies of different sizes with a single pair of -old birds, when shooting early in September of last year—that we were -equally convinced of the truth of the fact, and of the unfitness of the -season. - -In October, with the exception of a very few late broods, they are fit -for the gun; and then, while the stubbles are long, and the weeds and -grasses rank, they lie the best and are the least wild on the wing. The -early mornings and late afternoons are the fittest times for finding -them, when they are on the run, and feeding in the edges of wheat and -rye stubbles, or buckwheat patches bordering on woodlands. In the middle -of the day they either lie up in little brakes and bog-meadows, or bask -on sandy banks, and craggy hill-sides, when they are collected into -little huddles, and are then difficult to find. As soon as flushed, they -pitch into the thickest neighboring covert, whether bog-meadow, -briar-patch, cedar-brake, ravine, or rough corn-stubble, they can find, -their flight being wild, rapid, and impetuous, but rarely very long, or -well sustained. As they unquestionably possess the mysterious power, -whether voluntary or involuntary, of holding in their scent, for a short -time after alighting, and are difficultly found again till they have -run, I recommend it, as by far the better way, to mark them down well, -and beat for another bevy, until you hear them calling to each other; -then lose no time in flushing them again, when they are sure to -disperse, and you to have sport with them. - -Myself, I prefer setters for their pursuit, as more dashing, more -enduring, and abler to face briars—others prefer pointers, as steadier -on less work, and better able to fag without water. Either, well broke, -are good—ill broke, or unbroke, worthless. Still give me -setters—Russian or Irish specially! Quail fly very fast, and strong, -especially in covert, and require the whole charge to kill them dead and -clean. At cross shots, shoot well ahead; at rising shots, well above; -and at straight-away shots, a trifle below your birds; and an oz. ¼ of -No. 8, early, and of No. 7, late, will fetch them in good style. And so -good sport to you, kind reader; for this, if I err not, is doomed to be -a crack Quail season. - ------ - -[2] A law was passed, during the spring of the present year, in that -respectable and truly conservative State, by which the murder of -unfledged July Woodcock, by cockney gunners was prohibited; and the -close time judiciously prolonged until September. The debate was -remarkable for two things, the original genius with which the Hon. -Member for Westboro’ persisted that Snipe are Woodcock, and Woodcock -Snipe, all naturalists to the contrary notwithstanding; and the -pertinent reply to the complaint of a city member, that to abolish July -shooting would rob the _city sportsman_ of his sport—viz., that in that -case it would give it to the farmer. Marry, say we, amen, so be it! - - * * * * * - - - - - THE SPECTRE KNIGHT AND HIS LADYE-BRIDE. - - - A LAY OF THE OLDEN TIME. - - - BY FANNY FIELDING. - - - Lady Margaret sits in her father’s ha’ - Wi’ the tear-drop in her een, - For her lover-knight is far awa’ - In the fields o’ Palestine. - - Now the rose is fled frae her downy cheek, - An’ wan is her lily-white hand, - An’ her bonnie blue e’e the tear doth dim, - For her knight in the Holy Land. - - His banner it is the Holy Cross, - But it gars her greet fu’ sair, - As she meekly kneels and his lo’ed name breathes - At _Our Mother’s_ shrine in prayer. - - “O, hae ye a care, sweet Mother fair, - O’er the lion-hearted king, - But send me back Sir Hildebrande safe, - Abune a’ ither thing!” - - ’Tis Hallowe’en, and twelve lang months - Hae i’ their turn passed round, - An’ ’twas Hallowe’en when Sir Hildebrande marched - For Palestine’s holy ground. - - The castle clock tolls midnight’s hour, - An’ the ladye bethinks her now - Of her lover’s words at the trysting-tree— - His fervent and heartfelt vow. - - “O, ladye fair,” said the gallant Hildebrande, - “When twelve lang months shall flee, - Come ye then through the mossy glen - Adown by the trysting-tree. - - “When the wearie year brings Hallowe’en - Ance mair to this lo’ed land, - An’ if thou wilt come at midnight’s hour - Thou shalt hear of thine own Hildebrande.” - - O, the wintry wind blaws sair and chill, - An’ it whistles fu’ mournfully, - As the ladye strolls, at the witching hour, - To the glen adown the lea. - - The maiden draws her mantle close, - For the night is dark an’ drear, - An’ now that she nears the trysting-tree - Her heart it quails wi’ fear. - - O, louder and hoarser blaws the blast, - An’ darker grows the sky, - An’ the clattering tramp of a courser’s hoof - Grows nigh, an’ yet more nigh! - - The coal-black steed doth slack his speed - An’ halt at the ladye’s side, - An’ a red light gleams in flickering beams - Around her far and wide. - - A mail-clad knight doth now alight, - So ghastly pale an’ wan - That the ladye cries, wi’ tearfu’ eyes, - “Where is my lover gane!” - - A voice like the hollow, murm’ring wind - Replied to the high-born dame— - “O, thy lover sleeps on the battle-field - Among the noble slain— - - “But the soul that vowed to be true to thee - Will be true whate’er betide, - An’ returns from the land of chivalrie - To claim thee for his bride!” - - This said, he stretched forth his bony hand - To his well-beloved bride, - An’ now he mounts the coal-black steed - Wi’ the ladye by his side. - - But hist! the moor-cock crows fu’ shrill - Alang the dreary way, - An’ goblin, elf, nor wand’ring ghaist - Can face the light o’ day. - - The phantom steed doth champ his bit - An’ flash his fiery eye— - An’ away they speed o’er hill an’ dale— - O’er rock an’ mountain high! - - Lang years hae passed since Sir Hildebrande came - Frae the fields o’ Palestine, - To claim fair Margaret for his bride, - But on every Hallowe’en, - When the castle clock tolls midnight’s hour, - As on that night of yore, - The ladye and knight are seen to sweep - Adown the drearie moor. - The coal-black steed doth champ his bit - An’ flash his fiery e’e, - But he slacks his speed at the knight’s command - As he gains the trysting-tree. - - * * * * * - - - - - TO L——. WITH SOME POEMS. - - - BY GRACE GREENWOOD. - - - I know these lays will come to thee - Like flowers along thy pathway strown— - And wear to thy young, generous eyes - A grace and beauty not their own. - - Thou know’st they spring where deepest shade - And blinding sunlight are at strife— - Faint blooms and frail, yet bringing thee - Sweet breathings from my inmost life. - - Or come like waters, leaping out - From shadowy places to the day, - To catch heaven’s brightness on their waves, - And freshen earth along their way. - - A streamlet laughing in the sun - Is all a busy world may hear— - The deepest fountains of my soul - Send up their murmurs to thine ear. - - There are to whom these lays shall come - Like strains that sky-larks downward send; - But ah, no higher than thy heart - They sing to thee, belovéd friend! - - For in thy manhood pure and strong, - With thy great soul, thy fresh, young heart, - Thou _livest_ my ideal life, - And what I only dream thou _art_. - - The Grecian youth whose name thou bear’st, - Who nightly with the billows strove, - And through the wild seas cleaved his way - To the dear bosom of his love, - - Ne’er bore a braver soul than thine, - When yawned great deeps and tempests frowned, - Nor lifted up amid the waves - A brow with loftier beauty crowned. - - The poet’s rare and wondrous gifts - In thee await their triumph-hour— - There sleep within thy dreamy eyes - The mighty secrets of his power. - - Thy heart, with one high throb, can rise - His fair, heroic dreams above— - There breathes more passion in thy voice - Than in a thousand lays of love. - - Ah, know’st thou not, the while thou deem’st - The poet’s mission most divine, - Life’s grand, unwritten poetry - Goes out from natures such as thine? - - What though it falleth brokenly, - And faintly on the world’s dull ear— - Though clamorous voices cry it down, - To God it rises, pure and clear! - - It cometh as a service glad— - A music all as full and sweet, - As though the stars hymned forth their joy, - And rolled their anthems to His feet. - - When, like the Grecian youth, thou see’st - The midnight tempests gather round— - When storm-clouds seem to flood the heavens, - And all the starry lights are drowned;— - - Upborne by angel-hands, may’st thou - Through life’s wild sea right onward sweep, - To where Hope’s signal lights the night, - And Love stands watching by the deep. - - * * * * * - - - - - WORDSWORTH. - - - BY WM. ALEXANDER. - - - Another bard of Albion is no more, - Who erst with folded arms, oft, calmly stood, - Nature’s contemplative—the great and good— - Let every hill and valley him deplore, - Whose hand hath ceased to wake the tuneful lyre— - ’Mid earthly landscapes, and o’er mountains old, - He walked in sweet Excursion, to behold - “The Rainbow in the Sky.” Nature’s great Sire - Hath taken him—“his heart leaps up” to see - The emerald-colored bow about the throne, - Where sits the King of kings and Lord alone. - Sweet Wordsworth! poet of true purity! - Thy hand upon a nobler lyre doth rest— - A lyre of glory in the land of those forever blest. - - * * * * * - - - - - REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS. - - - _The Prelude; or Growth of a Poet’s Mind. An Autobiographical - Poem. By William Wordsworth. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. - 12mo._ - - _The Excursion. By William Wordsworth. New York: C. S. Francis & - Co. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -It was known as long ago as 1814, that Wordsworth had written the -present poem, and that it would not be published until after his death. -It now appears that it was commenced as far back as 1799, and was -finally completed in 1805. The purpose of the poem is to exhibit the -gradual growth of the poet’s mind, from its first development of -imagination and passion, to the period when he conceived he had grown up -to that height of contemplation which would justify his attempt to -realize the great object of his life—the production of a philosophic -poem on Man, Nature, and Society. “The Prelude,” is addressed to -Coleridge, the poet’s intimate friend; and the egotism of the narrative -is much modified, by its being thus seemingly intended, not for the -public, but for the poet-metaphysician into whose single heart and brain -its revelations are poured. The character of the poem is essentially -psychological, the object being to notice only those events and scenes -which fed and directed the poet’s mind, and to regard them, not so much -in their own nature, as in their influence on the nature of the poet. -The topics, therefore, though trite in themselves, are all made original -from the peculiarities of the person conceiving them. His childhood and -school-time, his residence at the university, his summer vacation, his -visit to the Alps, his tour through France, his residence in London and -France, are the principal topics; but the enumeration of the topics can -convey no impression of the thought, observation, and imagination, the -eloquent philosophy, vivid imagery, and unmistakable _Wordsworthianism_, -which characterize the volume. - -It must be admitted, however, that “The Prelude,” with all its merits, -does not add to the author’s great fame, however much it may add to our -knowledge of his inner life. As a poem it cannot be placed by the side -of The White Doe, or The Excursion, or the Ode on Childhood, or the Ode -on the Power of Sound; and the reason is to be found in its strictly -didactic and personal character, necessitating a more constant use of -analysis and reflection, and a greater substitution of the metaphysical -for the poetic process, than poetry is willing to admit. Though intended -as an introduction to “The Excursion,” it has not its sustained richness -of diction and imagery; and there is little of that easy yielding of the -mind to the inspiration of objects, and that ecstatic utterance of the -emotions they excite, which characterize passages selected at random -from the latter poem—as in that grand rushing forth of poetic impulse, -in the Fourth Book: - -Oh! what a joy it were in vigorous health, -To have a body (this our vital frame -With shrinking sensibility endued, -And all the nice regards of flesh and blood,) -And to the elements surrender it -As if it were a spirit! How divine, -The liberty, for frail, for mortal man -To roam at large among unpeopled glens -And mountainous retirements, only trod -By devious footsteps; regions consecrate -To oldest time! and, reckless of the storm -That keeps the raven quiet in her nest, -Be as a presence or a motion—one -Among the many there; and while the mists -Flying, and rainy vapors, call out shapes -And phantoms from the crags and solid earth -As fast as a musician scatters sounds -Out of an instrument; and while the streams -(As at a first creation, and in haste -To exercise their untried faculties) -Descending from the region of the clouds, -And starting from the hollows of the earth -More multitudinous every moment, rend -Their way before them—what a joy to roam -An equal among mightiest energies; -And haply sometimes with articulate voice, -Amid the deafening tumult, scarcely heard -By him that utters it, exclaim aloud, -“Be this continued so from day to day, -Nor let the fierce commotion have an end. -Ruinous though it be, from month to month.” - -“The Prelude” has many fine descriptions of nature, but nothing which -rises to the beauty and sublimity of the following passage from “The -Excursion”: - - —when a step, -A single step, that freed me from the skirts -Of the blind vapor, opened to my view -Glory beyond all glory ever seen -By waking sense or by the dreaming soul! -The appearance, instantaneously disclosed -Was of a mighty city—boldly say -A wilderness of building, sinking far -And self-withdrawn into a wondrous depth, -Far sinking into splendor—without end! -Fabric it seemed of diamond and gold, -With alabaster domes, and silver spires, -And blazing terrace upon terrace, high -Uplifted; here, serene pavilions bright, -In avenues disposed; there, towers begirt -With battlements that on their restless fronts -Bore stars—illumination of all gems! -By earthly nature had the effect been wrought -Upon the dark materials of the storm -Now pacified; on them, and on the coves -And mountain-steeps and summits, whereunto -The vapors had receded, taking there -Their station under a cerulean sky. -Oh! ’twas an unimaginable sight! -Clouds, mists, streams, watery rocks and emerald turf, -Clouds of all tincture, rocks and sapphire sky, -Confused, commingled, mutually inflamed, -Molten together, and composing thus, -Each lost in each, that marvelous array -Of temple, palace, citadel, and huge -Fantastic pomp of structure without name, -In fleecy folds voluminous, enwrapped. -Right in the midst, where interspace appeared -Of open court, an object like a throne -Under a shining canopy of state -Stood fixed; and fixed resemblances were seen -To implements of ordinary use, -But vast in size, in substance glorified; -Such as by Hebrew prophets were beheld -In vision—forms uncouth of mightiest power -For admiration and mysterious awe. -Below me was the earth; this little vale -Lay low beneath my feet; ’twas visible— -I saw not, but I felt that it was there. -That which I _saw_ was the revealed abode -Of spirits in beatitude. - -Not only do we see the superiority of “The Excursion” in such passages -as these, but the didactic thought is more assured, is more colored by -imagination, and melts more readily into soft, sweet, melodious -expression. Take the following, for instance: - -Within the soul a faculty abides, -That with interpositions, which would hide -And darken, so can deal, that they become -Contingencies of pomp; and serve to exalt -Her native brightness. As the ample moon, -In the deep stillness of a summer even -Rising behind a thick and lofty grove, -Burns, like an unconsuming fire of light, -In the green trees; and, kindling on all sides -Their leafy umbrage, turns the dusky veil -Into a substance glorious as her own, -Yea, with her own incorporated, by power -Capacious and serene: like power abides -In man’s celestial spirit; virtue thus -Sets forth and magnifies herself; thus feeds -A calm, a beautiful, and silent fire, -From the encumbrances of mortal life, -From error, disappointment—nay, from guilt; -And sometimes, so relenting justice wills; -From palpable oppressions of despair. - -If “The Prelude” has thus fewer “trances of thought and mountings of the -mind” than “The Excursion,” it still bears the marks of the lofty and -thoughtful genius of the author, and increases our respect for his -personal character. The books devoted to his residence in Cambridge, his -tour to the Alps, and to the influence of the French Revolution upon his -genius and character, are additions to the philosophy of the human mind. -We believe that few metaphysicians ever scanned their consciousness with -more intensity of vision, than Wordsworth was wont to direct upon his; -and in the present poem he has subtily noted, and firmly expressed, many -new psychological laws and processes. The whole subject of the -development of the mind’s creative faculties, and the vital laws of -mental growth and production, has been but little touched by professed -metaphysicians; and we believe “The Prelude” conveys more real available -knowledge of the facts and laws of man’s internal constitution, than can -be found in Hume or Kant. - -We have not space for many extracts from the poem. Its philosophical -value could not be indicated by quotations, and we shall content -ourselves with citing a few random passages, illustrative of its general -style and thought. The following lines exhibit the tendency of -Wordsworth’s mind, when a youth at college: - -I looked for universal things; perused -The common countenance of earth and sky: -Earth, nowhere unembellished by some trace -Of that first Paradise whence man was driven; -And sky, whose beauty and bounty are expressed -By the proud name she bears—the name of Heaven. -I called on both to teach me what they might; -_Or turning the mind in upon herself,_ -_Pored, watched, expected, listened, spread my thoughts_ -_And spread them with a wider creeping; felt_ -_Incumbencies more awful_, visitings -Of the Upholder of the tranquil soul -That tolerates the _indignities_ of Time, -And from the centre of Eternity -All finite motions, overruling, lives -In glory immutable. - — -To every natural form, rock, fruit, or flower, -Even the loose stones that cover the high-way, -_I gave a moral life_: I saw them feel, -Or linked them to some feeling! _the great mass_ -_Lay bedded in a quickening soul, and all_ -_That I beheld respired with inward meaning._ - -In the following stern description, he records his condemnation of life -as he found it at the great English university of Cambridge: - - For, all degrees -And shapes of spurious fame and short-lived praise -Here sat in state, and fed with daily alms -Retainers won away from solid good; -And here was Labor, his own bond-slave; Hope, -That never set the pains against the prize; -Idleness halting with his weary clog, -And poor misguided Shame, and witless Fear, -And simple Pleasure foraging for Death; -Honor misplaced, and Dignity astray; -Feuds, factions, flatteries, enmity, and guile -Murmuring submission, and bold government, -(The idol weak as the idolater) -And Decency and Custom starving Truth, -And blind Authority beating with his staff -The child that might have led him; Emptiness -Followed as of good omen, and meek Worth -Left to herself unheard of and unknown. - -The most remarkable line in the poem, a line almost equal to Milton’s -“Thoughts that wander through eternity,” is that which concludes the -following passage on the statue of Newton at Cambridge: - -And from my pillow, looking forth by light -Of moon or favoring stars, I could behold -The antechapel where the statue stood -Of Newton with his prism and silent face, -The marble index of a mind forever -_Voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone_. - -With the lingering, mysterious music of this line sounding in our ears, -it would be an impertinence to continue these loose remarks on “The -Prelude” any further; and we close by commending the poem to the -thoughtful attention of thinking readers. - - * * * * * - - _Christian Thought on Life: In a Series of Discourses. By Henry - Giles, Author of Lectures and Essays. Boston: Ticknor, Reed & - Fields. 1 vol. 16mo._ - -The author of this beautiful volume is a born orator, whose written -style instinctively takes the form of eloquence, and whose strong and -deep emotions are at once the inspirers and guides of his pen. He has -given us here a dozen discourses, full of living thoughts and winged -words, and with not a page which is open to the charge of dullness or -triteness. When his theme compels him to introduce common thoughts he -avoids commonplaces, and we cannot recognize the old acquaintance of our -brain in the fresh and sparkling expression in which it here appears. -Mr. Giles, indeed, is so thoroughly a thinker, and his mind is so -pervaded by his sentiments, that where he lacks novelty he never lacks -originality, and always gives indications of having conceived every -thought he expresses. Nobody can read the present volume without being -kindled by the vivid vitality with which it presents old truths, and the -superb boldness with which it announces new ones. Among the many -eloquent and impassioned discourses in the volume, that entitled “The -Guilt of Contempt” is perhaps the sharpest in mental analysis, and -closest and most condensed in style. It will rank with the best sermons -ever delivered from an American pulpit. Another excellent and striking -discourse is on the subject of spiritual incongruities as illustrated in -the life of David. The five discourses on the Worth, the Personality, -the Continuity, the Struggle, the Discipline, of Life, are remarkable -for their clear statement of Christian principles, and the knowledge -they evince of the inward workings of thought and emotions. Prayer and -Passion is a sermon which securely threads all the labyrinths of -selfishness, and exposes its most cunning movements and disguises. - -We will give a few sentences illustrative of Mr. Giles’ mode of treating -religious subjects, and the peculiar union of thought and emotion in his -common style of expression. Speaking of the Psalms of David, he -says—“They alone contain a poetry that meets the spiritual nature in -all its moods and in all its wants, which strengthens virtue with -glorious exhortations, gives angelic eloquence to prayer, and almost -rises to the seraph’s joy in praise. . . For assemblies or for solitude, -for all that gladdens and all that grieves, for our heaviness and -despair, for our remorse and our redemption, we find in these divine -harmonies the loud or the low expression. Great has been their power in -the world. They resounded amidst the courts of the tabernacle; they -floated through the lofty and solemn spaces of the temple. They were -sung with glory in the halls of Zion; they were sung with sorrow by the -streams of Babel. And when Israel had passed away, the harp of David was -still awakened in the church of Christ. In all the eras and ages of that -church, from the hymn which first it whispered in an upper chamber, -until its anthems filled the earth, the inspiration of the royal prophet -has enraptured its devotions and ennobled its ritual. And thus it has -been, not alone in the august cathedral or the rustic chapel. Chorused -by the winds of heaven, they have swelled through God’s own temple of -the sky and stars; they have rolled over the broad desert of Asia, in -the matins and vespers of ten thousand hermits. They have rung through -the deep valleys of the Alps, in the sobbing voices of the forlorn -Waldenses; through the steeps and caves of Scottish highlands, in the -rude chantings of the Scottish Covenanters; through the woods and wilds -of primitive America, in the heroic hallelujahs of the early pilgrims.” - - * * * * * - - _Specimens of Newspaper Literature. With Personal Memoirs, - Anecdotes, and Reminiscences. By Joseph T. Buckingham. Boston: - Little & Brown. 2 vols. 12mo._ - -The author of these volumes has been long extensively known as one of -the leading editors of the country; and his age and experience -peculiarly qualify him to do justice to the subject he here undertakes -to treat. His own recollections must extend back some sixty years; and -during that period he has been constantly connected with newspapers, -either as printer’s apprentice, journeyman, or editor. He knew -intimately most of the editors and writers for the press, who took -prominent parts in the political controversies at the formation of the -government, and during the first twenty years of its administration, and -he is thoroughly acquainted with all the New England newspapers which -appeared before the Revolution and during its progress. The work, -therefore, is a reflection of the spirit of old times, giving their very -“form and pressure,” and exhibiting, sometimes in a ludicrous light, old -political passions in all their original frenzy of thought and form of -expression. The specimens given of newspaper literature, in verse and -prose, are all interesting either for their folly or wisdom, and some of -them are valuable as curiosities of rhetoric and logic. Not only is the -work valuable to the antiquary, the historian, and the members of “the -craft,” but it contains matter sufficiently piquant to stimulate and -preserve the attention of the general reader. - -The author of these volumes is a marked instance of that inherent -strength of character which pursues knowledge under difficulties, and is -victorious over all obstacles which obstruct the elevation of the -friendless. Without having received even a school education, and passing -the period that boys usually devote to Lindley Murray in a printing -office, he is one of the most vigorous and polished writers in New -England, and in thorough acquaintance with classical English literature -has no superiors. Every thing he writes bears the signs, not merely of -intellect and taste, but of forcible character; and we believe that a -selection from his newspaper articles would make a volume, which for -originality of thought, and raciness of expression, would be an addition -to our literature. - - * * * * * - - _Songs of Labor, and Other Poems. By John G. Whittier. Boston: - Ticknor, Reed & Fields. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -Whittier’s popularity, great as it is, must be increased by these Songs -of Labor. In them, the Ship-Builders, Shoemakers, Drovers, Fishermen, -Huskers and Lumbermen, are gifted with vigorous and melodious utterance, -in songs whose chime is the very echo of their occupations. The other -poems of the collection are of a merit as various as their themes. The -best is the poem entitled “Memories,” one of the most exquisitely -tender, thoughtful and imaginative poems in our literature. “Pious IX.” -and “Elliott,” are essentially battle-pieces, and the rhymes clash -together like the crossing of swords. Fierce and hot as the invective of -these poems is, we still think the business of wrath is much better done -in “Ichabod,” in which rage and scorn take the form of a dirge, and -smiting sarcasms are insinuated through the phrases of grief. Throughout -the volume we are impressed with the great nature of the author, and the -superiority of the man to any thing he has yet produced. He unites, in a -singular degree, tenderness with strength, delicate fancy with blazing -imagination, sensitive sentiment with sturdy character; and his most -exhilarating and trumpet-voiced lyrics have the air of impromptus. In -the following lines, for instance, from a poem in the present volume on -“The Peace Convention at Brussels,” he extemporises as good heroic verse -as Campbell’s: - - Still in thy streets, oh Paris! doth the stain - Of blood defy the cleansing autumn rain; - Still breaks the smoke Messina’s ruins through, - And Naples mourns that new Bartholomew, - When squalid beggary, for a dole of bread, - At a crowned murderer’s beck of license, fed - The yawning trenches with her noble dead; - Still, doomed Vienna, through thy stately halls - The shell goes crashing and the red shot falls, - And, leagued to crush thee on the Danube’s side, - The beamed Croat and Bosniak spearman ride; - Still in that vale where Himalaya’s snow - Melts round the corn-fields and the vines below, - The Sikh’s hot cannon, answering ball for ball, - Flames in the breach of Moultan’s shattered wall; - On Chenab’s side the vulture seeks the slain, - And Sutlej paints with blood its banks again. - - * * * * * - - _Rural Hours. By a Lady. New York: George P. Putnam. 1 vol. - 12mo._ - -To judge from the dedication, the authoress of this goodly duodecimo -must be the daughter of Cooper, the novelist. She has much of her -father’s remarkable descriptive power, but is happily deficient in that -fretful discontent which disturbs the harmony of his later productions. -The volume will be found a delightful companion both to the denizen of -the city and country. The writer wins upon the reader’s sympathies with -every page. Her intelligence is clear and quiet, enlarged by intimacy -with nature and good books, and elevated by a beautiful and unobtrusive -piety. We hope this will not be her last production. - - * * * * * - - _Sleep Psychologically Considered with reference to Sensation - and Memory. By Blanchard Fosgate, M. D. New York: George P. - Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -This thin volume is devoted to a subject which, though its discussion -involves a consideration of topics properly metaphysical, has more -general interest than any other in the science of metaphysics, because -its phenomena stimulate the curiosity of all who, like Richard the -Third, are troubled with dreams. The author supports, with great power -of illustration and argument, three propositions, viz., that during -sleep the mental faculties are as active as during wakefulness; that -memory is no criterion by which to judge the mind in sleep; and that the -mind is dependent upon the integrity of the organs of external sensation -for a remembrance of what transpires during this state. The discussion -of these topics is enlivened by many curious examples. - - * * * * * - - _Europe, Past and Present. By Francis H. Ungewitter, LL. D. New - York: George P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -This is a thick volume of some seven hundred pages, completely crammed -with facts relating to the history, geography, and present condition of -every state in Europe. The index, containing ten thousand names, will -convey an idea of the amount of matter which the author has compressed -into his volume. Though a work of vast labor, we presume that its value, -as a work for constant reference, will amply repay the expense of -compiling it. Every man who reads European news should possess the book, -provided he desires to read news intelligently. It gives accurate ideas -of the relative importance of the various States, by exhibiting their -financial condition as well as their territory, population, and -productions. - - * * * * * - - _Chronicle of the Conquest of Grenada. (Irving’s Works, vol. - 14.) New York: George P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -Every lover of the romantic and picturesque in history will heartily -welcome this re-issue of Irving’s charming Chronicle. By assuming the -position of a contemporary, he is enabled to exhibit the prejudices of -the time with almost dramatic vividness, and to give events some of the -coloring they derived from Spanish bigotry without obscuring their real -nature and import. The beautiful mischievousness of the occasional irony -which peeps through the narrative, is in the author’s happiest style. -The book might easily be expanded into a dozen novels, so rich is it in -materials of description and adventure. In its present form it is -replete with accurate history, represented with pictorial vividness. - - * * * * * - - _Domestic History of the American Revolution. By Mrs. Ellet, - Author of the Women of the American Revolution. New York: Baker - & Scribner. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -The theme which Mrs. Ellet has chosen is an important one, and -absolutely necessary to be comprehended by all who wish to understand -the American Revolution as a living fact. The great defect of most of -our national histories and biographies is their abstract character, -neither characters nor events being represented in the concrete, and -brought directly home to the hearts and imaginations of readers. The -result is, that most of us, when we attempt to be patriotic, slide so -readily into bombast; for having no distinct conceptions of what was -really done and suffered by our forefathers and _foremothers_, we can -only glorify them by a resort to the dictionary. Mrs. Ellet’s book is -devoted to those scenes and persons in our revolutionary history, in -exhibiting which the novelist is commonly so far in advance of the -historian; and she has performed her task with much discrimination in -the selection of materials, and no little pictorial power in -representing what she has selected. - - * * * * * - - _The Vale of Cedars; or The Martyr. By Grace Aguilar. New York: - D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -This is Grace Aguilar’s last work, in the most melancholy sense of the -word, she having died of consumption shortly after its completion. The -story is one of much interest; the sentiments beautiful and pure; the -style sweet and pleasing. We have read none of her novels with more -satisfaction than this. At a period when romance writing has been so -much perverted from its true purpose, it is delightful to find a -novelist who, to a talent for narrative, united a regard for the highest -and purest sentiments of human nature. - - * * * * * - - _Norman Leslie: A Tale. By C. G. H., author of the “Curate of - Linwood,” etc. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -This novel, in title the same as one by Theodore S. Fay, is in matter -and style very different. It is a historical novel of the period of the -religious wars in Scotland, and though not peculiarly excellent in -characters, is filled with stirring events and attractive scenes. The -publishers, without much increasing the price, have printed it in a -style of much neatness. Large type and white paper are a blessing not -commonly vouchsafed to American novel readers. - - * * * * * - - _Margaret Percival in America. A Tale. Edited by a New England - Minister, A. M. Boston: Phillips, Sampson & Co. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -“Margaret Percival,” by Miss Sewall, has had a large circulation in this -country, and it is but right that the present novel, which not only -represents Margaret as a more tolerant Christian, but describes the -process by which she became so, should be read by all who have been -influenced by the English Margaret. - - * * * * * - - _Life, Here and There: Or Sketches of Society and Adventure at - Far-Apart Times and Places. By N. P. Willis. New York: Baker & - Scribner. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -This thick and handsome duodecimo contains many of the most charming and -sprightly of Mr. Willis’s popular compositions, evincing that singular -combination of sentiment and shrewdness, of poetic feeling and knowledge -of the world, in which he has no American rival. The style, airy, -graceful and fluent, is distinguished by a “polished want of polish,” a -fertility of apt and fanciful expression, and a gliding ease of -movement, which take the reader captive, and bear him on through “long -reaches of delight.” - - * * * * * - - _The Berber: Or the Mountaineer of the Atlas. A Tale of Morocco, - By William Starbuck Mayo, M. D., Author of “Kaloolah,” etc. New - York: George P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -This novel has hardly the fresh, dashing, daring character of Dr. Mayo’s -first romance, but it still has sufficient raciness and audacity to -serve for a score of common novels. The author has great tact in so -choosing his scenes and characters that the peculiar powers of his mind -can have free play. In “The Berber” the incidents follow each other in -such quick succession that we make no demands for originality or power -of characterization. In respect to the latter, Dr. Mayo is so far -deficient, though he gives evidence of being capable of drawing -characters as well as telling a story. - - * * * * * - - _The Companion. After-Dinner Table-Talk. By Chetwood Evelyn, - Esq. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -The idea of this volume is capital. It consists of short and spicy -selections from eminent authors, and anecdotes of distinguished men, of -a character very different from those which form the staple of -jest-books. The principal source whence the editor has derived his -brilliancies, is that most gentlemanly of wits and humorists, Sydney -Smith; and a fine portrait of him very properly adorns the title page. -The book would have been even better than it is, if the author had drawn -his matter from a wider circle of reading. - - * * * * * - - _Reginald Hastings; a Tale of the Troubles of 164-. By Elliott - Warburton, Author of “The Crescent and the Cross,” etc. New - York: Harper & Brothers._ - -This novel has been absurdly puffed in England, but it is nevertheless -an interesting and well written one, worthy the pen which wrote “The -Crescent and the Cross.” The period in which its events and characters -are laid, the Great Rebellion, so called, has not recently been treated, -but it has great capabilities for romantic and humorous -characterization, which Warburton has employed, not indeed with the -sagacity and genius of Scott, but with much skill and with dramatic -effect. - - * * * * * - - _Memoirs of the Life of Anne Boleyn, Queen of Henry VIII. By - Miss Benger. From the Third London Edition. With a Memoir of the - Author, by Miss Aiken. 1 vol. Philadelphia: A. Hart._ - -In some respects we prefer this memoir to that by Miss Strickland. The -only fault we have to find with Miss Benger, indeed, is that she is too -eulogistic. No one, in this age, doubts that Anne Boleyn was an innocent -woman, who fell a victim partly to political intrigue, partly to her -husband’s fickleness; but it is useless to deny that she had ambition, -and ridiculous to claim for her the character of a saint. She was, in a -word, a witty, graceful, well-read, fascinating female, vain of -applause, a little free in her manners, a fast friend, and a bitter -enemy. She never loved the king, as she might have loved Percy, had not -Wolsey crossed her path, and converted her into a haughty, scheming, -ambitious woman; but she never, on the other hand, violated her vows -toward Henry, or failed in the discharge of any wifely duty. Her conduct -during the two years that the divorce was in progress is the most -censurable part of her life. We cannot forgive her for wringing the -heart of the unoffending Catharine. Nor for her favor toward Henry at -this time can we esteem her as we would have wished. But from the period -that she became the lawful wife of the king her character visibly -improves. She was affable to the low, courteous to the high, charitable -to the needy, just to all. As her sorrows increase her character rises -in loveliness; her frivolity is cast aside, the haughtiness departs, and -the true nobleness of her heart shines forth. Nothing in history is more -pathetic than the story of her arrest, trial, and execution. In a court -where she had scarcely a friend, she bore herself with the fortitude of -a martyr, asserting her innocence with an earnestness that carried -conviction even to those who condemned her; and on the scaffold, though -her over-wrought nerves occasionally found vent in hysterical gayety, -her lofty and heroic soul triumphed over the terrible spectacle of the -axe, the block, the gaping crowd. Her closing career, indeed, has all -the grandeur of a tragedy. We read of it with eyes dim with tears, and -with a heart execrating her murderers. - -The volume is beautifully printed, and embellished with a portrait, -copied from the celebrated picture of Holbein. - - * * * * * - - _Lynch’s Dead Sea Expedition. A new and Condensed Edition. 1 - vol. Philadelphia: Lea & Blanchard._ - -The original edition of this work was printed on such costly paper, and -illustrated with so many engravings that hundreds of persons, who -desired to purchase it, were withheld by the necessarily high price. To -meet the wishes of this class, the present cheap edition has been -issued. There has been no material change in the letter-press; the few -alterations that have been made are for the better; but the engravings -are omitted; the volume is printed on poorer paper, and the page is not -quite so large. On the whole we think this edition more desirable than -the first. So much valuable information is embraced in the narrative of -Lieutenant Lynch, that persons curious respecting the Holy Land, and -especially respecting the Dead Sea, will find themselves amply repaid by -a perusal, and even a re-perusal of this work. Numerous popular fables -respecting the Jordan, the Sea of Galilee, and the dread Lake of -Gomorrah are exploded in this volume; and a mass of instructive evidence -imparted respecting the geographical character of Palestine, its former -fertility, and the general habits of its inhabitants. It is impossible -to read this work without obtaining new light in the understanding of -Scripture. - - * * * * * - - _Life and Correspondence of Andrew Combe. M. D. By George Combe. - 1 vol. Philadelphia: A. Hart._ - -Andrew Combe was almost as universally celebrated for his works on -physiology as his brother, George, is for his writings in connection -with phrenology. The present biography is a tribute, by the elder -brother, to the usefulness of the younger. As the story of a life, made -beneficial to the human race through a compassionate and wise heart, and -this amid constant ill-health, it is one of the most valuable offerings -of the century to biographical literature. Apart from this, however, it -has a merit in the narrative of Dr. Combe’s protracted illness, and the -means used successfully by him to prolong life. An early victim to -consumption, he arrested the progress of disease, and protracted his -existence for more than twenty years, during which period all of his -best works were written. The volume teaches two important lessons: the -first, that in the study of physiology, alleviation may be found for -much of human suffering; the second, that, even in sickness and sorrow, -it is possible, instead of remaining entirely a burden to others, to be -a benefactor of our race. We have read this work with deep interest, and -believe it will afford equal satisfaction to others. - - * * * * * - - _Picturesque Sketches of Greece and Turkey. By Aubrey de Vere. 1 - vol. Philadelphia: A. Hart._ - -The author of this volume is known, in England, as a poet of some merit. -In the present work he has attempted a new _role_, and has succeeded in -it, we are free to confess, in the very best manner. Mr. De Vere is at -once a scholar and a gentleman. The former qualification renders him a -peculiarly fitting traveler on the classic soil of Greece; the latter -enables him to depict what he has seen in a manner not offensive to good -taste. We have had so many cockney books on Greece, we have seen -flunkeyism so rampant even in Constantinople, that it is refreshing to -find a work like the present, in which the knowledge of the man of the -world, the stores of the student, and the enthusiasm of the poet are all -combined. The volume first arrested our attention by its elegant -appearance, and, having once begun it, we could not lay it aside till we -had finished it. There is much in the book, it is true, which a -well-read man will recognize as old; but then the style makes even this -have an air of freshness. On the other hand the work really contains a -good deal that is new. - - * * * * * - - _The Phantom World; or the Philosophy of Apparitions, Ghosts, - etc. By Augustus Calmet. With Introduction and Notes by the Rev. - Henry Christmas, M. A. 1 vol. Philadelphia: A. Hart._ - -A pleasant, perhaps instructive book, though this last is as people view -it. For our part we hold that the way to make folk believe in ghosts is -to cram them, especially in childhood, with stories of apparitions. -Personally, we have little faith in phantoms. However “_chacun à son -gout_;” and therefore, to those who like speculating about ghosts, we -recommend this work. - - * * * * * - - _Reminiscences of Congress. By Charles Marsh. 1 vol. New York: - Baker & Scribner._ - -We have here a number of lively and trustworthy sketches of public men, -written in a style that reminds us of Grant’s sketches of The English -Parliament. We had intended devoting some space to the work, as one -peculiarly deserving consideration, but for want of room, are obliged to -defer, and perhaps abandon our purpose. - - * * * * * - - _Extraordinary Popular Delusions. By Charles Mackey. 2 vols. - Philadelphia: Lindsay & Blackiston._ - -This is a readable book, especially at this crisis, when Rochester -knockings, Clairvoyance, and other wonders fill the public mind. The -author has compiled a history of all the popular delusions, with which -different generations have been misled; nor has he confined himself -merely to mysteries like the knockings, but has discussed the South Sea -Bubble, the Mississippi Scheme, and other vagaries of a similar -character. - - * * * * * - - _Echoes of the Universe; or the World of Matter, and the World - of Spirit. By the Rev. H. A. Christmas, M. A. 1 vol. - Philadelphia: A. Hart._ - -The publisher characterizes this work as a companion to the “Vestiges of -Creation;” but he might, more justly, have described it as an antidote -to that skeptical volume. We cordially recommend the book. - - * * * * * - - _A Modern History, from the Time of Luther to the Fall of - Napoleon. By John Lord, A. M. Philadelphia: T. Cowperthwait & - Co. 1 vol. 12mo._ - -The author of this work is well known as an accomplished lecturer on -history in the principal cities of the Northern and Middle States. The -present work shows great power of compression as well as wealth of -information. Though the work is designed for colleges and schools, it -will be found of much value to the general reader as a guide to -historical studies. - - * * * * * - - _History of the Polk Administration. By Lucian B. Chase, a - Member of the 29th and 30th Congresses. New York: Geo. P. - Putnam. 1 vol. 8vo._ - -The author of this volume, though a political supporter of the late -President, has written an interesting account of the important events -which occurred in his administration. The partisan character of the work -prevents it from coming properly under the name of “history,” but it -contains a well arranged statement of a vast mass of facts, valuable -both to the intelligent Whig and Democrat. - - * * * * * - - _The American Quarterly Register and Magazine. Conducted by - James Stryker. December, 1849. Vol. III., No. 2. Philadelphia: - Published by the Proprietor._ - -The second number of the third volume of this work is now before us. -That which Judge Stryker undertook to perform he has faithfully complied -with, and the public are now secure in the permanent existence of a -periodical which will prove a treasury of information, and which was -long since needed. The deficiency is now supplied, and ably supplied; -and we can safely predict that it will command a liberal and generous -support. - - * * * * * - - - - - EDITORIAL. - - - TO REV. RUFUS WILMOT GRISWOLD. - - -MY DEAR PARSON,—I knew you would be gratified with my friendly notice -of you in the March number of “Graham”—and your pleasant start of -surprise, to express your ignorance of the writer, was well -conceived—you wicked wag. People who do not know your ways might almost -think you were honest for once in your life,—but I, who have seen you -in your happy moods, understand what an exquisite point to your wit a -falsehood imparts, and what a choice bit of clerical drollery you -consider it, to offer to _swear_ to an untruth. - -You have adjusted, now, your long score with poor Poe, to _your own_ -satisfaction, I hope; for ignorant people will say, that this settlement -of accounts after the death of your friend may be honest—and—_may not -be_. You see it lays you open to suspicion, and may soil the surplice -you wear. Your clerical mantle, like Charity, may cover a multitude of -sins, but you should not wear it _too_ unguardedly. Charity for the -errors of the dead, you know, is allowable in funeral sermons, even over -the cold remains of those the world scorned and spurned as its veriest -reprobates. Even _you_ will not class your friend—who you say was -reconciled to you before he died—with outcasts who forfeit even the -last offices of humanity. You would give even him a Christian burial. -“Dust to dust—ashes to ashes,” methinks, should bury all animosities. -You would not pursue your victim beyond the grave, and in the same hour -pray, “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass -against us.” This would be horrible. - -Now it will not do, my dear parson, to attempt to carry off this -departure from Christian practice, with an affectation of great equity, -in the performance of duty. “Give the devil his due” may be a very -orthodox maxim, but you seem, in adopting it, to have started with the -hypothesis that you had a devil to deal with; yet in the exercise of -justice thus liberally, it would seem but fair to meet even this -Personage face to face, that he might dispute the account if he felt -aggrieved at your estimate. This last point, I think, you have a fair -chance of attaining. Nor will it do to affect courage and great devotion -to truth. It is very well to say, that vice should be held up that its -deformity may be seen, so as to startle and deter others. You should be -sure that the vice of your brother is not his misfortune, and that the -sin which taints your own fingers, may not turn crimson in contrast -before the eyes of the gazers. Courage, my dear parson, is a relative -term. You may think it great courage, and a duty you owe to truth, to -assail your friend for wishing to evade a matrimonial engagement, yet it -would be the veriest weakness and wickedness—if you had set the worse -example of evading your marital duties after the solemnization. He who -sacrifices at the altar should have clean hands. - -The jewels which sometimes ornament the remains of beauty or worth have -tempted, before now, gentlemen of hardy nerve, but I do not remember -that these have ever taken rank in the annals of knight-errantry. And, -my dear parson—I am talking somewhat freely with you, but you must -pardon me—the feat that you have performed with so much unction, the -despoiling of the fame of a man who intrusted it to you as a jewel of -inestimable value to him, has not received the applause of a single man -of honor. Your _claqueurs_ themselves, feel that your performance is -damned. I have no doubt that some faint glimpses of the truth have -reached even your mind. I would have you pray over this subject, my dear -sir, for your feet stand upon slippery places. In all sincerity, I would -have you revise your creed and reform your practice; for you do not seem -to get even the poor applause of the world, for wrong-doing. - - GEO. R. GRAHAM. - _Philadelphia, Sept. 20, 1850._ - - * * * * * - -ERRATA.—Our first form having been worked off previous to the reception -of the final proof of the leading article, the following errors will be -found:— On page 266, 1st column, 17th line from bottom, for “_with_” -read _wrote_. Page 266, 2d col., 2d line from bottom, for “_region_” -read _reign_. Page 267, 2d col., 30th line from top, for “_physical_” -read _psychical_. Page 269, 1st col., 9th line from bottom for -“_profession_” read _possession_. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: Anaïs Toudouze - -LE FOLLET Boulevart S^{t}. Martin, 69. -_Coiffures de_ Hamelin, _pass. du Saumon, 21—Lingerie de la maison_ - Schreiber, _r. Montmartre, 32—Fleurs de_ Chagot, _ainé, r. Richelieu - 73_. -_Robes de M^{me}_ Verrier Richard, _r. Richelieu, 13—Dentelles de_ - Violard, _rue Choiseul, 4_.] - - * * * * * - - GREAT VOLUME OF “GRAHAM!” - - THE MAGAZINE OF THE UNION!! - - PREPARATIONS FOR 1851. - - 80,000 COPIES. - - -GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE, unrivaled in splendor and excellence, will commence a - new volume with a - - MAGNIFICENT JANUARY NUMBER. - - _Specimen copies of which will be ready December 1st, and will - be furnished to all who desire to make up Clubs for the coming - volume._ - - The original publisher of the work returns his sincere thanks - for the hearty welcome with which his return to this favorite - periodical has been hailed by the press and the public, and - promises his readers that the past six numbers have afforded but - a slight foretaste of the excellence and beauty _of what is in - store for the new volume_. Of the early numbers we shall print - EIGHTY THOUSAND copies, and stereotype the work for further - increase. - - STERLING ORIGINAL LITERATURE. - - G. P. R. JAMES, _the celebrated novelist, has been regularly - engaged_, and will furnish several brilliant romances during the - year. - - GEO. D. PRENTICE will write his exquisite poems exclusively for - this Magazine. - - HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, - J. R. LOWELL, - S. A. GODMAN, - E. P. WHIPPLE, - GRACE GREENWOOD, - J. M. LEGARE, - W. CULLEN BRYANT, - MRS. A. M. F. ANNAN. - - WILL BE EXCLUSIVE CONTRIBUTORS. - - - - A GALLERY OF LITERARY NAMES OF AMERICA. - - GRAHAM’S UNRIVALED WRITERS - - are re-engaged, and arrangements are perfected for a series of - most splendid articles, from such writers as the following: - - W. GILMORE SIMMS, - GEORGE D. PRENTICE, - ALFRED B. STREET, - N. P. WILLIS, - WM. CULLEN BRYANT, - NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, - HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, - JAS. FENIMORE COOPER, - RICHARD PENN SMITH, - H. HASTINGS WELD, - THEODORE S. FAY, - T. BUCHANAN READ, - H. C. MOORHEAD, - HENRY B. HIRST, - J. BAYARD TAYLOR, - GEO. H. BOKER, - R. H. DANA, - ROBT. T. CONRAD, - ROBT. MORRIS, - EPES SARGENT, - H. T. TUCKERMAN, - C. J. PETERSON, - R. H. STODDARD, - T. S. ARTHUR, - - MRS. LYDIA SIGOURNEY, - MRS. E. C. KINNEY, - MRS. E. J. EAMES, - MRS. ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH, - MRS. JOSEPH C. NEAL, - AMELIA B. WELBY, - MRS. JULIET H. CAMPBELL, - MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS, - MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY, - MISS L. VIRGINIA SMITH, - MISS ENNA DUVAL, - MISS GRACE GREENWOOD, - MRS. SARAH H. WHITMAN, - MISS MARY L. LAWSON, - -_with many more_, well known to the readers of the work, making this - Magazine - - THE ORGAN OF AMERICAN TALENT - - _in every department of Mind_. - - - SPLENDID DEPARTMENT OF ART. - - Our readers know well that Graham _is never beaten in spirited - designs and elegant engravings_. - - THE JANUARY NUMBER will contain some of the most exquisite - productions of artistic skill, and the series then begun will be - continued through the year. - - _Our artists in London, Paris, Italy and the United States, to - whom_ WE PAY CASH _for the best and freshest, promise us that_ - GRAHAM SHALL NOT BE BEATEN! _however others may boast_. - - _In the department of Fashion_ we shall excel _all that has ever - been attempted_ either in _the United States or Paris_. The - ARTISTS OF MONITEUR DE LA MODE _engage to furnish us with the - most splendid drawings_—December and January numbers will - contain specimens. In a word, _wait for the January number—then - compare and decide—it will eclipse all others, or we shall - submit that we have not learned how a magazine of the most - brilliant description can be produced. It will be worth $3 of - itself._ - - TERMS—Single Copies $3. - - PRICE OF CLUBS FOR 1851. - - All orders for Graham’s Magazine, commencing with 1851, will be - supplied at the following rates: Single subscribers, $3; Two - copies, $5; Five copies, $10; and Ten copies for $20, and an - extra copy to the person sending the club of ten subscribers. - These terms will not be departed from by any of the Philadelphia - three dollar magazines. - - All orders to be addressed to - - GEORGE R. GRAHAM, - _No. 134 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa._ - - - - - * * * * * - -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. Errata -have also been incorporated into the below noted corrections. - -page 266, with his Fairy Queen ==> wrote his Fairy Queen -page 266, to the opening region ==> to the opening reign -page 267, the debateable ground ==> the debatable ground -page 267, the pirotal points of ==> the pivotal points of -page 267, a complete physical age ==> a complete psychical age -page 269, antiquity of profession ==> antiquity of possession -page 269, to elude the clumsey ==> to elude the clumsy -page 270, the apocalytic vision ==> the apocalyptic vision -page 272, once again their came ==> once again there came -page 274, blasphemy of the this fiendish ==> blasphemy of this fiendish -page 275, could the the child get away ==> could the child get away -page 278, zealous and and apparently ==> zealous and apparently -page 281, listening, however inadvertant ==> listening, however - inadvertent -page 287, buffetted against the ==> buffeted against the -page 293, the bark’s bright goal ==> the barque’s bright goal -page 297, _tu aimes_, _nous aimous_ ==> _tu aimes_, _nous aimons_ -page 300, flight was a long, ==> flight was long, -page 304, beneath the waters’s flow ==> beneath the waters’ flow -page 305, just now, wan’t I ==> just now, wasn’t I -page 306, and at night’s he ==> and at nights he -page 311, They pause, when ==> They paused, when -page 313, take the hinmost ==> take the hindmost -page 314, arched eye-brow, that ==> arched eye-brows, that -page 316, Napolean! he hath come ==> Napoleon! he hath come -page 318, envious snow flury ==> envious snow flurry -page 321, in thy mandhood pure ==> in thy manhood pure -page 324, Melt’s round the corn-fields ==> Melts round the corn-fields - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXVII, No. 5, -November 1850, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE, NOVEMBER 1850 *** - -***** This file should be named 54032-0.txt or 54032-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/0/3/54032/ - -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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